I’m not in the practice of patting myself on the back all too often (hello, all other moms out there too!), but may I just say, after this weekend, I think I deserve the gold medal for mothering the shit out of my kids.

Since having kids–and especially since having our third–people have asked, “How do you do it?” And for the longest time, I had no answer.

Admission: The term “Mini Me,” when used to describe one’s child, is a bit squirm-inducing to me.

There are many points in motherhood when we share our stories. And boy are there stories to share.

Ten Things to Tell Your Kids When You Don’t Want Them Touching Any More of that Freakin’ Halloween Candy

May I just say, for the record, that my body has just about had it. It’s been a long five years of baking, birthing and nursing babies.

Any new parent can get a little anxious when a flight is on the horizon. Vacations are great, but actually getting to your destination with babies and toddlers in tow? As a great man once wrote, Therein lies the rub.

It’s been a little while since we talked about working here…I’m talking about working a job. An out-of-the-house, insurance-providing, answering-to-an-actual-human-boss kind of job. (And not toddler humans. Adult humans.)

It always starts as a little redness around my nose. Little red dots. A cluster of itchy spots.

I don’t know if it speaks more to my exhaustion or just to the general lack of adult conversations in my life lately, that when my husband asked me recently what I did with a whopping 20 minutes of free time, I responded, “I write-ed.”