Just Tell Me I'm Pretty: Musings on a Messy Life

By Heather LeRoss

Award-Winner in the Humor category of the 2018 International Book Awards!
Have you ever felt overwhelmed by the chaos in your life? Ever felt like running away because it was all too much? Wanted to hide in the closet for a moment's peace and quiet? You know what you need? Some good ole mom humor!

If you need a break from the realities of this motherhood gig, wrap yourself up in the comfort of a book from someone who gets it. Heather chronicles real-life humiliation, embarrasses herself frequently, and shares the joys and heartaches of helping her ADHD son find his place in the world while ensuring his brother doesn't get lost in his shadow. A successful day sometimes is simply managing to complete yoga class without passing gas.

Just Tell Me I'm Pretty delivers real-life stories of a woman who embodies the modern-day struggle to be perfect, told with humor, honesty, and unabashed candor. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll ponder why moms talk so much about poop...

Grab your copy today - after all, it's the best book Heather's mom has ever read! Just Tell Me I'm Pretty chronicles everything in life from the humiliation of soiling oneself in IKEA (c'mon, haven't we all done this at one point?), why one should always be mindful of their butt, to how to diet the right way. Heather shares the joys and heart-aches of helping her ADHD son find his find his place in a non-ADHD world while ensuring his brother doesn't get lost in his shadow. Just Tell Me I'm Pretty is not simply another parenting book about funny stuff kids have done–it's a book on reality; good, bad, sticky, and pee-stained.

 

Don't miss the laughs, the potty humor, the embarrassing moments, and the struggles with raising her ADHD son.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kat Biggie Press
• Release date: Nov 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9780989934756

Book preview

Chapter 1

Dear Neighbor: I’m Sorry

It all started when I was on Pinterest looking for a hostess gift to take to an upcoming holiday party. The neighborhood is new; we’re all recently transplanted residents getting to know one another, and I was hoping to find something simple but ahhhmazing to make and take. Because yes, I admit that I care about what my neighbors think and am hoping to make a good impression. Especially after some of the things that have happened since my gang of boys and I moved in.

As I was looking at fun crafts to make with extra wine glasses (because for some reason, I have a shit ton of extra wine glasses), I realized what I should really do is write an apology letter to some of the neighbors for the things they might have noticed around our crib. It should probably be sent along with wine, since I’m sure my gaggle has driven more than a few people to drink.

I decided I would put a humorous spin on the goings-on in my hood, so I wrote this letter:

Dear New Neighbor—Please Let Me Explain,

I wanted to apologize for not stopping by to say a proper hello and welcome. I feel terrible for being so rude. I saw you wave this morning, and I wanted you to know that I was trying to wave back. Turns out I hadn’t put the lid on my coffee mug correctly, and as I raised my hand (and coffee mug) to say hi, it spilled all over my lap. Ouch! THAT was why you heard me drive by and exclaim, Oh for fuck’s sake, you’re an idiot! That was NOT directed at you but I can understand how, with my window rolled down, making eye contact with you and then belting that out, you might think it was directed at you. I was late to an appointment because the dog had decided it was the perfect moment to roll around in his own shit, which I had to clean up before leaving. I was frazzled, which explains why the lid was not tightly on my mug.

After this exchange, and the ones previously (blush), I thought a note of explanation was warranted so you don’t end up quickly moving to the other side of the street when walking by, or telling your kids they can’t come play at the weird neighbor’s house.

Last weekend, when I was walking my dog, I did wave (yay, me!) and noticed an odd look on your face when you waved back. I assumed you were just a little snooty and rude. It wasn’t until I got home that I realized I was wearing my pink rhinestone-studded tiara. That might have looked a little crazy. See, my son bought me the tiara for Christmas one year and told me it made him sad that I never wore it. In truth, I hadn’t been able to find it and was unpacking a box from our move (over a year ago) and found it! So I put it on to make him happy, then forgot I had it on and took the dog for a walk. I am NOT a woman who routinely wears a tiara to walk the dog, but I can understand how you might not believe that. Well, I guess I AM that woman but, well, you get it. I’ll need to let the other neighbors know too. Who would have thought it would be THAT night that I meet five of our new neighbors!

I also wanted to explain the conversation you heard in the backyard the other day. As you’ve seen, I have three boys between the ages of seven and twelve. It gets a little wild here! Despite what you heard me yell, I wasn’t literally going to duct tape my son’s butt-hole shut if he didn’t stop farting on his brother’s head. I mean, I would love to (since the farts can seem endless), but I would never REALLY do that.

And when you heard me yell, If you ask me to come and wipe your butt one more time, I’m going to make you start wiping mine! . . . well, that was just the frustration talking. I am completely capable of wiping my own butt, and of course would never make my son do that. I just get tired of telling my twelve-year-old to wipe his own butt. You get it, right?

I also feel the need to explain what my eldest told you the other day when you came to borrow our ladder. Evidently, he told you he couldn’t ask me because I was having Mommy’s Naked Time. See, the only way to ensure my boys don’t barge into my room looking for me is to tell them I’m naked. Then they knock. So sometimes on a Sunday afternoon, I escape into my room to play a little Candy Crush—I tell them I’m dressing and naked. I only take a half hour or so, but I guess they have now dubbed it Mommy’s Naked Time. Ha, ha, boys. You can come borrow the ladder tonight if you still need it.

Finally, I am so sorry for this afternoon, when my youngest came to your house asking if you knew where I was. I know you were a bit panicked, but everything was okay, really. He and his brother had been fighting all afternoon. When I went into the bathroom to yell at them to stop, they were having a sword fight—with their pee. I kind of lost it. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get the pee off the ceiling, and the dog was standing there licking the floor. I just needed to be alone. I told them all to go to their rooms and I hid in my closet. Sometimes I hide in there, where everything smells clean and it’s dark and no one can find me. I guess my youngest decided to come looking for me and freaked when he couldn’t find me. I’m sorry he frightened you so much that you felt compelled to call the police. I don’t know where he came up with the idea that I had been kidnapped.

I’m really a very nice woman and usually a very good neighbor. I would love to have you over for dinner. I think the kids will get along better. I’ve talked to my boys about never using the dried dog poo in the backyard as bullets in their Nerf guns, so that shouldn’t be an issue if the kids play Nerf wars again. I am so sorry your kids had to go through that.

Let me know if you’re free soon and we’ll plan something. I have lots of wine to choose from. Or beer. We also have rum, vodka, tequila, and well, we can find something you might like.

Sincerely,

Your New Neighbors

Hell hath no fury like a little brother who can’t reciprocate a fart on his brother’s head.

Chapter 2

I’m Going to Remember (and Record) EVERY Moment!

I have been writing since I was eight, when I decided to pen my first book (yes, you heard correctly). I wrote a story about my grandfather’s horse, Rhoney, and me. It was amazingly brilliant (if I do say so myself) and surely would have won me some awards had I not lost it. So, sadly there is no proof of my young genius, but trust me, it was great!

I’ve loved writing stories and poems for as long as I can remember. I majored in English Literature in college, amazed that they would give me college credit for reading good books and writing. Score! So, when I found out I was pregnant with my first child, I was going to be that mom who chronicles the whole journey. I was going to relish each day, not only of pregnancy, but also the whole journey of motherhood. I would keep track of everything, all the firsts, the funnies, the heart tugs, and the lasts. It would be recorded so that later I could create a beautifully bound book for my daughter, which would then be handed down through the generations.

The following is my journey, which I hope you enjoy.

July 15, 2002

Oh, holy shit! Just took a pregnancy test and it was positive! Guess this explains the bad acne and exhaustion lately. A baby! I think I’m still in shock. Dan is beside himself with excitement—he’s called everyone we know. I’m expecting a sign in our yard announcing it soon. Just kidding. Okay, have to go, we’re going out to celebrate. A baby! Aaaack!

July 29, 2002

I’m going to try and write more often now. But I’ve felt wretched. I don’t have morning sickness, I have ALL-DAY sickness. I feel good for about an hour in the afternoon and that’s it. Dan has been traveling the past two weeks, which is good, because I’m not great company. I think it’s a girl. Actually, I’m sure of it because (this is dumb, I know) I HAVE to have a girl. I’m a girly girl. I like pink and shiny and princesses and would be a horrible boy mom. Mom is sure I’m having a girl too. And don’t girls make you have extra estrogen? That’s probably why I have all the acne. I want to write more but feel like poo right now . . .

Oct. 31, 2002

Okay, not so great at writing. But the good news is, the morning (all-day) sickness has finally stopped! I’m craving fruit, grilled cheese sandwiches, and Blizzards from DQ. Not too bad health-wise, except I can never choose between the Oreo Blizzard or the strawberry one. Dan brings home both, and I choose which I’ll have right then and save the other for the next day. Well, that’s my plan anyway. So far, none have made it into the freezer until the next