Anxiety – Today I'm Struggling With…

As I sit here, writing this post, I’m eating Cheddar and Sour Cream Ruffles (should be a sponsor, but they aren’t) and peppermint bark, because isn’t that a classic and classy combination? I’m drinking water, but that’s only because I’m too lazy to make coffee and I don’t have any Cherry Coke in the house. I guess what I’m trying to say is: I’m a mess.

To be fair, I know I’m not as messy as some people. I don’t do drugs. I drink, but I don’t get drunk (nursing, and all). I have a job. I’m actually pretty good at adulting. But at times, I’m pretty indistinguishable from the teenagers that I teach. My son is starting to get to the age where I worry about him adopting some of my bad habits and guilty pleasures.

Continue reading “Today I’m Struggling With…Passing On Bad Habits”

I don’t like kids. There. I said it. I have never liked kids. I don’t even recall liking kids when I was a kid. I’m the youngest in my family. I never babysat. Until I had I had a child, I was never around babies for any extended amount of time.

To be clear: I love my kids. They are the bee’s knees. The cat’s pajamas. My world. But in no way does that obligate me to like other people’s kids, or as like to call them: OPP (Other People’s Progeny).

No. Actually, every interpretation of that acronym makes me uncomfortable.

Now that I’m a mom, I feel like I am expected to gush over everyone else’s kids, to find them endlessly charming simply because I have one (or two) of my own. And that’s just not the case. My coworkers have kids. They’re fine. My sister’s friends have kids. Cool. H has preschool friends. Neat. The case just remains, if I’m completely honest with myself, I don’t like kids.

Continue reading “Today I’m Struggling With…Other People’s Kids”