Better
I have sucked as a parent lately. Truth. ‘Tis the season for holiday lights and wrapping paper and for mom to be a stressed out asshole. That should be a Christmas carol. “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the waaayyyyy. My mom’s annoyed at everyone, please bring her a spa day.” I don’t know, you guys, sometimes it’s a lot. That’s all I’ve got for you. This month has been a lot. Last month was a lot. Sometimes I look at this shit show I signed up for and say damn girl, this is a lot. This too shall pass…
Grandma Mary
Dear Jax, It’s Gotcha Day, little dude. We adopted you eleven years ago today. I love this day, but this year’s celebration is bittersweet. Your grandmother died on Friday night. Your dad’s mom, Grandma Mary. This year’s Gotcha Day will be a little less inflatable water slide and a little more holding space for your grandma today. You’re grieving. This isn’t an obituary – you’ll be much better at that, kiddo – but what I will remember about your grandmother was how accepting she was. From day one, eleven years ago, she accepted you completely and without hesitation, exactly as…
Relief
Johnny made it to his Army base on Monday. Other moms are messaging me tips to survive boot camp, linking me to Facebook groups, introducing me to people who can show me the ropes. It’s lovely, but I’m in a different sort of situation. “Hi Martha with your #ArmyStrongMama tank top, thank you for the hug. But I’m actually losing my shit because this kid almost broke me and I didn’t realize the stress of it all until he got on that plane.” Smile and nod, people. Smile and nod. It was two and a half years ago that I…
Maybe This Time
A day or two ago, Jax had an appointment with a psychiatrist. Jax has never met this man before, but I have, and I like him a lot. He regurgitates mountains of stuff from memory, has a Harvard degree, and is smart, smart, smart. All good stuff when you’re a mom seeking advice for your child, but I like him because he’s a helper and he takes it very seriously. Jax has been hanging out in, what he calls, the “dark mind.” This isn’t new, but it’s not something we ignore. We’ve seen psychs before, but they have deferred to…
Brothers
Johnny, I’ve been down at the Capitol this past week fighting for a bill that would expedite the adoption of older kids. I’m pretty invested in it because you and I went through this. We had nine months to make your adoption happen, and had I not already had a giant home study to adopt Jax, you’d have aged out of foster care even though I was jumping up and down on the sidelines, begging to bring you into my family. It defied common sense so, cue the patriotic music, we drafted a law that would fix this. There is…
Nobody Said It Was Easy.
And I quote: “And after fourteen years of foster care, Johnny was getting all As and Bs in school, happily helping around the house, had checking and savings accounts, and looking for his first job – all within just a few months of being adopted into a family. ” Johnny, I’ve written a version of this success story a hundred times since you’ve moved in. And it’s been true on single every single occasion that I’ve written it. Your progress is front and center, it’s unbelievable actually, and I have to remind myself that you are the same kid who…
Dear Person Who Hurt My Child.
I’ve spent the last few days outlining an open letter to the person who hurt Jax. A real doozy of a piece, cleverly called “Dear Person Who Hurt My Child.” I was going to write and publish it this morning, throw it all out there and let the internet lovelies react to an adult who intentionally hurt a kid with autism and cognitive delays and who spent his first three years of life in an orphanage. It would have been shared and liked and tweeted. What do I need the burden of our criminal system for when I have this?…
Not the Best Witness
The adult who hurt my son will not be charged. I’m a lawyer. I get it. There are no witnesses, no physical evidence, and Jax …well, Jax isn’t the best witness. At 13, Jax still believes that Noelle the Naughty Elf stole my car keys and tried to take my SUV for a spin. He tells the same joke over and over (and over), processes every single thought he has out loud, and is lost in most conversations that aren’t about airplanes. He doesn’t understand nuance, social cues, or consequences. Jax is a child. Jax will always be a child. This makes…
When the Flashing Lights Fail.
I am a Helicopter Mom. No shame here, no self-deprecating humor, there is really no other option for this child tornado of mine. Maybe helicopter isn’t the right word, I think I’m more like the car with the flashing lights that travels behind the Wide Load truck on the freeway. You know when some brave soul picks their flipping house up, places it on a truck, and moves it across country? The other drivers can see the trailer coming with a freaking house on it, it’s unexpected and a tad out of the ordinary, but there is always a car…
Some rules are meant to be broken.
Michael was born on the floor of a bus station. He was abandoned, withdrawing from drugs and in pain. He spent three weeks in the NICU, and was discharged weighing only 5 lbs. Since the launch of Generation Justice, I have read hundreds of these stories, maybe thousands. But this one is different. This one I saw first-hand. When Michael was discharged from the NICU, the agency called my friend, Darcy, and asked her if she could open her home to another drug-exposed infant. This would be her 7th foster child. Darcy was in baby mode, a blur of positive,…
“They don’t need another backpack, Mom.”
I was coming out of an Ace Hardware the other day – feeling super handy, I might add – and on the way to my car, I saw a woman standing by a table raising money. It was a legit 100-gazillion degrees in Phoenix and I was entirely prepared to do the polite smile good-for-you-but-I’m-not-stopping head nod when I saw the sign on her table read “Help Arizona’s Foster Kids.” Ay. I mean I have a teen foster kid, I work for a non-profit that aims to reform the entire foster sh-bang so clearly, I had to stop. The lady…
The Opposite of Yelling
I was sick this week. Throwing up throughout the night, curled up in fetal position at the base of the toilet, not sure how clean the bath mat is, I do not even care, I will never eat blue cheese in a salad again, SICK. Being sick as an adult is lousy. Being sick as a mom is just not fair. Usually, with a head cold or slight fever, we moms power through by tossing the child-wolves some technology, pouring some cereal in a bowl and calling it dinner, and announcing bedtime at 7pm. Not this go-round. Leaving my bed was…
To Johnny, on your 17th Birthday.
Dear Johnny, I know this isn’t where you thought you would be at age 17. Still in the foster system, a day pass on your birthday, preparing to be shuffled around again, and then again and again. I know. As a child, you must have thought ahead to 17 and pictured your life very differently. Maybe you pictured a mom and a dad, a decorated bedroom, your face in pictures from family vacations hanging, collage-style, on a wall. I know that this isn’t where you thought you’d land. You were here for the day and we did presents and cake.…
An Unlikely Intersection
Last week, a family asked about adopting my foster son, Johnny. A family. Adoption. This was a big deal for a sixteen year old foster kid who moved in with me last month because he had nowhere else to go and had every intention of aging out of the system as an orphan. I mean, wow. Before this news, I had been thinking an awful lot about my limitations. I am a single mom, I can barely manage a weekly load of laundry, and I am hours away from the supports Johnny had in place before me. I sometimes have…
Out of the Way, Mom.
I had a moment recently. My son, Jax, and I had been in the car running errands for a few hours. I was singing along to the Beatles channel when Jax said, “Mom, I’m hungry.” Well, yeah, breakfast was a hurried cup of yogurt three hours ago so that’s reasonable. There is no shortage of food options in the strip-malled mecca of Scottsdale, and we chose Chipotle. We ordered, we got our food, we sat. We were finishing up and Jax got up to refill his soda. He took the lid off, said excuse me to me the man who was…
No License For You.
Johnny’s doing really well. A few small hiccups, but hey, he’s a teen boy. Other than my house smelling like a locker room, it’s been pretty smooth sailing over here. He’s here as a kinship foster placement right now. We aren’t related, but because I have a significant relationship to him, I qualify. Kinship is fine, it works, but I want to get licensed as a foster parent. The services are better and the stipend would be helpful as my grocery bill has doubled and the teenager came with four garbage bags of clothes, three of which were too small.…
Welcome Home, Kid.
A teenage boy is coming to live with me. Today. In eight hours, I will be an official foster parent. It’s been only a few months, but I have notes upon notes about my short experience so far with this child welfare system of ours. I can’t wrap my head around how we allow a child to fall through the cracks so frequently that he becomes invisible. How a child with no parents is surrounded by umpteen “service providers” paid for by the government, and yet, no one knows this kid or does anything to meaningfully help him. How we…
I’m Supposed to Be in the Creek
Last week, I was in my favorite place in the world with my 15-person family. Every few years, we head to a ranch in the mountains of Colorado. We’ve been going here since I was a little girl, and there is truly no place I would rather be. I told my clients I was out, I let my phone lose its charge in my suitcase, and I swaggered around in cowboy boots all week. There is no better place for me to get my head straight. I spent a lot the week thinking about this kid I know, Johnny.* Johnny…
“See you next year?”
I volunteered to go to an education meeting last week with a foster kid. This kid was in high school and not too interested in me at first. I didn’t blame him, I’d never met him before and this was a child who lives in a constantly-changing world with constantly-changing people. This was a kid who had no one, not a single person to show up for him to this school meeting. I was just another face. I did my job. He had decent services, a caring team, and for better or worse, he was at a school with a lot of kids like…
The Santa Exit Plan
It was late-September of 2008 when we brought my son home from China, just two months before December and our sparkly, over-the-top, American-style Christmas season. My little boy had no idea what Christmas was. He had no idea who Santa was. Hell, he had no idea what protein was. Time, as it does, marched on and my son acclimated to Christmas quickly. The tree, the lights, the presents, the added traffic, the fact that I will not step foot in a Costco or Target during the month of December. I added in some religious overtones, some lessons about giving, and gave myself a pat on…
…Except That It’s Christmas
This time of year, man. It’s stressful and chaotic and my annual intention of providing a Pinterest-perfect Christmas lasts about a day and a half until I decide that F-bombs will definitely help me assemble the gingerbread house. Ahhh, December. This year, the sparkly exterior strands of house lights worked perfectly on the ground, but after a four hour installation, decided to offer a non-working section of fifteen lights right over my front window. And I have to tilt my head to the left, like I’m pondering something serious, for my Christmas tree to look straight. If the devil is…
Dear Donald Trump, from an adoptive mom.
Dear Donald Trump, My son thinks you want to deport him. I’m sorry, did I jump ahead of myself there? That was rude of me. Let’s start over. Hi there. I’m Rebecca. Yes, yes, nice to meet you, too. I have an adopted son. He was adopted from China in 2008, when he was three and a half years old. He’s ten now, an American citizen, and I’ll state the obvious: I love my son. A lot. So much. He’s the greatest, Donald, just the greatest. This son of mine thinks you want to deport him. Literally, Mr. Trump. My…
I Gotcha, Kiddo.
Jax’s eighth Gotcha Day is coming up. “Gotcha Day” is the anniversary of Jax’s adoption from China. It’s the day Jax became our son, and like good adoptive parents, we celebrate. Jax gets a few presents, we decorate, we eat pizza and cake, we participate in general adoption merriment. Gotcha Day has been easy the last seven years. Jax hasn’t had much interest in his adoption story. He didn’t seem to care, or really understand, that there was a woman in China who gave birth to him and chose not to keep him. Jax knows he was in an orphanage for…
The Invisible People
I was at a Ross the other day. I love Ross. There is one by my son’s school, and on the days I don’t feel like laptopping at Starbucks, I walk around in their exceptional summer air conditioning while having riveting conversations with myself about my need for their various wares. “Becca, this is a $3 cutting board! That’s tough to beat.” “Truth, B. But do you really need a cutting board when the only thing you buy is prepared food from Trader Joe’s?” “Bec, look! Cute and flowy boho pajama bottoms!” “OMG, Rebecca, do not buy those. We both know that…
“To Girls Everywhere, I Am With You.”
“To girls everywhere, I am with you.” This is how a woman who was assaulted and raped behind a dumpster at Stanford University ended her statement to her attacker at his sentencing hearing. My admiration for this woman is seeping out of my pores. If this were me, my statement might have been taking off a carefully-chosen-extra-pointy stiletto and throwing it at the attacker’s head. If I was brave enough to face him at all. I am linking her statement below. Read it. In it, this woman chronicles her night. She went to a party with her little sister, drank too…
Flying School
Today was Jax’s first day of summer school (ESY for you special education people). He hasn’t been in a school setting for about a year because some medical issues snowballed with his anxiety, which resulted in the school district sending a teacher to our house. At the time, it was the right decision. But now, the medical treatment is over, he’s feeling better and doing better. It’s time. I think it’s time. I chose a private school that specializes in kids like mine. Kids with learning differences or anxiety or trauma or all of the above. Kids who need to be squarely in their…
Monopoly
My son, Jax, is obsessed with Monopoly Junior. He thinks it is the best game ever invented, which let’s be honest, is slightly unfortunate for those of us around him. We play it after dinner, before breakfast, on the iPad. It’s a lot of Monopoly Junior. I feel like I am participating in a Monopoly-marathon, but with no glorious finish line in sight. But I’m playing. My all-airplane-all-the-time son has found something that isn’t aviation-related, and this seems like a good thing. I’m going with it. Jax hasn’t been in school much this year. We tried, we gave it a…
What if I Don’t Love Him
A few days ago, I was looking back at the photographs I have of my son before we brought him home, photos of when he was still in China. One of his therapists wants to do a photographic timeline with him, and I was click-click-clicking through the photos on my laptop pretty quickly. There aren’t that many, and I’ve seen them all a thousand times before. I was on auto-pilot, dragging the ones I wanted into a folder. There’s my little guy after his first surgery, there he is hanging out with a big green ball in the orphanage, there…
Prince
It was 1984, and I was barely 11. We lived outside of Chicago and were headed to the home of family friends for dinner. Unlike my family, these friends lived large. They had lots of disposable income and were unapologetically flashy. They competed in horse jumping, traveled to exotic island vacations and wore fur. We, on the other hand, played Little League, road-tripped for two days in a minivan to see my grandparents in South Carolina, and wore fake Izod. In 80’s speak, they were Dynasty and we were The Wonder Years. Their house was one, wealthier suburb over. We…
My Love is Louder
My son, Jax, spent last Friday night at his dad’s house. On Saturday morning, I waited for my ex-husband’s big, white, cowboy of a truck, and opened my front door to greet my son as the truck pulled into my driveway. It was February 13th, the day before Valentine’s Day, and even from my place leaning against the open front door, I could see Jax’s excitement. His messy-haired head was bouncing up and down in the back seat and he jumped out of the truck the instant it stopped. Jax had a box in his hands. It was covered in silver glitter and red and pink…
To the Moms I Am Not, But Was Supposed to Be
My son is a quirky kid. He talks about airplanes 99% of the time, he doesn’t like video games, and his natural energy level makes hiding the sugar products on the top shelf of the pantry a necessity. He has cleft scars that make his lip a little puffy, his speech isn’t always clear, and he lacks the ability to discern whether the kids around him are enjoying his antics or looking for an escape hatch. His Chinese, stick-straight hair is usually sticking up somewhere on his head, he is not concerned at all about his volume, and he is not persuaded by what…
I Didn’t Take A Picture
This past Friday, my son, Jax, and I went to the park. It was early, around 9am, and we were the only ones there. It was quiet and calm, a complete contrast to our typical park visits. Jax was free to run up and down the play structure that, in his head, was now an aircraft, parachute-jump off the swings, and yell to the control tower. He was laughing, smiling, singing made-up songs about Han Solo. His joy was palpable. I could see it, I could feel it. My kid was back. How did I miss this? Of course, I knew that…
The Over-Sharing Soundtrack
There is an ongoing debate in the online special needs community about over-sharing. Are we mom and dad bloggers stepping over the line when we share stories and details about our kids and their special needs? It’s a heated debate, a thing, a downright brouhaha. I have this blog, thank you for coming, and my special needs son makes frequent appearances in my writing. I’ve been paying attention to this issue. I’ve been listening, reading up, and thinking about this whole over-sharing thing, whether or not I do it, whether or not I care, and whether or not it’s time…
Here’s to the Cheese in 2016
I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. Not because I don’t need an infusion of life changes over here (because that list would be a novella), but because I can’t stomach the pressure of it all. All the self-improvement resolution talk makes me tense. I feel like a tween girl who ate a basket of garlic bread for dinner and now finds herself at a Spin the Bottle party. I’m jealous of the people playing, but this just isn’t going to work for me tonight. How do I get out of this party and back to Downton Abbey with some breath…
The Halloween Monster
It was November 1. Hal-le-lujah, sing it with me. In Phoenix, November 1 is generally met with a sigh of relief. Adios 100 degree temperatures, hello down comforters. But on this past November 1st, in addition to being excited about the cooler weather, I was up and moving because it meant Halloween was behind us by a solid six hours. It meant that I could take down the 1,001 pieces of paper Halloween decorations my son had made and installed on every square inch of our home. My son had traced and cut-out witches, designed paper ghosts with crumpled-paper-ball-heads tied off with string, drawn…
To Jax, the Bravest Kid I Know.
Jax, It’s National Adoption Month, and my newsfeed is full of adoption stories like ours. Stories about the decision to adopt, the complicated process, the financing, the trip to China or Korea or the group home in the next town over. There’s a theme in all the stories. Parents, parents, parents. What it was like for us parents. Jax, I want you to know that I remember what it was like for you, too. This is what I’m talking about this National Adoption Month – not my story, but yours. Your dad and I planned your arrival for years. We…
Amazing Grace
My son, Jax, and I were in the back of an Uber car heading to the airport. It was early, and although we were leaving for Colorado, Jax’s favorite place in the world, he was so, so nervous. His autism and anxiety were in full swing, and the What Ifs that have taken up a full-time residence in his brain had joined together in unison to shout out scary thoughts, drowning out the fragile “it’s going to be ok” voices that can never seem to rise up and conquer. What if the plane crashes, what if there is a car…
He’s So Lucky.
“He is soooooo lucky!” If I had a dollar for every time someone looked at my internationally-adopted son and said that to me, I would be living large, y’all. I’d own a fancy horse and a yacht and some serious acreage, all owned by my corporation, MyLuckyKid, LLC. Sadly, I don’t get a dollar, and that is really unfortunate because my Chinese kid and I hear how lucky he is all the time and just about everywhere we go. It makes me uncomfortable. Even though it is always coupled with the best of intentions, big smiles and friendly arm…
I Am A Killer of Scorpions.
OMG OMG OMG. I was paid to write something. Cash money! For the very first time. I will now have a celebratory parade around my house with streamers that will take up most of my earnings. But whatever!! I was paid to write.
Some Days Are Dark
“What do you want others to know about parenting a special needs kid?” This is a common thread in special needs world. This theme gets batted around frequently on Facebook and the blogs and the newsletters. Moms chime in, one after another, I want you to know she is a gift! I want you to know how much he has taught me! I want you to know I am better because of them! Included with these joyful, optimistic sentences are photographs of toothy-grinned kids proving to you how sincere their sentiment is. All of these little positive snippets of special needs parenting are true. Of course, they…
What a Birthday Should Look Like
We just celebrated my son’s ninth birthday. If you had asked me ten years ago what my future son’s ninth birthday would look like, I might have described the perfect summer pool party. Something rambunctious and loud and perfectly planned. Water balloons and canon ball contests and twenty sun-kissed kids clamoring around a cake shaped like a surfboard. Hot dogs and music and grown up drinks in red plastic cups for the adults. Guess whose ninth birthday looked absolutely nothing like that. This is what we do, we special needs parents. We compare what we think a childhood should look…
If I Knew Then What I Know Now
Adoption blogs are like WebMD – if you want to sleep at night, be very careful with your search terms. If you want to read about families with perfectly-adjusted adopted children heading to MIT and Julliard, google “China doll, joy, blessed, adoption, America.” Add in #ILoveMyLife and #ItsASmallWorld for good measure. If you want to scare yourself right out of adopting, you’ll want to read about the broken children, the re-homing stories, the accounts of horrific abuse in orphanages and RAD. I land somewhere in the middle, and it’s a hard thing for me to write about. Not because it’s emotional…
In Search of a Comfortable Barcalounger
I have been putting this post off for weeks. I’ve told myself that I have writer’s block, that I’m too busy, that life, you guys. Really, I am just hiding out. From myself and from you and from this blinking cursor who knows that I won’t write another thing until and unless this comes first. Deep breath. Today, I am meeting an estates and trusts lawyer. In 33 minutes, I will put on some nicer shoes, hopefully remember some earrings, and get in my car to meet my parents at the office of their lawyer and discuss my son’s future.…
The R-Dub Secret Society
I was twenty-seven years old, fresh out of law school, and a brand new associate at a decent-sized law firm. I had my own office, a secretary who I was scared to speak to, and a very, very clean desk because I knew how to do absolutely nothing except look young and nervous. I did not feel like a lawyer. On about day two of this job, in the middle of HR paperwork, computer training and a super comforting lecture on lawyer malpractice, I went back to my empty office and checked my email. From: RONALD COLLETT Subject: See…
Hey Kath in Tomball, TX – Enjoy Your 15 Minutes, Girl.
Dear Kathleen Smith from Tomball, Texas, I watched your video. You know, the one where you suggest a mother beat her screaming child in a grocery store? The one where you wanted to attack a stranger’s kid with a wooden spoon? The one where your parental advice was to “kill it?” Yeah, that video. I watched it, but it didn’t make me angry or particularly upset. I didn’t make a rude meme of your face or leave a hateful comment on your Facebook wall. Honestly, Kath? My blood pressure hardly even rose. Because I know that your motivation isn’t child abuse,…
I’m Gonna Miss His Face.
My son was born with a cleft lip and palate. His lip was surgically repaired while he was in China, but the palate was wide open when we adopted him. I knew, going in, that surgeries were a part of his treatment plan. To date, his surgeries have been successful and necessary. Because of the open palate, everything my son ate came out his nose. Everything. There was never a need to guess what he ate for breakfast because it was always there, rolling out of his nostrils, and down toward his upper lip. The four surgeries Jax has undergone so far were definitely not optional. Tomorrow, a gifted…
5 Rules For Your First Boot Camp Class
I recently tried my first boot camp group exercise class on the advice of a friend. This friend (insert air quotes) told me where the class was and when to show up, but neglected to provide me with any truly useful information. I won’t let you make the same mistakes I did. Solidarity, sisters. Here are five things you need to know before attending a boot camp class. You’re welcome. 1. Wear Dark Sunglasses. Or Find a Candlelight Boot Camp. Because the mirrors, people, the mirrors. I have one full-length mirror in my home, and it makes me look 5’10”…
Dear eHarmony, Should I Talk About Back Fat in My Profile?
Dear eHarmony, Well, hello! It’s nice to meet you. I thought I’d reach out because it’s rare for someone to go to such great lengths to meet me. Since my divorce, some are having a hard time knowing what to say, but not you, eHarmony. You’re in my newsfeed, Gmail account and sidebar ads, waving your online arms, saying “Hey Becca! Over here! Check out online dating! Join us!” You are apparently extremely confident in my date-ability so I thought I’d check in and get your advice. Let’s not discuss the actual dating part because I put on mascara this…
“Mom, Will You Always Love Me?”
I was driving out of the parking lot of a thai restaurant in a sketchy part of town when my son asked from the backseat, “Mom, will you always love me?” This is not the first time he has asked this, and it won’t be the last, but it’s a tweak to the heart all the same. We have a routine, and he likes the reassurance. He needs the reassurance. “Jax, I will always, always love you.”“Every day?”“Every second of every minute of every day.” When he asks this, I know he’s feeling unstable. He knows I love him, but sometimes…
Becca Bought: Is it MAC? NARS? No! It’s Burt’s Bees!
I picked this up, smeared it on my lips, and I’ll be damned if people aren’t complimenting my new lip color all over town. I know, I should be demure and say “oh, thank you so much” with a look that suggests it’s Mac’s new color, but I can’t help myself. Instead, I announce, “OMG it’s Burt’s Bees hibiscus! It’s $5! You have to get it!” I’m like a public service shopping announcement, really. Anyway, buy this. It’s moisturizing (I mean, hello, it’s chapstick), it’s cheap, and the color is actually COLOR. I’m buying in bulk.
Becca Bought: Cat-Eyed Cuteness
So I wasn’t excited to learn I needed readers. I was truly hoping I would always have perfect reading vision – it would be my middle-age super power. Alas, I’ll have to find another super power because it was time, y’all, it was time. BUT HOW CUTE ARE THESE? I mean, it’s all good now because I can see and look stylishly smarter. Win! Verdict: I will buy these again and again. (Depending on how many times I lose them.)
Becca Bought: The Gift That Won Christmas
The gift that won Christmas. This is the funniest gift in the history of the world and I was the lucky recipient! My kids are assholes. Your kids are assholes. Hey, all kids are assholes. But we love them, yes we do! And we might as well remind ourselves with a saucy oven mit as we cook a hearty meal that none of these asshole kids will thank us for. Verdict: Buy one. Don’t be an asshole.
Becca Bought: A Miracle Mounds Bar
OMG. THE. BEST. I CAN’T STOP. It’s a Mounds bar. Not “like” a Mounds bar or some chalky protein-y Mounds-ish bar, this tastes exactly like a Mounds bar. It’s a miracle! And I’m a bar connoisseur, if I say so myself. It’s the perfect dessert, or hey, you do you, and eat them all the livelong day. Shop Now on Amazon (affiliate) Verdict: Would I buy this again? ALREADY HAVE.
Becca Bought: Tang-Flavored Unicorn Dust
a.k.a. Natural Vitality Calm, Magnesium Citrate Supplement, Anti-Stress Drink Mix Powder, Orange – 16 ounce My doctor (from the Mayo Clinic, in case you need credentials) turned me onto it and I’m a believer. It feels like that first sip of wine, but it’s not alcohol, it’s magnesium! I like the orange flavor. It nostalgically reminds me of Tang. I’m so amazed by the efficacy (fancy words get higher points, right?) of this powdery mix-with-water product that I’ve been telling my friends to try it. I’m a Calm pusher. They should put me on commish. Yesterday, I filled a small…
