body fat and childhood abuse

When I was 2 years old, my mother abandoned me. She took off for parts unknown, as she had with a child before me, and as she did with a child after me. That’s three children by different fathers, all of whom she abandoned around the age of 2.

I’m not sure that most people know this about me, because I can’t stand the look of pity that comes across people’s faces when they hear it. My mother was an addict, an alcoholic, and a criminal, so don’t feel sorry for me for not having her around.

I was also abused as a child, physically and psychologically, and there was constant domestic violence between my dad and his girlfriend, whom he later married. When I was 7, I was removed from the home and placed in a shelter for abused kids after the school nurse reported visible signs of abuse on my body. After I returned home, my parents had mandatory counseling (useless, as far as I could tell), I had to go to daycare after school instead of going home, and the physical abuse stopped for the most part. Because it leaves no bruises or scars, the psychological abuse ramped up significantly at this time. As a young person I often wished to be hit instead of having horrible things screamed in my face.

Abuse is no joke, that shit will fuck you up. I’ve expended a great deal of energy reconciling the things that happened to me as a child, and trying to break the cycle of abuse with my own partner and children. I do maintain a positive relationship with my father and stepmother, which is hard for people to understand. Pop psychology demands a big tearful confrontation, but we’ve never had it out about my childhood; it’s never been recognized or admitted in any substantial way. In fact, my parents clearly still believe that I deserved what happened to me as a child. Nevertheless, we remain friendly. I understand that my parents were acting out behaviors from their own childhoods, and that they were deeply unhappy and conflicted people who made terrible choices, including drug use and alcohol abuse, that fueled their behavior. That’s not an excuse, but it is something like a reason, one that allows me to be functionally at peace in our relationship.

It never occurs to some abuse victims to replicate their experiences, but that was not the case for me. I have found it quite challenging at times to avoid being abusive with my family. This is the most difficult thing for me to admit. Intense self-awareness and mental training have been necessary for me to fight against the impulse to be abusive, and it’s something I work at every single day. Experiencing for myself the huge level of consciousness and effort required to reconcile my own abuse history has allowed me a modicum of compassion for those who are unable or unwilling to do the work necessary to break the cycle.

When I was younger, and my mind still felt like a clenched fist at all times, I believed that my disordered eating and high body weight were related to my abuse history. I’d absorbed the rhetoric around body fat as a “shield” or a “defense mechanism,” and as such, believed that if I fixed my relationship with food and handily dealt with my childhood traumas, the weight would just fall off, no longer needed by my spirit for protection. Essentially I considered my body fat to be a psychic presence rather than a physical one. So when I confronted my disordered eating and began to heal, there was a rather large (haha) part of me that expected to lose weight, even if I wasn’t intentionally working for it.

Eventually I had to dispense with this false hope and reframe my thinking around fat bodies. I realized that I’d tricked myself into continuing to hate my body by exploiting Health At Every Size and moderation in personal habits to continue pathologizing socially unacceptable bodies like mine. Referring to body fat as a physical manifestation of psychological torment is just a kinder-gentler way to express rejection of certain body types or appearances.

There is a certain rhetoric in HAES, as introduced by the Fat Acceptance movement, that bodies come in a diversity of sizes and all of them have the potential to be natural and healthy. Speaking personally, though, I accept that many negative experiences led to my weight gain — antibiotic and corticosteroid overuse and restriction/binge cycling top the list. But I have not found that simply reversing these issues will result in weight loss. I think many people do come to HAES thinking that if they gained weight by dieting, then the weight will go away when their bodies feel “safe” from restriction, similar to the idea that body fat will just “fall off” once trauma is integrated and resolved. But in either case, the human body just does not want to lose weight as a general rule. Homeostasis is the law of the land.

Of course we should do the work of healing from trauma and finding a stable lifestyle around food and relationships. And maybe some body fat will be released from that. But if this doesn’t happen, it doesn’t mean those practices have failed, or haven’t been successful enough. Psychological traumas can and do manifest in physical ways, but it’s not for anyone else to say if this is the case. It’s a certain cruelty that has a person on the outside of a fat body, looking in and deciding that because they dislike that body, it must present as it does because of unresolved trauma. A fat body isn’t inherently diseased or traumatized, unloved, abandoned, worthy of disgust or pity.

Years ago someone shared with me the idea, derived from a certain spiritual tradition, that before this life, children choose their parents and the circumstances of their childhoods because of the special challenges and privileges that will help their personal development. I responded sharply: the idea that a child would choose to enter an abusive, abandoning, or neglectful family is the ultimate blame-the-victim mentality. When I’d calmed down some, I said, “Maybe it’s fine to have that idea for yourself, but don’t put it on other people. Don’t tell an abused person, you chose this experience to make you a stronger and better human being. That’s a horrific thing to say.” We, the victims, get to frame our experiences. Nobody else. So if you are privileged to have someone trust you enough to share the reality of their lived experience with you, don’t demean that opportunity by looking at their bodies and thinking, “Oh, I get it now.” You do not, and if you keep thinking that way, you never will.

my fat lifestyle

One of the most delightful things I’ve ever read was this essay by Domenick Scudera in which he shares the details of the average day in his “gay lifestyle.” In the course of his gay day, the gay Scudera wakes up with his gay husband, eats a gay breakfast, serves as a gay hospital volunteer, teaches at a college where he is protected from discrimination for being gay, spends time with his gay husband and goes gay bowling with friends before finishing the day with a refreshing read of The Gay Agenda. Throughout his gay day, Scudera is aware that his very existence is destroying America, but he still makes the choice to be gay.

Reading this essay again, I’m struck by the many parallels between Scudera’s internalized messages of homophobia and the messages of fear, hatred, and misunderstanding that fat people receive every day. I understand that some people bristle at this comparison because, they say, gay people really don’t choose to be gay while fat people do choose to be fat. You know, I’m just not sure if that’s true.

Every single day, often multiple times a day, I see references to the “obesity epidemic” and the “very easy things” that people can do to be thin. You can, for example, stop drinking soda. You can learn to cook a few basic meals. You can take the stairs and join a gym. If you do these things, you will be thin, and everyone will breathe a sigh of relief that you’ll definitely avoid diabetes and heart disease now, since those things never happen to thin people. Also, you’ll be ever so much more attractive and that will make everyone feel a lot more comfortable around you.

Over the past several months, I’ve become more and more frustrated by these messages, because I’m fat. When I say this someone always rushes to tell me that I’m “not really that fat” or they’ll use some other euphemism like “generous” or “voluptuous” or “Ruben-esque,” but honestly, I’m just fat. That’s my body. That’s where I live. Sorry if it makes you give me the side-eye to hear me say it, but deal with it. I’m fat. And it’s not a compliment to try to convince me otherwise. I’m fat, so when you talk about “obesity epidemic” or the things that you think make people fat, or the things that you think could make a fat person thin, you’re talking about me. And no, you don’t really care about my health, because if you did, the last thing you would tell me to do is to diet, AKA “detox.” You would not make assumptions about my “lifestyle.”

When I see the umpteenth article about weight loss, invariably titled something like, “The 17 Things That Helped Me Lose 250 Pounds Forever By Which I Mean the Past 18 Months and How You Can Too Because Our Bodies Are Genetically and Environmentally Identical,” I scan through them looking for the thing, the Truly New Idea, the Groundbreaking Medical Research, the Holy Grail that I have not tried. And I am always disappointed. The article is always laden with assumptions about my fat lifestyle that just aren’t true. These earnest lists just aren’t inspiring to me, because my fat lifestyle includes things like…


Surprisingly enough, I know what they are. I can identify several on sight. I even know how to prepare them. Yesterday was very busy so my family had leftover pizza for dinner, but I can’t eat that, so I baked a salmon fillet with a big mess of asparagus and edamame pods on the side. Since I’m fat, those were the first vegetables I’d eaten in weeks, and I barely got through half of them before running for a Snickers bar. Just kidding, I actually had vegetables for breakfast and lunch as well. When I’m not hitting the drive-thru for two Adiposeburgers and three sides of fries, my lunch most days is a big salad of romaine, radicchio, and baby spinach with white beans or tuna. A few weeks ago I decided to incorporate vegetables into breakfast as well, so if you add in dinner, which always includes a salad as well as filling half of my plate with vegetables, I get 8-10 servings every day. I’m still fat, though, so maybe I should stop that. It’s obviously not working.


I’ll be honest, fruit is a challenge. I have to make a conscious effort to eat fruit as a snack, which seems like a generally healthy habit, unless it’s a banana which obviously causes the ‘beetus. I’ve gotten much better in the past few months, though. I rarely snack — I know, as a fat person I should be eating at least one family-size bag of Cheetos every day, but I do find that challenging on the ol’ digestive system — but when I do I really try to have fruit, maybe with some nuts if I’m feeling especially peck-ish. Which I rarely do because my meals are absolutely ENORMOUS, like two entire eggs with the yolk and everything, and I like to have at least one stick of melted butter in my coffee, because maintaining a body this gigantic takes real effort.

Whole grains & legumes

I love me some beans, which is good because if there’s anything that definitely makes people fat, it’s high-fiber foods. I can hear the paleo dieters nodding with sage wisdom now — so THIS explains it. I got terrifically fat eating brown rice! It’s true, that’s just how it happened. I gained a good chunk of weight as a vegan living on whole wheat tortillas, tempeh, and kale and riding a bike as my only mode of transportation. Crazy, right? I can’t explain it. Maybe some of it was inflammation from wheat consumption, and perhaps because I was using a steroid inhaler on a daily basis, but that makes no sense since the only way to get fat is by shoveling prosciutto down your gullet with a back-hoe. Search me.

I’ll be honest, I do have white rice sometimes. I used to allow only brown rice, but over the years I’ve come to accept that white rice is fine with curries and other foods containing fats and proteins that can lower the overall glycemic load of the meal. Most fat people have never heard of the glycemic index of course, but it popped up as an ad on a recipe for deep-fried bacon-wrapped Butterfingers so I kinda couldn’t avoid it.


My goal is 100 grams of protein a day and most of the time I reach that goal. I don’t use protein powders or anything, I just eat eggs, beans, dairy products, tofu, fish, and meat. Meat is expensive and I don’t always feel great about eating it, so I try to stay on the bean & egg side and have red meat and pork just once or twice a week. I know that protein is supposed to help you be thin but don’t worry, I have other daily goals that support my choice to be fat. I go for AT LEAST 500 grams of high-fructose corn syrup and 40 grams of trans fat, which is challenging since for the most part I don’t eat packaged foods. It’s hard work being fat but two-thirds of the population’s gotta do it!

Dairy products

Dairy is my weakness and my #1 method for staying fat. I like it all — real butter, whole milk, full-fat yogurt with the cream on top, and fancy cheeses that make me a whimper a little at the check-stand. Just yesterday I bought a new cheese, Truffle Tremor, and had that for lunch along with Van’s crackers, fancy green olives, and blueberries — a fine specimen of an obesigenic meal. Over the years I’ve often wondered if my dairy habit is responsible for my fatness, but then again, I was vegan for four years and still gained weight, plus I was sad because no cheese. So now I am not vegan, not sad, and still fat, so probably it’s a wash.

I did have a recent shift, though, and have somewhat preferred less fat in my meals. So I eat low-fat yogurt now (not fat-free, the additives ruin the texture of the yogurt), and I also switched to milk instead of half & half in my coffee. That amounted to a loss of about 150 calories a day but it’s fine, I’m still fat.


My understanding is that whole entire books have been written about how going gluten-free even if you really have no medical need to complicate the next several decades of the your life will give you six-pack abs and add three inches to your penis, but I can’t say I’ve experienced those benefits. I just spend a lot less time in the bathroom and my bone mass has stabilized and boring shit like that. If anything I’ve actually gained weight since going gluten-free, so y’know, consider yourself warned. It’s great for me though, since I choose to be fat.


As a fat person I should of course be consuming loads of sugar. I do like maple syrup in my coffee, maybe two teaspoons per day. Occasionally I make desserts… I know I should do it more often but since I don’t diet anymore (duh, that’s why I’m fat), I don’t have much of a taste for sugar. Sometimes I buy ice cream and it just sits in the freezer for, like, weeks, even though I could pound down a whole pint in a night when I was dieting. Don’t worry, though, despite consuming very little sugar I’m still fat.

I drink soda once or twice a year in very small quantities — I have tried to drink more so as to stay fat but it hurts my head and stomach. I used to consider it a special treat to have a soda at the movie theater, but then I made friends with a film buff and started going to the movies once a week instead of just a few times a year, and very quickly lost my taste for soda altogether. This is a real bummer since soda is an absolute necessity for maintaining a high body weight — I’ve heard so many stories of people who stopped drinking soda and the pounds just melted away, and of course their bodies did not compensate for the calorie loss in any way so the weight never came back.

Calorie tracking

Speaking of calories, I track them. I know that fat people are not supposed to be aware of what we’re eating because as soon as we have to confront the reality of 1500 daily calories from Frappuccinos alone we’ll just drop half of our body weight, but I do it anyway and the other half of my body hasn’t gone anywhere.

I chart six days a week with one “free” day in which I don’t eat differently but just have a little break from tracking. I aim for a maintenance caloric intake, and I don’t “eat back” exercise calories deliberately, but I will eat if I’m hungry, like only fat people do. I don’t stress if I go over my calorie goal, but I do try to be a little more conscious the next day, and I’ve noticed that I am generally less hungry and often want to be more active if that happens. It’s almost like my body wants to stay at this grotesquely fat weight, but we all know this can’t possibly be true.

In the past I have deliberately restricted calories, since that’s how the fat get thin and stay thin forever, but I tend to get depressed, my hair and skin suffer, I feel very tired and prefer not to exercise, it takes longer to recover, I get sick a lot and just generally feel crappy, which is all good because it means I just get to stay fat. It’s a choice every day to be fat instead of depressed and sickly, a choice that I joyfully embrace because I really enjoy making people pay more for their health insurance.


Here it is, my secret to staying really, really fat: I don’t like to exercise. As a kid I wasn’t very active because I had asthma, and also because I lived in Arizona and if I went outside I’d sweat and get sunburned and possibly die from heat exhaustion. I still hate to sweat more than just about anything. Exercise is both supportive and detrimental for asthma — cardio increases lung capacity but can also induce asthma attacks, which I like to avoid even though I’m pretty sure steroid medication helped me become super fat. So I don’t do cardio-style exercise very often. But I do walk my dog for 30 minutes a day, and I just added another 30-minute walk in the mornings so that’s 60 minutes a day. It’s not exactly leisurely but luckily I still haven’t lost weight from it.

I also lift weights every other day, nothing very serious since I choose to maintain a pathological ratio of body fat. When we move to Portland I plan to get a bike and use public transportation as much as possible, thereby including “functional movement” in my daily life. I don’t expect this to induce weight loss, however, since many studies have indicated that exercise isn’t very effective for weight loss, and because I’ve been very active in the past while still being fat.

Mind-body wellness

I don’t consider it exercise, but I practice yoga regularly, working up to daily since I’m really excited to attend Fat Yoga when we move to Portland. (I understand if that link surprises you since I, too, thought that the only people who practiced yoga were thin, white, able-bodied, and magazine-ready, but apparently a wide range of body sizes, shapes, and ability levels can enjoy yoga!) I also meditate and explore non-denominational Buddhism, and have a very positive sex life and get plenty of sleep.

Some people say that such practices are important adjuncts to weight loss, but that hasn’t happened for me — rather, they help me accept and even appreciate my fat body instead of constantly fighting against myself. They give me a lens through which to examine weight-loss culture and resistance to change, aging, and death. All of this allows me to stay fat while still making choices that are generally considered healthy.

Real life doesn’t usually match up to our simplistic expectations, and that’s really upsetting to some people. That’s why some folks look at fat people like me and think that they know something. They know how I live and what I eat. They know that if I just put coffee in my rectum I’d shed the fat attached to my body. They know if I just go paleo or vegan, eat “clean” or high-raw, eliminate ___________, take supplements, drink green smoothies, intermittently fast, eat spirulina and chia and goji berries, live a white person’s interpretation of the Mediterranean or Okinawan or Inuit lifestyle, do Crossfit and Zumba and run marathons, I’ll be thin.

These talismanic rules are predicated on the belief that thinness is always best, always worth pursuing, that weight loss is usually successful and sustainable, and that a fat person who becomes thin has the same body as a person who has always been thin. But the science to prove these ideas isn’t quite there, so what it really comes down to is that people have been indoctrinated to prefer thinness, to consider fatness ugly, on a level so deep and intimate they can’t even hear their own thoughts about it. The argument from health is just used to bolster a general dislike for fat people, just as people will argue that being gay is bad for children or for society at large when really, the thought of gay sex just kinda squicks them out.

If anyone really cared about fat people being healthy, the last thing they’d suggest is weight loss. Restricting calories or macros or both may result in short-term weight loss, but in the long term, the weight comes back for the vast majority of people, and an increasing load of research indicates this is for physiological reasons and not just because fat people are stupid and lazy. When the weight comes back, or even if it stays off, there are metabolic consequences that may not be present in a person with a stable high weight. Indeed, a person with a stable high weight who engages in positive health practices can be just as healthy as a thin person, or even healthier than a thin person who engages in no such practices.

This is why Health At Every Size is such a profound paradigm shift, and so critical to the future of healthcare for everyone. Most people who are not currently thin will never become thin. Most people who become thin will not stay thin. Many people who are currently thin will someday become fat. Is reducing scale weight really the best we can do for everyone’s health? If people improve their diets, become more active, relieve their stress, improve their metabolic markers, and remain fat, have they failed? Should we really allow our hatred of fat people — of ourselves — to go unexamined?

If the knowledge that the “lifestyle” of a person we dislike is basically the same as ours is unsettling — because we are so afraid of becoming that person, or having to engage with that person as if they are equivalent in value to ourselves — that’s an experience worth pondering.

If you’ve gotten this far… thanks for reading.

cooking with kids

Back in January I decided to cook with my kids more often, and since it’s May I guess I should finally get around to that. Both of my children love to cook, but I often put them off from helping me in the kitchen, because… well, it’s my domain. I have a process, cooking is meditative, I’m rushed, I like to listen to adult-oriented podcasts, and other self-centered excuses. Finally we came up with a plan for our kids to trade off Sundays, and though we are terrible about sticking to things for very long, so far it’s been completely wonderful.

Willow had the first week. She decided to make beefy mac, her favorite meal, which is “kid food” at its finest — macaroni, tomato sauce, ground beef, and cheese, all mixed up together, with some obligatory vegetable on the side. We hadn’t cooked together in a LONG time, so we were able to start fresh in our kitchen interactions. She helped me shop for ingredients, then chopped the onion, browned the meat, stewed the sauce, cooked the pasta, and shredded the cheese. At the end she was so proud of herself, she impatiently waited another two weeks for her chance to cook again.

This time she took it even more seriously. She flipped through a cookbook considering different recipes before settling on shrimp creole. She made a list of ingredients, and this time completed every step herself. I gave her some pointers on knife skills and talked to her about the trinity, how to eyeball ingredients, how to time the cooking of multiple pots and pans, but she did absolutely every physical step herself — she cooked the rice, chopped the vegetables, did all of the sautéing, prepped the shrimp, set timers, and even cleaned as she went along so she didn’t have a big mess at the end (ahem).

It’s just amazing to watch her do this work. At eight years old she is already comfortable with boiling water, sharp knives, and tricky ingredients. When I was eight I could barely manage to make toast. She has a huge sense of pride and accomplishment that she can do this very adult thing of making a meal for a family from raw ingredients. Probably my favorite moment was when Isaiah came in to check on her and they stood at the stove tasting the sauce together. Isaiah was fidgety with the desire to get in there himself. He marinated and grilled chicken and vegetables with his dad last week, and next week he’ll make potato soup.

This whole process is important for me, too, by challenging me to step back and allow my children to prove their independence. So many times, I want to step in to fix something. I have to figure out how to teach them without just taking the knife or spoon myself. At one point I said to Willow, “See how the top of the sauce is bubbling really hard but it’s not moving much underneath? That might mean that it’s scorching on the bottom.” She grabbed a spatula right away, stirring the pot and saying how much she loved, loved, loved to cook, how she wished she could do ALL of the cooking (I didn’t tell her how much it does feel like a chore after a while!).

My parents tried to teach me basic cooking skills, but I remember it as a short, frustrated process, which is how I left home knowing how to make ramen in a microwave and not much else. I hope that cooking is not something my kids do to please me, or because they feel like they should — they seem to genuinely want to know how to do this, and to be good at it. Of course I love that we share an interest, but I’m also so proud of them for being focused and working hard, whatever it is they’re doing.

(If you’re interested in the recipe Willow made, you can find it here. She added celery, used fire-roasted diced tomatoes instead of stewed, topped the final dish with parsley, and served it with rice.)


what comes next

Last week I had a little meltdown, the same meltdown I have had biannually for over a decade. It’s always precipitated by some event that brings to light my incomplete education and lack of career opportunities, which starts me on the downward spiral of thoughts like this:

I’m never going to be successful. I will always be dependent on my partner’s income. I’m not setting a good example for my kids, especially my daughter. I’m a failure. My potential has been wasted. We’ll never get ahead of our bills, never buy a house, never attain financial stability. I’ve fucked up. Why did I have children before I could take care of them? I’ll never amount to anything. Bad feminist. Bad human being. 

This is how it happened. As I’ve mentioned, I decided to finish my biology degree since I will actually be able to find work in this field now. I chose an online program carefully based on regional requirements for accreditation so I would have the option of transferring to a brick & mortar school in Oregon. After lots of research I decided that entering a BS program in Clinical Laboratory Science would be a great option after I finish my general education requirements online. (Unfortunately most of my upper-division classes are too old to be accepted for transfer credit, so I’m basically starting over.) This program is through a medical school in Oregon and would give me an excellent foundation to continue on with graduate studies in research science, or even medical school eventually (EXCEEDINGLY UNLIKELY but I like to keep my options open), or I could just stop there and still have a decent career.

I felt really good about my choices, and then the admissions office informed me that they don’t accept transfer credits from the school I’m currently attending. They recommended that I finish my general education requirements at a community college or Oregon university instead, and not online.

This is a serious problem because I can really only continue my education if I can work at the same time. It’s one thing to stop working for 15 months of externship, at the end of which I’ll be able to find a job in my field, and another to stop working for YEARS while accruing student loan debt, living on one educator’s income, and having two kids who constantly need things that cost money.

At this point I felt triggered by memories of struggling through serious low-income situations, as we did before Willow started grade school and I got a job. I spiraled down into unreasonable possibilities, feeling the walls close in as the litany of regret continued. I’m never going to be successful. I’ll always be dependent on my partner’s income. And so on. I felt pent in by my lack of options, and the lies that are told to young women about parenthood and career opportunities, and the reality that my life just isn’t set up for the kind of ambitions I have. I’m tough in some ways, but I’m not work-full-time-and-attend-school-full-time-simultaneously-with-kids tough. I’m not willing to work or be at school all day and then leave for several hours as soon as my kids get home from school. So I felt like every option was drying up on the spot, leaving me with those same feelings of guilt and shame and the bone-deep regret of poor life choices.

Jeremy pointed out that I’d only known about this program for a week, to which I responded (hysterically-ish) that it hasn’t been a week, it’s been ten years. Ten years of not knowing if or when I would ever go back to school and do something with my life. Ten years of wrestling with my identity as a wife and mother, ten years of suppressing my other ambitions and interests, ten years of feeling ashamed and less-than, and trying and failing so many times, and listening to people who know exactly nothing about it assure me that after a couple decades of intensive parenthood I’ll be exactly the same person and capable of doing exactly the same things.

So while I may have just lit upon this program as an option, what I felt in that moment was the weight of ten years of snipping away at everything I thought was possible. Adulthood entails a paring-down of expectations, an endless compromise, a series of closing doors — but I always hoped this door wouldn’t be closed completely — and no, I do not find it particularly comforting to think that someday my kids will have homes and families and lives of their own and then and only then, when I’m full of bad joints and bitterness, can I consider pursuing this thing that has… is this too strong a word? haunted me, since I was little.

So what seems like a little thing actually became a very very big thing in my mind, and I had myself a little temper tantrum. The very next day the admissions office emailed to inform me that they’d made a mistake and the credits I’m currently accruing online ARE fully transferable to this program.

Well. That was embarrassing.

I don’t know what this will look like exactly, but I know how privileged I am to be working it out. I just finished my first classes with 95% in both, which makes me feel more confident that I can really do this. Thanks for listening to my roller-coaster thought process.

Mendocino Headlands + Area 101

Our move to Portland is right around the corner, so every interaction with this beautiful place feels heavy with relevance. I’ve made a mental list of every place and experience I want to be sure to capture before we move away, and a visit to the Mendocino Headlands topped the list.

This is the first spot we visited on the NorCal coast, and it remains a favorite. When our friend Ray, one of the best people on Earth, came to visit a few weeks ago, we traveled to the coast to hike along the headlands and then camp in the redwoods.



On our way home we finally made a stop at Area 101. We’ve driven past this place so many times without knowing what it was — just seeing beautifully painted walls and statues from the highway. As it turns out, it’s a dispensary! because this is Northern California, duh. Covering all their bases, the site has statues of the Buddha, Ganesha, and Jesus, plus paintings of aliens, spacecraft, and various psychedelic adventures.





how I write a research paper

so productive lol

so productive lol

Decide on a topic exactly right on time, several weeks in advance. Do absolutely no research.

Paper is due tomorrow! Gather materials.

Sit the kids in front of Scooby Doo, pour a cup of coffee, turn off phone notifications, and settle in for an intensive focus on bettering myself through education.

Turn on computer. Check Facebook.

Why did I check Facebook? Close that shit.

Write title page.

Spend ten minutes trying to determine whether the course number and instructor name should be right- or left-justified. Or center? Important stuff.

Turn on phone to refer to class text. Check Instagram, Facebook, blog comments, Messenger, and email, just to clear the status bar.

Search for appropriate section in class text. Read for 10 minutes before realizing I’m in the wrong chapter.

Might as well check the tracking on that Etsy order.

Get up for another cup of coffee. Kids are done with Scooby-Doo now, I’m fucked.

Read one entire article on the subject matter. Open twelve tabs of source material.

Hey, isn’t Charlotte Russe carrying plus sizes now?

Image search “tall plus-size women wearing rompers.” Is this something I really want to do or have I just been watching too many episodes of Girls?

Deliberately close all windows without spending any money. Page through source material, close all windows that are non-academic.

Read one article.

Spend 45 minutes in a Wiki-hole.

Try to read the class text over the sound of the children squealing like piglets.

Write two paragraphs. Erase them.

Research MLA vs. APA format. Determine both are stupid.

Yell at the kids. Immediately apologize.

Write three paragraphs.

Raid the kitchen for fresh steamed vegetables. End up with a bowl of jalapeno kettle chips. Hate when that happens.

Erase two paragraphs. Question the topic of my paper.

Make a paloma. Surely this will help.

Caffeine finally hits. Rush through a marathon writing of three pages.

Reward myself by reading eight saved articles about head transplants.

Submit paper 3 minutes before the 11:59 pm deadline.

Get an A! Doubt that I deserve it.

The end.

I suck at holidays

Easter especially. I cannot conjure any interest in Easter, even as a parent. And we do have a history of celebrating holidays rather late. Until this year our kids didn’t notice, but now, oh boy do they.

It started with Christmas, I think. We celebrated the holiday with Jeremy’s family in Utah, then drove home and had downtime for a couple of days before having our own family celebration. And I think for the first time the kids were like, “What is this shit?”

I just refuse to be stressed out by holidays! The exact calendar date is basically meaningless unless you’re celebrating with other people, right? …right?

Maybe we’ve traumatized our children. But I beg of you, WHAT is the point of Easter unless you are Christian or have at least a modicum of neo-pagan belief? That’s why a couple of days had gone by and I still hadn’t colored eggs with the kids or purchased the requisite sugary-slash-plastic crap or had the discussion where I try to create little humans who are respectful and knowledgeable about even the most nonsensical of world traditions. And the kids got impatient. Politely, but still. So we dyed the damn eggs. And then the kids instructed us: “Okay, PARENTS. WE’RE going to stay in our room while YOU go outside and hide the eggs. Got it? Nod if you understand me.”


Okay, I guess the eggs are pretty or whatever.

And it was kind of adorable watching the kids look for the egg their scammin’ parents hid in the car door.

And I know I’m going to look back on this when I’m like 158 years old and they’ve abandoned me in a nursing home with only a robot to attach my catheter and regret that I was so cavalier with the candy-based holidays.