In the midst of being a mom of seven, the revelations are exhausting, parents heed the warning. At 3:30 a.m. I received a text from a college-baby. Actually, four texts, one I may have slept through. College-Baby: I slipped and fell at work and landed on my butt. College-Baby: I can’t sleep it hurts so bad. College-Baby: I think my tailbone is broken. College-Baby: Or maybe just badly bruised… but I cannot sleep I am in so much pain. Me: …
I have seven. As a mother of seven, I want to know why when a mom of many says to you, “Oh, you JUST have one?” you don’t PUNCH HER IN THE THROAT??? [Tweet ““Oh, you JUST have one?” #onlychild”] Can I just say? This is this most insulting comment one mother can say to another mother. Basically, you are saying… “That’s all you could muster?” Let me start by apologizing for us. We are sleep deprived, sex deprived and …
The buffalo boy smell is very distinct. Sunshine and sweat, with a hint of fresh cut grass and a little musty dirt and you, have a spicy, pungent smell only a mother could love, err… tolerate. It knows one discretion. Pixie’s get a sunshine smell, vandals get the buffalo boy smell. Our two adopted sons, the vandals, are 3 and 5-years-old. Our two biological sons, the man babies, are 17 and 18-years-old. Brothers from other mothers, the two pairs are …
I have PMS. But I don’t have a uterus. I don’t get cramps. That is not my excuse for acting like a crazy person. I had a bad case yesterday. The only good thing that went on was that I didn’t have to get ready for bed… cause I was still in my pajamas from the night before. Pathetic Mom Syndrome. It started out bad. Also, it started out at 2 a.m. The clamor downstairs alluded to a break-in. I …
The salvation of a mom is harder for a mother to embody. You see, tonight my soul is spread seven ways; serving Pizza and beer at a high-end joint downtown. It’s on a date that’s not a date but might be a date at a later date if it weren’t for all the history of dates that date back to play dates. It is at an undisclosed party … not answering texts, but at least it got a haircut and …
I am a mean mommy. Did I not hope to be sweet, tender … joyful? Certainly, this isn’t true? Surely, that can’t be the core of who I am, my entire identity? – is this what I went into the business of motherhood to be labeled as? In my most uptight and fitful moments, with poop in my hair, spit-up on my shirt, federal student aid on the phone, and mystery meat in the crock-pot… I blame myself. With an …
