Author: <span class="vcard">stapilus</span>

From the introduction . . .

So, now that we’ve established what this book is not, I’d like to tell you what it is. I really would. Except I don’t know, not exactly.

Every year when it’s time to submit entries for newspaper competitions I look over my collection and wonder how to answer that.

Essentially, I write in the margins of motherhood—and everything else—then I work these notes into a monthly column about what it’s like raising my two young boys. Are my columns funny? Are they serious? They don’t fit into any one box neatly. Yeah, I know: that is totally a metaphor for my life. Or is that not what you were thinking? Moving on, then.

I’ve won awards for “best humorous column” though I actually write about subjects as light as bulimia, bullying, birthing plans and breastfeeding. But also bon-bons. And barf, and birthdays.

It seems this book is brought to you by the letter ‘b.’ There’s also a brief mention of Barbados (Nope, not a Travel to the Tropics with Tots story. That’s just what I called the birthing room at the hospital).

Then again, despite fantasizing about umbrellas in my drinks, I’ve won in the “serious column” category as well. Probably all the stuff about self-esteem erosion, suicide, school shootings and shame. Just guessing. (And thank you letter ‘s’.)

You guys want to know how I celebrated my first national award for my column? I calmly hung up with my editor. Then I squealed, which startled the baby. Then I went back to stuffing the inserts into diapers. My own take on the Zen proverb, “After enlightenment, the laundry.”

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