I feel like there are tons of things about being a woman or an adult or even a mom, I should know. And it’s only when I come into a situation in which I should clearly be able to effectively function, that I realize, I have no idea what I’m doing.

Somebody take away my Thirty Card. And my ColdStone Punch card, because let’s be honest, that’s not doing me any favors. But giving me back my V Card would be awesome, and save me tons of time in the kegel department.

Domestic Shit. Imagine my surprise when houses just don’t automatically come with things like three hole punchers, paper clips, spray starch or wasp spray. And it’s only when I realize that I haven’t apparently bought any of this stuff, that I suddenly need it.

Andy, where do we keep the stapler?

Do we have one? 

Honestly, I just assumed we did because we’re thirty, but it looks like I got pink staples in a swag bag, so I’ll just push them through and hammer down the pointy ends so it looks legit.

Or…

Hey mom, there’s a wasp in my sunroom and he looks pissed.

Spray him with Raid and then shut the door until he dies.

Yeah, I don’t own that, can I throw bleach at him, I have bleach?

Lady Shit. I have YouTube, I went to a drumming circle once in college, I know there are alternatives to pads and tampons. It’s never really appealed to me, but my friend Jess has been going on and on about how amazing Soft Cups are, so I decided to give it a go. How hard could this be, I ride horses and have put my share of things up there.

Soft Cup

First, I greatly underestimated the size of these things. Two, every time I took it out, it was like a scene from Dexter. But, fear not, real friends agree to FaceTime you through the menstrual cup process.

Turns out, once you figure out where it goes it gets really easy, they don’t feel dry and itchy like tampons, you can have sex with them in, and you don’t even feel the cup inside you. Which is either brilliant or an unfortunate sign that my vagina may have been the inspiration for a Mumford & Sons song.

Mom Shit. I am only now realizing that struggling with parenting stuff is normal. The people who don’t are liars or giant assholes looking to sell books, because this shit is messed up. I am never prepared for how emotional it is. I am never competent enough to have the perfect solution every time. I have no idea when things warrant actual stitches. I don’t know how to teach kids things like riding two-wheelers or tying their shoes. And, I always compare myself to other mothers.

Oh, and I always forget snack day, jeans day and sack lunches on field trips. But I never forget whose turn it is to sit on my lap and help me “drive” down the driveway after school or that Sundays are for stove popped popcorn and movies in our bed, and I feel like that more than makes up for the room temperature Subway and gas station chips I had to grab on the way to the Zoo.

Friend Shit. Some of the most important things I have learned is how to say I’m sorry, how to accept an apology, and the strength to say no. I don’t need everyone in my life, I have the right as a confident and fulfilled person to pick and choose the people I love and value, and surround myself with them. It’s a really freeing thing.

Work Shit. I still don’t know how to make PowerPoint happen.

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