Joni Edelman

I didn't get a lot of mothering as a child, but when I did, it was from her. She taught me how to sew, how to crochet. She taught me how to stand up for myself, to be tough. She taught me how to make fried chicken and fried okra, which I will never make, because it's fucking gross.

Silly me, I thought the darn thing took care of itself. Little did I know I was sorely mistaken and had a vagina complex.

My cocktail is wrong. It’s a gin and tonic with only gin. It’s a martini with 10 olives. And I can’t stand the sun. Not today. Not this month.

My husband and I recently traveled together without our kids for the first time . . . in a while. And it was a brand-new ball game.

And what’s better than eggs? Eggs direct from the cloaca of your own chicken.

You may have seen the acronym "HAES" floating around the Internet, and that is because the "Health At Every Size" movement has taken over THE WHOLE WORLD.

You know what’s an epidemic? Making people feel second rate and ashamed, criminalizing them for something like having an obese pregnancy.

A weekly trip to Walmart would end in tears — first theirs, then mine. Them pining in the toy aisle. Me saying no. Over and over. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to buy my kids whatever they wanted, it was that I couldn’t.

In honor of World Bipolar Day, I present a sample stream of consciousness based on my experiences living with this disorder.

You do not have to hate your body — but you don’t have to love it either. While I'm happy with my fat body, I miss being thin.