Children of the Corn

 

It doesn’t matter where you live there is always that mother who strives to make the rest of us look like assholes. There is a mom at my son’s pre-school who seems to skip into the building with bluebirds on her shoulder. She sews her daughters clothing and jars vegetables for the winter. I had no doubt she would make Valentine’s Day cards. While the rest of us scoured Walmart for Spiderman Valentines that say things like “I Want to Hang Around You” she cut down a tree and made her own paper. I barely had enough patience to sit as my son signed his own name to each card. Each one is smaller than a tea bag and he scribbles letters like he is writing a ransom note with his foot.

 

Mommy Dearest did not disappoint. This year she not only used glitter and stickers, she made a mother flipping 3D card. (My husband thinks my blog is too new to use the phrase ‘mother fucking’) When you open the card a photograph of The Children of the Corn pops up. It’s startling. I am guessing this was a rejected Christmas card photo taken at Sears. Her son looks like his head could spin around at any moment. Her daughter isn’t even in our class. She might as well have included their Uncle Bill and Aunt Sally in the photograph. I hope she realizes when my son isn’t looking this card will end up in the garbage like the rest of them. However, I will always cherish the Valentine my son made during class out of old puzzles pieces and ribbon. Miss Crafty Pants could learn a lesson or two from him.

Tickets please?

I just received an email from Ticketmaster with information on upcoming shows it believes I would enjoy. Among the recommendations are a Hanson concert, Golden Gloves Boxing and The Mr. & Mrs. Bodybuilding Contest. So, my purchase of Elmo Live leads them to believe I like to MmmBop or watch a husband and wife beauty pageant? I’m struggling to lose 10 (or 20 pounds) from my last pregnancy and my husband eats nachos in bed.

Besides when in the hell would I have time to go to anything alone. I can’t even take a #2 without a child being in the room with me. If I do go anywhere without the youngsters in tow I want to go to a restaurant that doesn’t have chicken nuggets or french fries on the menu. I want to savor each morsel of food without telling my children to “take a bite”, “sit down”, or “chew with your mouth closed.”

I am at the point in my life where I am hoping to get front row seats to The Fresh Beat Band concert. A band where the rapper is a 6 foot tall white guy with the brain of a 5-year-old. This guy makes Shaggy from ScoobyDoo look like a road scholar. Besides, I don’t want to see oiled up, muscular men with John Boehner tans bouncing around in a ring. Um, well, maybe that’s not such a bad idea. Girls night!

Crack IS Wack!

 

I was like most girls in the late 80’s, early 90’s. I would dance in the mirror wearing a scrunchie in my hair and leg warmers. Whitney Houston’s songs would be blasting on the boom box. For those of you in your 20’s, a boom box was a portable radio with a cassette tape player that you could carry on your shoulder. If you were rich you had one with two tape players. Now, this was before Whitney married Bobby Brown. Cissy should have called Mr. Telephone Man to keep this bad boy away from her daughter. It is reported that Bobby Brown broke down sobbing on stage last night over Whitney’s sudden death. He is on tour with old members of New Edition. Perhaps these were tears of guilt and shame. He took the pop diva down this road. Sure, Whitney is also to blame. She had a life most people only dream of, but it wasn’t enough. I find her decisions incredibly selfish. Once you become a mother you don’t get to think about yourself first. Do you have any idea how many nights I would love to eliminate my stress by chugging margaritas? I can’t. I have three children who depend on me. Children I chose to have. Children I love more than myself. Whitney Houston obviously didn’t realize that is “The Greatest Love of All.” Otherwise, the pop diva would have taken one look at Bobbi Kristina and put down her crack pipe. Well, actually if she would have looked at Bobbi Kristina she would have realized her drug money should have been used to buy that poor girl some braces. You can drive a truck through her front teeth.


Don’t cough on me!

It happened. My body couldn’t fight it anymore. I am sick. I’m certain I caught this virus from the little girl coughing in my face at my son’s pre-school. Hey moms out there: If your kid has green snot oozing out of their nose KEEP THEM HOME. I know this may cut into your scrapbooking time. The stickers aren’t going anywhere. You can finish your tribute to Walt Disney another day. I actually overheard a mother the other day say, “He threw up last night, but felt fine this morning and didn’t want to miss gym day.” Plus, she needed to finish the wreath she was making for her front door.

My older son offered to take care of me, “After you make us breakfast and do the dishes you should go lay down mom.” At least he didn’t want me to vacuum too. Sure, it would be great if I could actually rest when I don’t feel well. However, the minute I laid my weary head on a pillow my children would scream.

My husband is useless in times like this.  He was raised in a family of boys. He didn’t have a sister and never learned basic survival skills. Forget about trying to do a load of laundry. The concept of not mixing colors and whites doesn’t resonate with him. “Why not just get it all done in one load?”

If I took a day off from being a mom I would just have to work overtime tomorrow to clean my house. If I was out of commission for two days my family would end up on a reality show on TLC climbing over feces and empty pizza boxes.

What the?


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