I hate Legos. I hate the size of them. I hate the amount of them. And I hate all the times they have punctured the arch of my foot. But they keep Grady focused, on task and entertained. So I buy them every chance I get.

I hate Shopkins. A bunch of nickel-sized fruit toys with eyelashes and lip injections. And if fruit wasn’t enough, now they have minuscule pastries and soccer balls and toilets and harps. Why is this fun? Why is it fun to play with a plastic cherry? I don’t know. For me, it’s just another four to five hundred things to pick up at the end of the day. But Annie Bea loves them. She wants every itty bitty Shopkin in this great big world.

I was explaining to my friend, Carolina, how mad I get over Legos and Shopkins. I stub my toes. I lose my balance. I scream. I go from zero to lunatic every time I encounter a plastic object smaller than my pinkie.

Carolina: You’re momgry.

What? Did my friend who has no kids just sum up my very complicated feelings about Legos and Shopkins in a single word? Momgry?

Yes. Oh my God, yes. I am momgry. We all are. And it’s ok. It’s good to curse at Legos. It’s healthy to practice voodoo on the creators of Shopkins. Because then and only then can we stop being momgry and move on to more important things. Like wife-gry.

Tell me I’m not alone. Share what makes you #momgry on Instagram.