HOUSE OF KB

I have always wanted to write. I have, actually, for years. But I don't think the adolescent ramblings of a tween or the documentation tendencies of a young adult count. I've recently reread them. So I can tell you, they don't. Now I need a place to be free. Unfettered. As I figure out this new space and place in my life. Newly single mom. Business owner. Mother. Daughter. Sister. Friend. But no longer wife. Grab a cup, sit on the comfy couch and chat with me.

What do you do?

We call it Corona Confidence.

Living in the gray.

42 years young.

Today's the day. It's my birthday. The actual day I entered the world 42 years ago. I have packed quite a bit into 42 years. Some years busier than others. 40 was tough. 41 wasn't my favorite. But 42 is shaping up to be pretty spectacular. Over the past few months, things have been hard. Well, easier in some ways and harder in others. Money is tight. Like, jeans out of the wash, lay on your bed, use a safety pin, suck it in, can't breathe, pray the button doesn't fly off and

What a difference...

When I think of last summer, truth is a lot of it is a blur. That's what happens when your waking moments are filled with trying to keep the ship afloat and your sleeping moments, well, there aren't any. I certainly have some incredible memories of friends and trips and the kids but the overall summer is...gone. I think there was a lot of inside time and a lot of tv. There are worse things. This summer? It's not yet July and I already have a flip flop tan. There are impressiv

Send help. Please.

B: Do I have a penis bone? V: ::OH MY GOD!! Maybe if I sit here quietly, he will forget he asked. Close your eyes. Become invisible.:: B: Momma? Do I have a penis bone? V: ::DAMMIT:: No, you don't have a penis bone. ::SUCCESS! Moving on.:: B: Then why is it so hard? V: ::So this is what it is going to be like when I die.:: Because when you get excited, blood moves from your body into your penis and it gets hard. Then when you calm down, the blood goes away and it gets soft ag

Wiped out.

Honestly? Nobody told me that babies make you become: Mother, Majestic Wiper of All Things. Like, ALLLLLLL things. I have wiped things I didn't even know could be wiped. Faces and bottoms were expected. Sure. I had babysat and been a nanny and camp counselor and teacher and big sister. I wasn't totally new. I expected some of this. But, on any given day, I must wipe 1000 things. Eyelashes? Magnet for yogurt. Why? Ears? The ear wax and dry skin. Oh my god. It hurts. Toes? For

And angels sing.

Here it is. The inevitable post about moms and babies and sleep. Let's just dive right in to the part where I am a jerk. My boys were great sleepers. Always. I knew they were great sleepers. 14 hours nightly. I knew it had nothing to do with me. I knew that I was lucky. I would say as much. So I am not sure what I did to deserve a child who loves to scream between 2am-3am most nights. And I mean scream. Not cry and settle. Then ramp up and cry and settle. Just scream. Like sh

Light. It. Up.

You lot, it is my birthday month. I have never understood the joy over celebrating the entire month. Seemed like a ton of extra work but I am feeling like this year I can get into it. The past few birthdays have ushered in doozy's of a year. I turned 40 with the perfect, intimate party and really thought I had cancer a week later. I was wrong in the best of ways. I was pregnant with Parley. I turned 41 in the midst of the whirling storms of my marriage failing. Of course, I d

Damn that Y Chromosome.

V: Good Morning, T. T: Good Morning, Momma. V: How is my first born this morning? T: Good. Momma, I am your first baby. V: Yes, you are. T: So, I did all the hard work to make this family. V: ... (Wooooowwwww. That effing Y chromosome. I mean, I get his point. I tell him he made me a Momma. But, really?) I am gonna be glad I chronicled these one day. Right? I am. Have a share. Anybody else ever have a guy take credit for something they basically had nothing to do with?

We're gonna be ok.

This is pretty much how I find Bogen every night. Peeking out cheekily from my bed. Even when I send him back to his, we all know I am going to wake up with him next to me. I don't mind it and I have mentioned to Tristan that I sometimes allow it to give Tristan the space and time he needs. Especially at bed. He needs an early bedtime. Bogen stays up later and plays until he literally passes out mid-move. So it kind of works for all of us. The past two weeks, Tristan has been