Mother’s Day is a sobering reminder that I have children.

Older women have mastered the art of masking condescension as pleasant observation: a righteous skill.

I’m “Conjunction Junction” years old.

She didn’t take shit from anyone and did as she pleased, usually while holding a tumbler glass full of booze.

Feel the vibration, goat.

I think I am a mediocre mother at best.

These kids are going to try to lead the pecking order.

Jesus regrets dying for you.

Zero-star “this novel sucks” Goodreads reviews will make me cry.

You’re giving me the douchebumps.