The hacks are haunting me.

This is what 16 years of Catholic schooling hath wrought.

With the butts gone, I can see that the majority of Paige’s pictures are actually of June’s face.

In Real Simple houses, blankets are neatly folded or artistically piled on unstained sofas. Your sofa has pencil illustrations, marker streaks, and blood stains.

It’s not that I didn’t want our fourth. I just wanted to know that my husband and I weren’t the only ones who thought 4 > 3

I could sand down every rough edge on my body but I’d still be taking up space.

Alternate title: WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS?

I can’t help but fast-forward to high school competitions where she’ll be, I guess, slathering herself with fake tanner, donning a 5-pound curly wig, and dousing herself so thoroughly in gender norms that the stain will never come out.

I’ve been an unwilling participant for seven years in a study about the physical and psychological impacts of sleep deprivation and mess.

Do I have another metamorphosis in me?

Searching for work may be a full-time job, but it doesn’t hold a candle to parenting small kids without childcare.

Society watches uncomfortably and assigns blame to the silly women toppling over the edge. “It’s too bad,” they say, “They should do something!”

“I won’t let you hit! [Smile] Let’s play with trucks instead!” has started to feel like gaslighting to me.

Four times in June I planted rows. Four times savage bunnies chewed them to nubs.