About me

I’m Allison Hart.

Allison Hart

Before we get started, I feel the need to tell you right up front that I love my children. Yes,  it’s true that I love them best when they’re sleeping, but nonetheless I love them, despite anything that I might say here, and I feel that it’s important that you know that from the beginning.

Now, to the meat of the matter: I’ve learned that motherhood is a series of shocks and disappointments, disgusting things under my fingernails, horrifying smells and constant irritation. There’s all the joy too, but that’s the stuff you’ve already heard about. Here’s the stuff that you won’t hear about because other moms might think you’d think they don’t love their kids enough, but I started with that, so I’m off the hook and will tell it like it is.

I’m a writer who works from home while trying to parent 7-year-old Luke and 5-year-old Sally. I’m married to Tim, who is silly because he’s from New Zealand. So far, we’re all surviving. We have good days and bad, but most are a mix of the two. I hope I can provide a few laughs as I trip my way along the road of motherhood. My kids are teaching me how to be a mom when I’m supposed to be teaching them how to be people. Truly, I have no idea what I’m doing.

I am the mom who makes you feel better about your parenting. 

You can follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.

My work can be found in the hilarious anthologies You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth, and I Just Want to be Alone.


Assorted and random things about me:

  1. I’m 38;
  2. I’ve been married to Tim for 11 years;
  3. Before kids (BK), I traveled the world, held many assorted jobs, and lived in some fabulous places;
  4. A good friend of mine once told me, “Allison, you’re so smart and you hide it so well!”
  5. I think I’m funny. Sorry if you don’t;
  6. My favorite foods are sushi and maple sugar candy. Not together. Oh, and wine. Is wine a food?
  7. I think my kids are an endless source of amusement and misery. Often at the same time;
  8. I welcome comments. If you’re really mean I might delete it. If you’re really mean but I think you’re funny, I might keep it;
  9. I promise to read every single comment. I can’t always reply, but it’s not because I don’t value the comments. I really do! It’s because sometimes I have to parent my kids;
  10. If something I say here shocks you, chances are I’m joking.

So, that’s me. Thank you for visiting! Check out some of my popular posts to get a sense of what I’m all about.

Recent Posts

Kids are bad at all the stuff they do

Here’s why I’m a worse mom than you: instead of feeling proud and happy that my son qualified for the A-level swim championships, I’m annoyed that I now have to spend two weekends going to two different championships because my daughter is in B-level.

Here’s why I’m an even worse mom than you now think: instead of sucking it up gracefully, I spent this morning trying to subtly convince my daughter that she didn’t want to swim in her championships at all, (which I’ve taken to calling “optional final meet”). To be completely fair, I did also try to convince my son not to swim in his.

To my dismay, both kids are keen to participate and Sally even irritatingly wisely said, “It doesn’t matter if you’re in A or B, or if you win or come in last, it’s that you try hard and have fun.” What the hell? No, what matters is that swim meets are a thousand* hours long and that both championship meets are forty** minutes from home, meaning that on consecutive Sundays we need to drag everyone out of bed at dawn, drive, and then sit around for a thousand hours in order to watch a total of four minutes of my child swimming. And, to make it worse, on each of those Sundays we’ll be dealing with the non-swimming child complaining of boredom.

Parenthood is many things, but above all else, it is doing stuff you don’t want to do.

We sit through performances and recitals where singers can’t sing and dancers can’t dance. We play tea party and Minecraft and feign interest in doll houses and Pokemon. We hang bad art on our refrigerators and read the same stupid book twenty-seven dozen times.

“But the performances and the recitals aren’t about raw talent, it’s our precious children learning to express themselves. Look how adorable,” you say.

“Bad art? There is no bad art! Your child’s drawings are developmentally on point. They are expressions of love and hanging them proudly shows your child that you value their efforts, you fucking monster,” you say.

Sure. All of that is true.

I love my children despite their complete and utter lack of any appreciable talents. I’ll beam with pride, “awww” with parental devotion, and take five hundred photos at the shitty concert just like you. But, did you attend these concerts or stand out in the weather to watch a children’s sporting event before you had kids? Of course not. If these things were at all good, then we would choose to attend them regardless of our status as parent. But they’re not good. They’re crap.

Kids are bad at all the stuff they do. It’s not their fault. They’re born not knowing a damn thing. One could hardly expect a person who takes a year to figure out walking to be a great dancer a few short years later. A person who regularly finds herself outwitted by a bathroom stall lock, or who can’t manage to eat a meal without creating a mile wide radius of food debris, can’t reasonably be expected to produce great things.

Kids suck at art

So I will attend two swim championships. I’ll cheer my daughter and remind her to keep swimming and stop waving at me, all while knowing that she’s the greatest kid out there. I’ll feel proud when Luke comes in first, beating all the other kids who can’t do butterfly for shit, because he can’t do butterfly slightly better than they can’t. And after the meets are over and behind us, we’ll move on to some other thing I don’t want to do.

*All numbers greatly exaggerated for sarcastic effect. It is safe to assume this applies to all numbers I ever say, unless explicitly stated otherwise.

**Example of actual number. If it were an exaggeration it would have more zeros.

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