Carrie Saum

I said it. The thing moms are never ever supposed to say. I NEED MORE.

As white feminists, we have an absolute and undeniable responsibility to seek out perspectives of marginalized people and gain understanding.

Nothing says fall to me like a pumpkin treat, and I love the combination of cloud-like cookies and frosting. It’s like an Oreo and a birthday cake had a baby during pumpkin spice season and created a true joy of autumnal desserts.

20 years later, it is still an experience that I am actively deconstructing. Why? Because I joined a cult. And maybe have too. If so, here’s how to get out.

This is by no means a comprehensive list of internalized toxic beliefs, but it’s a start. Keep fighting the good fight, friends.

When I tasted creamy jalapeño dip for the first time, I had to figure out immediately what was in it and how to make it. I was instantly addicted to the herby-creamy-spicy hit with just the faintest vinegary undertone. And by addicted, I mean that I wanted to drink it through a straw.

Awash in the postpartum anxiety, I felt glued to the couch, unable to mobilize myself to get anything done except the bare basics of being a present.

We are tired and hurting and don't know what else to do.

Heating up a kitchen while you are doing your level best to not become human molten lava is always the goal during summer, no matter where you live. I prefer batch cooking if I can make that happen, and never, under any circumstances, do I turn on my oven. Unless I'm baking a birthday cake or maybe some hand pies.

If you tend to eschew your inner child and prefer to feel somewhat sophisticated and faux-healthy, you can call a frozen wine drink a smoothie and it totally counts. Because we are all of a legal drinking age here and there is no shame in consuming your daily super fruit serving in a nutritious, fermented, frozen liquid form. The best part about all of this is you don’t need GOOD wine, you just need not-chardonnay.