I’ve been asked recently if I’d always wanted to write a book.
The simple answer is no. The long answer is a vast series of sleep-deprived, cartoon-crazed events and it all starts with E.L. James and a little story called 50 Shades of Grey.
When my son, who I’ll refer to as Salty, was a baby he drank copious amounts of milk. I was constantly giving him a bottle. Hence, I was in a chair staring into oblivion, like a good mom. My five-year-old daughter, Sweetie, liked to watch cartoons while I feed the hungry bear.
I’m sure this is no revelation to any parent out there, but if I had to listen to another episode of Yo Gabba Gabba or those sickeningly, adorable Backyardigans I was gonna stick erasers in my ears, damn the consequences.