Here’s how it went down, my evening of unrest:

Me: It's 7:22 and Daddy isn't home from work yet.

Kids: [random high-pitched screaming while punching each other]

Me: It's been 12 hours. Six of those hours were spent running errands and going to appointments.

Kids: [pooping in backyard]

Me: I'm going to go take a shower after I clean up the poop in the yard.

Kids: [screeching laughter at the biggest turd even to be shat out in a yard by a three-year-old]

Me: Did you hear me? I'm going to go take a shower. With the door locked. Do not turn on any water, touch anything on fire, fool around with ice of any sort, or turn on anything gaseous. Do not mess with electricity. Do not mess with anything that is breathing – unless it's to pet the dog after you feed him. Do not eat anything yourselves. Stay away from all medicines, cleaners, liquids or poisons. Do not point anything at each other. And by "anything" I mean anything pointed, sharp, forked, wooden, plastic, metal, or blunt. Anything. Do not engage one another at all. Do not go to the bathroom anywhere other than a toilet – but not the toilet in the bathroom where I will be – with the door locked. Do not bother me. Don't come ask questions, don't slide notes under the door, don't yell things through the walls, don't bang on the pipes in the other bathroom. Do not jiggle the door handle. You may only politely knock if A) someone is blue – but not from markers B) someone is unconscious C) someone is bleeding enough for it to drip and make a puddle D) someone has an arm or leg pointing in the wrong direction.

Kids: Did you say something? We were too busy taking pictures of the enormous turd.

Anatomical discussions with a 3.5 year old

"Well, I can't poop in the potty because there is no poop in my body."

"My brain lives in my head."

"Sometimes this thing hangs off my fingernail and I have to chew it."

"There is something crusty in my eye. DON'T CLEAN IT. I'm going to eat it."

"You have a bulva and not a penis, but you still have pee in your body, but how does that work?"

"My voice comes from my throat. I can feel my voice. In my throat. And I have pictures!"

"My brain protects my skull."

"Hairspray will put bugs in your hair"

"I was a baby in your tummy. I had a rocking chair in there."


No, that doesn’t work for me

My schedule is not a flexible calendar of infinite possibilities. I know that might sound shocking. It's weird, right? That a grown woman, a mother of three, someone who works from home, would have a schedule that is tightly wound around a few stable pins, and if one of those pins is removed the whole thing collapses under the weight of itself?


So why is it whenever someone calls me to reschedule an appointment or move something around, they act shocked and offended that I cannot immediately accomodate their first suggested reschedule time? WOE.

I just had the most annoying phone call with someone from a doctor's office. Weeks ago, I scheduled an appointment for next Tuesday. This appointment was rescheduled once. Then, this morning, the office called to move it again. There was no way for me to make it work. "I'll be out town," I said. I actually said it three times while the woman on the other end of the phone struggled to make sense of the words.

"Great, I'll put you down for Thursday!"

"Actually, I'll be out of town."

"Well, I'm just going put you down for Thursday."

"Um, no, that's not going to work. I'll be out of town."

"So… Thursday, then?"

"Nope. Out of town."

[long pause, deep sigh, unecessary snark tone]

"Well, when are you coming back?"

Then she proceeded to offer me every timeslot that conflicts with every school pick-up time, everyday, for eternity. Then, she offered a 4:15 slot. Awesome. Yes, I will bring all three kids with me to the headache doctor. So we can watch a migraine unfold in realtime?

We finally settled on a date and a time, where I will only have to bring one child. So. Perfect?

THEN, I get ANOTHER call from ANOTHER doctor's office. This time, the nurse is confused as to why I called.

"Did you need something else from us?"

"I'm actually calling you back. You left me a message? Twice yesterday. About needing to be referred to a rheumatologist?"

"Oh. Right." [pause] "All your labs were normal."

"Well, good! So why the referral?"

"Because of your symptoms. And pains."


"Well, the doctor thought that since everything is normal and you have these symptoms, you should see a rheumatologist."

"What symptoms? That I'm tired a lot? I have three kids, one of whom kicks me in the mouth all night."

"I'm going to give you some numbers."

"And if I call these numbers and they ask why I'm making an appointment, what do I say? All my labs are normal but I'm tired because I never sleep?"

[pause] "Just tell them of all your symptoms"


"Well, I guess you don't have to follow up with a rheumatologist, but…"

"The labs were normal, right?"


"We have concurred I have no 'pains', right?"


"Then, I'm going to go with the normal part and forget all about the rest of this. Cool?"


You guys. Is today National Be Annoyed By Your Doctor's Office Day? What gives? I have a stomach ache now, but I don't really want to talk to a doctor about it. I might get referred to someone who wants to take out my eardrums, but only on Tuesdays or Fridays at 2:45 or 3:15pm.

So here’s a thing I wrote

I sometimes forget that there are Facebook friends and Twitter followers and blog readers and that these are often groups of different people instead of one group of all the same people. Granted, a lot of the people are the same, and this creates a kind of Venn diagram of people annoyed by Kari in varying degrees.

All of this is to say I wrote something new for McSweeney's. Probably 90% of you already know this and are surely tired of hearing me talk me about it. But just in case you haven't heard me squealing for the past few days, then TA DA, check out this essay full of synonyms for vagina and jabs at certain Republicans determined to boss ladies around about what they should and should not being doing with their ladyparts.

I present to you, An Open Letter To The Tiny White Man The Republican Party Has Sent To Live In My Underpants

Enjoy. (And if you don't enjoy, don't yell at me. Thanks.)


Here's the thing. I've been thinking about going back to school for a long time. I love classes and studying and tests and everything. I'm a huge bonafide nerd/geek hybrid. And with everything that's happened in the past few years, I've thought – and joked – about going to nursing school. Even find a pre-med program.

But what I didn't tell anyone is that I took the MCAT. Just for fun. And I passed.

So I have a decision to make. Can a 35-year-old with three kids, who's been out of academics for a long, long time really manage medical school? Will the whole family follow me to school, or will I commute? (Assuming I get accepted into the UT medical school in Houston.)

Am I really ready for something like this? Can anyone be ready?

It was all fun and games until I passed the test, and now it's real and exciting and all a lie because today is April first. I think I will just keep writing books and chasing kids and maybe become a backwoods healer. What do you think?