Jennifer Fliss

Nothing says "I’m patriotic" quite like going to a wolf-themed indoor water park resort wearing your wolf-themed t-shirt. With your floaties on. And a beer in your hand.

I don’t think you meant well. You wanted to vomit your discontent to the world. Isn’t that embarrassing? Or is it like a seven-cocktails-and-two-shots kind of vomit?

All the feels. If you take this out of context (and it’s never really in context), it sounds vaguely pornographic. No, not vaguely. It does sound pornographic. So a kitty and bunny befriending each other should not evoke “all the feels.” Otherwise please step away. Slowly...slowly...now go.

Invite friends over. They should be attractive, but don’t have to be.

You wake up to birds chirping, just kidding, you don’t, because it’s February and it’s freezing, and also you have a kid. 

It is the denigrating soundtrack of a breast pumping session. You, sitting at its mercy. It, just taking and taking.

A photo of your long-dead cat, Milo, in a brass Easter egg-shaped frame. Oh, sweet animal, I miss your furballs, you think when you hang it on a low branch. Milo had an uncanny ability to hork on laps when unwanted visitors overstayed their welcome.

Tights with control top: We may have gone a little overboard. A few too many beers. Several too many pizza deliveries.

On a dark rainy night, when our toddler was asleep, he set up Star Wars: A New Hope — who knew that was what it was called? — on the laptop. I, with a skeptical brow, cozy blanket, and my phone (in case boredom struck)...

I know of people who find one child incredibly challenging and seem to hate the whole experience. And yet they proceed to have another child willingly.

I wonder about these decisions. For me, I would be a terrible mother if I had another child.