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Dear Sarah from June 2024, You're currently sitting on the cold kitchen floor in those faded black Lululemon leggings that have a questionable hole near the seam, holding a cup of lukewarm coffee you poured at 8 AM, and you're...

It's 3:17 AM. My oldest son, Jackson—who's basically my walking, talking cautionary tale at this point—is screaming so loud I'm pretty sure the cows in the pasture next door are waking up. I've got him pinned down on the changing...

Standing in the glowing fluorescent aisles of a massive warehouse club, staring at a cardboard mountain of Rico wipes. You know the ones. Every mom group on the internet treats them like sacred texts. Another parent bumps my cart to...