Me, uncensored.
I often hear my fellow moms say they just want to go to the bathroom alone—that they want some privacy when nature calls. Honestly, I can’t really relate to this predicament at all. I’ve never had that wish.
Because I’ve never gone to the bathroom alone. Not in my entire life.
Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)
Much to the dismay of Canadians everywhere, many Americans feel like Canada is just another US state. A kinder, gentler, more apologetic US state, but a US state nonetheless. (Maybe it’s all of the beer, weed, and Tim Horton’s coffee y’all got up there, eh?)
Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)
I promise I know how to behave properly in public. I can keep my voice down. I practice good manners. I follow my own rules of swearing. I’ll only wrestle with you if I really love you.
But, dammit, if you put a fish head on my plate, I’m going to play with it. I can’t just eat around it like a civilized person and leave it alone. In true Foxy fashion, I’m going to turn it into dinner and a show.
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September 6-12 is National Suicide Prevention Week. I lost my brother to suicide three years ago, and I live with chronic depression and anxiety myself. So this week is important to me to say the least.
Talking about mental illness and suicide is also very important to me. I share my experiences because I want to help people. Because I want people who are struggling to know that they are not alone. Because I want people to come to a deeper understanding of mental illness.
Those people also include my children. I wrote an essay for Scary Mommy addressing why and how I talk to my kids about depression and suicide. Please read and/or share if you are so inclined.
#StopSuicide
Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)
Earlier this year I got up on a Portland stage in front of hundreds of people and told one of the most disgusting stories I know.
And they recorded it.
And put it on YouTube.
I had Mr. Foxy watch it to make sure it was actually me in the video. But I can’t bring myself to do so. (At least not sober.)
You do it. And let me know if it’s okay for me to watch.
My thanks to Listen to Your Mother for providing such a wonderful forum for people to tell their stories. Be sure to join me in binge-watching the rest of the videos.
Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)
By all outward appearances, I’m an excellent houseguest. I bring hostess gifts (usually salted chocolate caramels from Shurra’s). I’m clean and quiet. I even bring my soiled linens (as in used, not peed on or anything) to the laundry room.
But maybe, just maybe, you shouldn’t leave me alone in your house.
Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)
This past weekend, my freighbors (neighbors who are also friends) and I were sitting around a fire pit, drinking wine, and shooting the shit. We told stories of past parties, neighbors we have violated, and other ridiculous shenanigans.
The exact sequence of events is a little fuzzy (did I mention the wine?), but as often happens when I’m around, the conversation turned to sex. Somehow (I’m certain it wasn’t me though) we started playing “Slutty, Nerdy, or Normal.” You know, the game where you self-select one of those words to describe your sexual history and try to guess (without judgment—this is all in good fun) which your friends will pick? That one.
When I declared myself “normal,” my freighbors didn’t believe me. They suggested I was lying and/or hiding something. Fortunately, for my good name (meaning I wasn’t lying), I have proof.
I have a Kiss List.
Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)
I’m not gonna lie. I was thrilled when my daughter decided to quit dance. Don’t get me wrong—I absolutely loved watching her perform. She’s a beautiful, graceful dancer. (Clearly she did not get that from me.)
But I hate the annual torture known as the dance recital. (Honestly, my colonoscopy was less unpleasant.) I could complain endlessly about those damn recitals, but because I’m a problem solver, I’ve come up with a list of ways to improve them. Check it out on Scary Mommy, and let me know if you have any more brilliant ideas.
Photo Credit: anutaray / 123RF Stock Photo
Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)
It’s such an amazing feeling—bringing home your perfect newborn, in a brand-new outfit, into the beautifully-appointed nursery. Everything is so sparkly and fresh and tidy. But after the umpteenth spit-up, the zillionth dirty diaper, and the inevitable projectile poop, you realize: Crap. Kids are messy. And *I’m* the one who has to clean up after them.
So you look around your now stained and cluttered house, and you methodically adapt to your new reality. You stash baby wipes in every room and purse. You go to IKEA and buy a gajillion bins to store the toys. And you revel in the dog’s ability to clean in and around the high chair after every meal.
But try as you might, you simply can’t fully prepare for every mess.
Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)
If my life had a bloopers reel, it would contain hundreds (possibly thousands) of scenes of me tripping and falling on my face. In holes. On bumps. Down stairs. UP stairs. Over absolutely nothing at all.
Seriously, I trip about once a week with a spectacular fall at least monthly.
The (possibly) most cringe-worthy spill happened in college. My boyfriend and I went to a fancy restaurant, and there was a staircase leading directly into the middle of the dining room. About halfway down the stairs, my heel caught on the carpet, and I fell to my knees. Fortunately, my hand caught the railing so I was able to hoist myself back up fairly quickly (and without too many people noticing). But then I took one more step and fell AGAIN. This time I didn’t catch myself, and I slid on my knees down several stairs as the entire room of fancy diners watched. I was able to grab a hold of the railing, only my bracelet got stuck on something. It broke and flew across the room. Along with my dignity.
Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)
