Earlier this year, when I was welcomed into the fold of Blunt Moms, I had NO IDEA how sincerely life-altering this would be. This is no exaggeration: every day my fragile confidence is buoyed by this incredible posse of crazy writers. Like the best long-lost friends, they cajole, they harass, they tease, they love, they support with white knuckle intensity, and the most important thing, they are honest.
Parenting and writing. MANY attempt it. Few do it with grace and honesty; sawing off great slices of their lives and with great gusto serving it onto a plate to let us all devour it.
There is truth here. There are many truths. My favourite part is how different our voices are as we share from all around the globe, different views out over our kitchen sinks, hearts open, heads thrown back, all tethered by our truths.
In case you missed my many plugs, here are the pieces I have been lucky enough to have published over there. It's my voice but you will notice a little more of a blue tinge to the language. I'm allowed to do that. Another cherry pie deal of BM is I am free to cuss like a sailor stubbing his toe.
"So, sorry laborious juice cleanses, wheatgrass smoothies and herbal tinctures. I think you’re sincerely cool, but just not as easy and delightful as my new tart sidekick: the new future that is Apple Cider Vinegar."
"Cue the clock striking midnight on 2013 and all the pores in my face taking a moonlight swim through butter. Suddenly my face is a pimpled mess; every day a new bump waves hello with two middle fingers as I scowl in the mirror like Clint Eastwood in a sand storm. Oh the rage! The pain! The indignation! NO. Fuck. NO."
I got to share my favourite boozy recipe. Food with booze in it just makes a whole lot of sense.
"After dinner parties, if half your friends flake off, all “Oh God no, I’m so full, no dessert for me please,” you’re doing it wrong. And by doing it wrong I mean you need to slide a bowl of boozy fruit crisp in front of them with a fork and a look that says “Trust me – shut the fuck up and eat.” "
This one makes me look like a TERRIBLE HUMAN BEING. (But they published it and were willing to hide me in the storm cellar away from the pitchfork-bearing environmentalists.)
"I flush used tampons. Even better – I only recently learned this is not kosher. I’ve never seen a dolphin at sea gargling a mouthful of used tampons so I never thought twice about yanking and flushing."
And finally, here is the very first one I wrote. We're just now doing some serious hard-core toilet training with the help of candy (Shittles as my brother pointed out), so even though I swore I would never use candy as a motivator, HERE WE ARE.
"Can we talk about the never-ending stages of development and the constant parenting effort they entail? When do I get to tap out?"
My only sadness is due to us being sprawled all over the world, I can't hand out bone-shattering hugs every time I feel like it, which is often. A few of us do live within a short car ride from each other so last Thursday I got to sit, sipping one tiny $12 shot of excellent tequila as I soaked up their brilliance. As for the rest, I can write them and hope they feel the warm and sweet spicy whiff coming off the screen.
This collective, this insanely talented circle of souls, how is it possible I am one of them? That thought, a tiny shard of awe, makes me happy in the moments of the hardest days. God, I hope you jump over there and see what I'm talking about.