The New Year is weird. Nothing changes, but everything changes. Maybe it’s the end of the holiday insanity, or maybe it’s some psychological shift that occurs as we switch to the first month of a new year, but it really does feel new and different, though nothing is actually new or different.

Same people doing the same things in the same places, generally. Time is a human creation, people. We only think it’s a “new year.” The earth is all “same ol’ shit, new day.” Oh wait. Days don’t even exist. (Wahhhhhh we’re so insignificant! We’re all gonna die and fade into nothing! Seize the moment! Wake up! I’m afraid.)

Setting aside my existential angst, I’m always sure it’s going to be better this year. I can feel it. Every year, a strange breath of hope and newness in the air.

In unrelated news, 2013 can bite me. I’m done with the bastard. Thankfully, it appears done with me, too, and all of us for that matter.

Good riddance, motherfucker. You’ve taken too many of my jobs and burglarized my house one too many times and, in matters of actual importance, you’ve given too many people cancer and taken too many young lives in random tragedies.

I don’t know what your deal is, asshole, but you have got to go.

And so, in the interest of moving on to better and bright horizons while also accepting one’s slacker nature (please check out last year’s “Slacker Resolutions“), I’ve written some Honest Resolutions for 2014.

I get pretty tired of these sweeping “2014 is gonna be the BEST YEAR OF MY LIFE” and “I’m going to change everything I’ve ever done wrong ever and become the best version of myself!” resolution lists.

Basically I’m just hoping to suck less than I do now. Generally speaking, ya know?

Sucking less is a universally positive move.

So here we go, friends. My Honest Resolutions.

(FYI, these are not in order of priority.)

1. Stop getting up 30 minutes before you have to leave to get the kids to school. It never works, Janelle, and yet you keep doing it. Barking orders from your bed does not count as “getting up.” Every day is like a mad dash through hell trying to get out the door in time. Get out of bed an hour before you need to leave, dumbass. JUST DO IT.
2. Stop eating cookies in the middle of the night. We get it. You’re pregnant. You get hungry at 2 or 3am. But really? Cookies and milk? Are you ten? Are you Santa? Eat something else in the middle of the night. Work with me here.
3. Speaking of cookies, you’re 18 weeks pregnant and you’ve gained nearly 20 pounds. You are on a fast track to “OMG HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?” You may not comfort yourself with carbohydrates anymore. Well, you can. BUT NOT AS OFTEN AND I MEAN IT.
4. Do kegels. No really, do kegels this time. Though we all know how much you enjoy the Sudden Leg Trickle, maybe we could just get crazy and do something else this pregnancy. What do ya say there, champ?
5. Stop getting on your kids’ cases for eating food or drinking water in your presence. Just because you’re a fucking psycho and hormonal beyond recall, you do not have an excuse to snap at your child for ____, well, yeah. That’s right. Doing nothing. You’re the problem here, Janelle. YOU. I thought we’d been over this.
6. Do not, under any circumstances, reinstall Candy Crush.
7. Maybe jump off the crazy train right at the beginning rather than ride it all the way through to the end. For example, when you come home on Christmas Eve and your husband, in an effort to be helpful (because you have a cold and are exhausted and overwhelmed), has wrapped nearly all the gifts, and you feel a sudden pang of sadness because you are now “left out” and “not feeling a part of Christmas anymore,” recognize there’s something seriously wrong with you and for sure stop talking. Like, go to bed. No need to verbalize. Just sleep. That look he’s giving you? Yeah, that one. The one that manages to mix terror, sympathy and pure wonder right between the brows? Yeah, use it as a sign. GET OFF THE TRAIN.
8. Stop squealing at the dog. Alpha pet owners do not lose their cool with their idiotic Labradors. Rather, they are like Zen masters. Calm, powerful, grounded.
9. Actually maybe you should try not to squeal at all. Nevermind we’re supposed to be realistic. Work toward a generally squeal-free day. Less overall screaming. Good call.
10. Do not engage in flame wars. Do not engage in flame wars. Do not engage in flame wars. For the entire year, because it’s stupid exercise in futility AND YOU KNOW IT, do not engage in flame wars.
11. Do one healthy thing a day for yourself. Exercise, eat a super food, meditate, pray. Take care of yourself, asshole. If you aren’t taken care of you’ll have nothing to give others.
12. Stop staying up so damn late just because the house is quiet.
13. Rather than turn everything in 24 hours after it’s due, maybe try 12. Winning!

But mostly, kid, you enjoy the next 5 months or so with Georgie as your “baby,” your family as it is, cause a new baby’s coming, one of these nights will be the last as it was, or is, and when he or she arrives, don’t miss a single whiff of that newborn breath, or the way they sleep on your chest with their bottoms in the air, and the fists they make for the first couple months, and the way the siblings will hold and smile and gaze as you watch them tumble on, relentlessly on, to the new, and different, and same.

Happy New Year, friends.

How are you hoping to move toward Generally More Solid Human?

Yay for sucking less in general!

So I’m not exactly sure how to tell you this, but, um, I’m pregnant.

Yep. You heard that correctly, and no, I’m not joking. And yes, we’re broke and living with my mother and between jobs and unsure where we’ll be in a few months.

WHAT?

Yeah, I know.

If any of you are thinking “But you can hardly handle the three you’ve got.”

Let me just say: “THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT DUDE!”

But logic has no place in the uterine equation, and when there’s a dude who’s SUPER INEXPLICABLY interested in another baby (at one point he was even like “But you promised me four kids the night we met!” and I was like “BUT I WAS ON ECSTASY MOTHERFUCKER!”) and your friends keep reproducing and there’s baby thighs and chin fat and you’ll be 35 in March and you’re like “but maybe just ONE MORE?” but then all hell breaks loose in your life and you’re all “never mind let’s wait” but then the IUD is already out so you get this app on your iPhone to determine when you’re ovulating and shit but oops, yeah. Baby.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

FYI, iPhone apps are horrible birth control. Tell your teens.

But this should explain my lack of writing and extreme exhaustion. I totally wanted to tell you all sooner, but you’re supposed to wait and shit. And I did wait. I’m 10 weeks now and I’ve known since 5 weeks.

I wanted to announce this to you all in some super cute, Pinterest-y way, but, actually no. I didn’t.

But that got me thinking about pregnancy announcements, which apparently exist, and then I was all “What would mine say if they told the truth?”

So obviously I made a few.

As always, please enjoy the clip art.

And let me just say: There will be bitching about this pregnancy. There will be sentimental slop. There will be a baby by mid-June of 2014 (or my heart hopes).

I’m glad we’re doing this together. It should be fucking interesting.

I’m already crafting a post: “Top 5 stupidest things I’ve read on my Babycenter due date forum.” (Yes, since I didn’t have you people, I ventured over to hell to see what was up and WOW. Now I just go over there for material.)

Please feel free to pin any of these for future ideas.

with so much love,

Janelle

P.S. So I’m planning another homebirth but since the midwives don’t give you a “confirmation ultrasound” I totally made an appointment with the local women’s health people and lied to the OB/GYN to avoid The Homebirth Lecture to get my ultrasound. I just couldn’t believe it was real. I just wasn’t feeling “connected.”  I wanted to SEE something.

And when I saw the tiny rushing furiously powerful little heart I thought “Oh, yeah, there you are. I knew I loved you.”

And I got excited, and that’s the truth.

Also all of the above. That’s true too. Some things never change, I guess.

P.S.2 REALLY should have made sure I wasn’t going to have another baby BEFORE writing those baby sprinkle/gender reveal party posts because OHMYGOD my friends. Are losing it.

I’m 95% sure I may have both. But they will be ironic. As god as my witness, THEY WILL BE IRONIC.

And you’re all invited.

I agree with this dude who said parents need to calm the fuck down.

I would like to add that people need to grow the fuck up. From this point forward, we shall use the acronym GTFU. Sometimes, that’s the simple answer. Calm the fuck down, GTFU.

Personally, I’m pretty tired of people walking around as if they’re grown up, only to commit some fatal juvenile act outta the damn blue, signaling a formerly unknown, totally unmanageable well of immaturity. It’s actually rather disturbing. You’re hanging out with somebody all chill and shit thinking “Yeah, look at us, two adults.” And then boom! It happens and you’re all “Oh, wow. I was wrong. You’re my tween.” Possibly my toddler.

I mean come ON, I’m immature. But even I have figured out a few things during my years, and my bar is low I assure you. Some things just aren’t right, and whether we want to or not, at some point, in some areas, we simply must GTFU.

So in the interest of helpfulness (not really, I actually have no interest in being helpful at all), I have compiled a list of behaviors that really signal a need to GTFU.

This list is not comprehensive.

15 SIGNS YOU NEED TO GTFU

1. Finding yourself disturbed for more than 12 seconds by something you read on The Twitter. Check this out: There’s real life and there’s social media.Twitter falls into the category of “social media.” Social media is known to be the gathering ground of all idiots of the world, because not only are they idiots, they are INVISIBLE IDIOTS, which empowers the shit outta them. So, since it surpasses standard dumb exponentially via the blessing of anonymity, social media weirdness needn’t compel serious introspection or offense, but rather one thought and one thought only: What the hell is wrong with these people? And then you get back into real life.

2. Getting unfriended on Facebook results in days of thought and emotional turmoil. If you’re pissing people off, you’re doing it right. Well, usually. Unless you’re Rush Limbaugh or a proponent of this website, which promotes the equal treatment of white people (because that’s obviously always been a problem). There’s no way anybody on that website is doing it right.

3. Involving yourself in every corner of your kids’ lives, telling yourself it’s “for their good.” Look, the rest of the world knows you need to GTFU, because really, it’s all about you. You have not realized your childhood is over. Ship fully sailed. Please stop controlling your kids to bolster the value and meaning of your own existence. We are now in grown-up mode, where we reflect on past mistakes with a mix of nostalgia and horror as opposed to attempt to FIX them through innocent children. Get with the program!

4. You are offended/disturbed/made to feel funny by women breastfeeding in public without a cover. Masturbate, watch porn, move to Denmark. DO WHAT IT TAKES TO FIX YOURSELF.

5. You are in your 30s and think it’s acceptable to smoke weed and play video games all day while your partner goes to work.

6. You are the partner of number 5 and defend him(her?) to your parents by saying things like “But we’re in love.”

7. U write all correspondence like ur texting.

8. You play Candy Crush. Dude I’m totally joking. Just got addicted to that shit last week. However, if you play Candy Crush and send repeated requests for it, you may need to GTFU, realizing that most people with brains do not play stupid candy games on their iPhones. And if they do, they deny the shit out of it. So deny your shit like the rest of us! (for real though, lately, my house is so messy I choose to sit on the couch and wait for more Candy Crush lives as a new form of denial.)

9. When you’re angry at a friend, you prefer The Passive-Aggressive Unfollow rather than an actual conversation. Look. Good old face-to-face conversations tend to be more effective than a silent click and seething disdain. While I can get behind the “unfriend” as joyfully as the next guy, if you are going to remain a fixture in my life for reasons beyond my control, can we just talk about our issues directly rather than dance around “follow” lists?

10. Wearing sweatpants with words on the rear.

No wait. Actually I’m not done with the Passive-Aggressive Unfollow thing. You see here’s what makes your move childish and infuriating: YOU KNOW THE UNFOLLOW WILL IGNITE A CONVERSATION so it isn’t that you don’t want to talk, it’s that you want to poke me and prod me until I say “Okay, FINE, what is it. Why are you mad? How can I make this better?”

Newsflash: That’s what kids do. GTFU.

11. Yelling at check-out people instead of managers. Everybody knows it’s not their fault. We’re all watching you yell at the pimply faced 18-year-old Target check-out-guy nursing a hangover and general malaise are thinking one thing: “What sort of asshat thinks it’s this kid’s fault the headphones were marked on clearance and now they’re not?” GTFU.

12. You have a beard like this guy.

I’m kidding. If you have a beard like this guy, you have reached the pinnacle of manhood. You have no further to go. Stop now while you’re ahead. YOU WILL NEVER GET MORE GROWN UP.

13. Judging people’s maturity by their facial hair. OH FUCK YOU. It’s a reliable maturity indicator.

14. Making duck face in photographs, seriously. 

15. Dismissing entire pieces of writing on account of one typo. Grown-ups have been the asshole, probably on more than one occasion, who suddenly for absolutely no apparent reason emails “there” coworkers and gets a reply from them, reads it, notices the typo in shock and horror, requesting immediately that those same coworkers hold her head in a full toilet bowl until she stops squirming.

Life is no longer worth living.

Okay if you think grammatical errors or looking like a douchebag signals the end of the world, you should probably GTFU, because actual grown-ups have realized we’re all douchebags who do the wrong thing, piss people off, and people piss us off.

And rather than pout and freak out and unfollow each other, we can just talk about it, like big people.

Or we can write about it on our blogs, sure the offenders won’t see anyway, CAUSE THEY’VE ALL UNFOLLOWED YOU.

OMG

I need to GTFU.

Leave me alone. I’m need to go play Candy Crush in my sweatpants with words on them while I unfollow people who were mean to me on Twitter.

And then I’m going to try to follow my own advice, which would be way easier if I didn’t hate advice like a fucking 16-year old.

No but really. The passive-aggressive unfollow thing is super uncool. I stand by that one with every shred of my immature heart.

I spend a good portion of my mothering life in a state of “What the fuck just happened?”

The rest of the time I’m like “Wait. I’m supposed to care about that?”

You know, I’m looking at magazines and headlines and websites and since they’re all saying the same thing it APPEARS that these things are central to motherhood and maybe, since those things don’t really interest me, I’M THE WEIRDO.

[Which we all know is true. I’m just sayin’ I don’t think it’s on account of my lack of interest Jessica Simpson’s birth plan.]

At first this bothered me. I thought I was the lost sheep among well-adjusted, um, mother sheep? Sorry. That went poorly. You know, like everybody was “in” on something and I was out. Like all the mothers are doing it, Janelle, what’s wrong with you?

It was like high school all over again, when the popular girls seemed to know how to wear make-up and date boys and I was like “let’s drop acid and listen to some Dead.”

What is with me and the bad examples today?

Anyway I admit it, I used to think something was wrong with me because I didn’t give a shit about most of the things mainstream media seemed to say were inherent in the experience of motherhood. It’s not that I have anything against these things, it’s just that they don’t have much relevance to my actual life, my daily experience of motherhood.

But as the years went by and I grew more secure in my own marginality, sagging breasts and generally poor attitude, I started meeting more and more women who can’t relate to “The Very Best Jogging Stroller!!” and “The Mommy Spring Must-Haves!”

In fact, I now know there’s a whole shitload of us in the same “Yeah, sorry, don’t give a fuck” boat.

So, as a helpful little guide (I’m so helpful, right?), I have composed a list of topics I keep seeing but just don’t care about.

Its official name is:

Shit I Don’t Care About but You Keep Talking About Anyway.
(and by “you” I mean “media,” obviously)

• “The cutest [insert holiday] Cupcakes” – Since I never, ever, EVER volunteer for any school-related event, celebration or activity, my need for appropriately themed cupcakes is pretty much nil. Furthermore, if faced with a cupcake need (beyond hormonally induced depression), I usually discover it approximately 8 hours before they’re due, resulting in an angry last-minute trip to the store and boxed cupcakes that are lucky to have frosting. If they have sprinkles I have achieved greatness.
• Best Yoga Pant – I don’t do yoga (though I’m always going to start “next week!”). If I did, it would be amazing and my pride would overflow and I’d be running around telling my friends what a badass I am. The type of pant I’m in would be rather superfluous at that point, don’t you think?
• “Matching Bras and Underwear” – If attending an event important enough that I’m contemplating my undergarments, I WOULD BE WEARING SPANX, which immediately renders the whole discussion meaningless. Do you see the problem here?
• “How to Please my Man in Bed” – Totally got this one already: Have sex with him.
• “How to Spice up My Marriage” – Have sex with him more than once a week. Why are we discussing the obvious?
• “How to Raise Gifted Children” – Honestly, at this point, I’m just hoping they don’t end up crackheads.
• “How to Plan a Week’s Worth of Meals” – I feel like we should start with 2 or 3 days and see how that goes before we get all carried away with “weeks.”
• “How to Get Along with Other Moms at Playgroups” – Should be renamed to “How to spot the mom as miserable as you are so you can get together and talk shit.”
• “How to Entertain Kids.” – NOT MY PROBLEM.
• “How to Engage Kids in Imaginative Play” – Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose?
• “Baby Sleep Solutions.” – Lies, all lies.
• “Effective Disciplining Techniques” – Yes, thank you for the excellent ideas, which I will try so hard to adopt only to find myself 3 days later resorting to the old stand-by disciplinary technique of “yell, feel guilty, apologize, repeat.”
• “Favorite Baby Toys” – As much as you keep trying to convince me my baby will like [whatever] better than cardboard boxes, cell phones, kitchen utensils and/or the small chokable item she just discovered on the carpet, years of experience tell me otherwise and I no longer believe you.
• “Kate Middleton’s Maternity Outfits” – Also don’t give a shit about the maternity outfits of any other rich, skinny woman who looks better pregnant than I do not pregnant. Kthanksbai.
• Come to think of it, I also don’t care about their baby showers, nursery décor, strollers, weird-ass naming choices, or the $89.00 onesie they just purchased (with the ironic hipster slogan on the front).
• Any article with the word “vs.” in it (“Crib vs. Co-sleeping/Circumcision vs. Non/Bottle vs. Breast)” – WHAT DO YOU THINK I’M SOME SORT OF SADIST? All this article is going to do is result in the most insane horrific name-calling comment section you’ve ever seen. All the crazies come out for these fuckers. Please count me out.
• “How to have a Smooth Transition back to Work after Maternity Leave” – Replace “smooth” with “the least horrifying” or “least traumatic,” and we can talk.
• “How to Organize your House” – Reading an article as a first step to organizing my house is like sending an email to world leaders asking them to please consider world peace at their next staff meeting. NICE IDEA, completely ineffective.
• “How to Keep your Car Clean and Neat” – I’m sorry. Come again?
• “How to Nurse Discreetly” – Oh go fuck yourself.
• “Things you Shouldn’t Say in Front of Your Children” – I guarantee you that ship has sailed.
• “Food in the Shape of cute Animals” – I once made pancakes in the shape of Mickey Mouse. Then I felt weird inside for like a week. I’m pretty sure a vegetable panda would traumatize me for life.
• “How to make memorable holidays” – Um, “memorable” is not the problem. “Enjoyable” is the thing I can’t seem to find.
• “Easy Steps to Potty Training/Weaning/Sleeping alone” – Look, if you’re going to just make shit up, I feel like you shouldn’t be writing articles.

And now, my favorite topic of all time:  “How to be a More Confident, Guilt-Free Mother.”

This is pure beauty on account of the irony, because as we all know, the only way to achieve that is to STOP READING CRAP ABOUT MOTHERHOOD.

Boom.

I feel better already.

You?

I’m turning 34 tomorrow. I know, I know. I’m a baby.

Unless you’re under the age of 25, in which case I’m used up with one foot in the grave and should probably just throw in the ol’ towel now while I still have some dignity left.

Whatever.

To be honest, I get a little freaked out about my birthdays, not because I’m upset about getting old and therefore less hot (um, “less hot” is a condition I’ve grown rather accustomed to, thankyouverymuch) and more saggy (tits to knees, for the win!), or because I’m afraid to face my own mortality (I’m kinda happy just to be here).

But rather because I get a little irritated that I’m not “further along” in my existence – like I should be more or better or someplace else, you know, more “accomplished,” “advanced,” SUCCESSFUL. Whatever the fuck that means. I don’t know. I’m happy where I am. At least I think I am. I have you people. I like that.

But my birthdays are always accompanied by a vague irritation, a little stick in my side, a lil bastard sitting on my shoulder whispering in my ear: “Janelle, you really should be more by now. You’re kinduva loser.”

I think this irritation is significantly increased by the fact that I spent a good portion of my adult life drunk, running around and around (and around and around) in tiny little circles (which felt very important at the time, FYI) – going nowhere, as they say, very, very fast.

So really, I’ve only been a grown up since 2009, but considering where I was then, it’s safe to say I’ve come a long way, and, once again, have nothing to complain about.

So that’s rad: When you set the bar really freaking low, you can totally be satisfied with minimally awesome conditions.

Wow, that sounds like a lot parenthood.

Anyhoo, as usual, since (as you know) I’m a radiant beam of positivity, I thought I would make up a list of all the things that suck worse than turning 34.

This is my version of “positive self-talk.”

I think you’ll agree with many of them.

Things that Suck More than Turning 34:

1. Being a crack head.
2. Eating lunch with Poppy Harlow.
3. Being Poppy Harlow’s son.
4. Growing up in Westboro Baptist Church.
5. Being born a female in Afghanistan.
6. Running a day care.
7. Finding yourself locked in a room with other people’s offspring. (Oh wait. That’s number 6.)
8. Finding yourself locked in a room with your own children. (Yes, that’s better.)
9. Tattooing small nautical stars all over your face whilst drunk.
10. Realizing you miscalculated and you’re actually 35. (Whatever bitch, I was born in 1979!)
11. Failing your Master’s Degree comprehensive exam. (Somebody hold me.)
12. Being born a male in Afghanistan.
13. Weighing 400 pounds.
14. Having 11 kids.
15. Driving home from the beach with sand in your bathing suit. (Seriously, do you remember that?)
16. Owning a yellow Labrador retriever who runs away from you at a softball game, breaking his collar, at precisely the moment your 2-year-old bolts off in the other direction and you realize you’re alone and totally and completely screwed because OMG the dog and OMG the child. So you start asking strangers to help you (because they’re all standing there motionless with a face like “Wow. Look at this unique unfolding of events.”) until an angel from on high comes over and says “I’ll get the kid. You get the dog.” And you run off and tackle the motherfucking Labrador like a ninja WWF wrestler. (Not that this happened to me last night.)
17. A world without the Grateful Dead.
18. Bigots.
19. A world without Tyler Durden, Jane Austen, Bill Murray, and/or my husband. (Um, that was a odd list.)
20. All things that hurt people.
21. Over-zealous baseball coaches.
22. And their evil parental cohorts.
23. Expressions like “the miracle of motherhood” and “I’m playing catch up,” and “at the end of the day” and “we need a paradigm shift” and…
24. BabyCenter forums discussing circumcision or sleep training.
25. Little girl shirts that say “Step Aside, Barbie.”
26. Implying that your child is a replacement for an emaciated plastic doll.
27. Making up cute, catchy new words, such as “brutiful.” (Sorry, Glennon, but REALLY? Have a little mercy.)
28. Peeing for the first time after giving birth.
29. The expectation that because I’m a mother I should give a shit about seasonal cupcakes and yoga pants.
30. Cleaning up dog diarrhea from the back seat of your car in a Safeway parking lot while the offending canine vomits at your feet while simultaneously trying to eat it.
31. Listening to people try to defend the conclusion that marriage equality is a bad idea.
32. The moment you realized you sneezed um, too hard.
33. PTA meetings.
34. Administrative staff meetings.
35. Okay pretty much any meeting.

And…the Number ONE thing that sucks worse than turning 34…yeah that’s right you guessed it…

NOT TURNING 34.

Because that would mean I didn’t make it past 33. And who wants that?

Really, it’s funny, right? That this is what we all want and don’t want: Getting older. It sucks. But the alternative sucks more.

So this is it, I guess. We just keep moving on and on and on until we aren’t moving on anymore, and every year we get a little closer to that moment, trying like hell to live in this one (Make it count! It may be all you’ve got! (no pressure, though)) — even when it’s a little grayer than expected, a little less glamorous and interesting and bright. Though in some ways, it’s way more so.

It’s the accumulation of all that I’ve ever been and the stuff my future is made of. Here is where it ends, and begins, the life I’ve got, the only one.

So I guess I’ll just say fuck it, and welcome, 34.

To be honest, I’m just happy to be here.

Also happy I’m not having lunch with Poppy Harlow. Because really, at the end of the day, we all just have to look on the bright side and enjoy the fucking miracle of motherhood. A paradigm shift, people. That’s what we’re going for.

Let us also not forget I’m way less fat than I used to be. WINNING!