The Ugly Truth about Mother’s Day

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Now that we’ve all had some time to recover, I think it’s time to talk about why Mother’s Day sucks rotten eggs and stinky baseball cleats.

Better yet, let’s have a “My Mother’s Day Sucked Worse than Yours” contest.

I’ll try not to win THIS one.

It’s like this…

You’re mom- The Family Goddess, Supreme Ruler of the Kingdom, The Almighty Healer of EVERYTHING that goes awry.

You’re pretty much the shit.

Nobody can begin to do it quite like you do.

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Men and children (yes, they belong in the same category) are dropped on this planet oblivious and many never overcome this perpetual state of cluelessness.

It’s okay because we love them dearly.

Mom’s clearly have the edge. It’s just the way it is.

The good news is, it’s UNIVERSAL and misery loves company.

(((group hug, neighbor)))

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I remember having big hopes and dreams for a perfect Mother’s Day filled with rest, peace and pampering, just like the dorky Hallmark commercials.

Then Mother Nature laughed..

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!

Good one, but no. Not unless you clone yourself.

Dear Hallmark, you’re a bunch of dream shattering lying bastards and I hope you get a paper cut on your eyeball from one of your own over dramatized and sappy cards.

Let’s scratch out REST.

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The Stages of Mothers Day-

When your offspring are still lovable tator tots, you may get breakfast in bed which consists of Frootloops, coffee, a hand picked daffodil and a gluey mess of a card they made in school. (thank you teachers)

I’m not really sure it ever get’s better than THIS.

Embrace this, because THIS is IT.

Then they get older.

The coveted handmade gifts and cards come to a screeching halt and they may or may not stick around for breakfast.

Boooo.

If you’re lucky, they take you out to breakfast and Big Daddy pays.

The thoughtful bucket has sprung a leak. From here on end, it’s all down hill.

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Now, you’ve become grateful if they can manage to refrain from swearing and fist-fighting in your presence for one lousy day and possibly show a shred of appreciation for good measure.

You taught them better, right?

Crap. Now you’re guilty of THAT too.

They suck and it’s all YOUR fault.

It’s the full circle of always-the-moms-fault.

Which is why I’ve adopted the proactive approach to Mother’s Day.

It doesn’t feel right to unleash my brood into the world until they’re properly trained in Mother’s Day etiquette.

Their spouses will thank me some day and if they don’t, obviously it’s their mothers fault.

*giggle of irony*

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I gave each of my four children a sort of multiple choice list of (mostly) stuff I’d like done around the house, and for my artistic girls, drawings and such that I’d enjoy.

Easy peasy. Spelled it right out.

Are you ready for my miserable report?

#3 finished vacuuming at 10 pm Mother’s Day night and only because I lost my shit.

#2 completed 50% of his offerings. He washed the dogs. I’ll take it.

And, #1 and #4 have been granted extensions because no way am I letting them off the hook.

So there you have it.  The ugly truth.

My rug is clean and my dogs don’t stink. At least we’re making progress.

I guess they REALLY don’t know what to do or how to act without the Queens guidance, which is why I will always reign as Almighty Mom-  Supreme Ruler of the Kingdom.

It’s a mom thing…

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Welcome to the club.

How was YOUR Mother’s Day?

It’s Mother’s Day… Dammit!

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As Supreme Ruler of the Kingdom, I hereby proclaim that Mother’s Day be celebrated the entire weekend this year… and forever.

It’s been a rough one, that’s why.

No way is one lousy day of cleaning up your own shit and being on excellent behavior gonna cut it, girls and boys.

Not this year, my precious offspring.

Extreme mom is going completely proactive this Mother’s Day to guarantee that it doesn’t SUCK.

You have been hereby enlisted… as a GIVER.

Therefore, specific TO DO lists will be distributed to each of my brood.

We’re gonna get it right this time.

Here we go.

Mother’s Day… Take 21!!

(The number is accurate. No. Shit.)

ACTION!!!

Here’s a preview of my short list of demands:

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*You will bathe the dogs with excellent smelling shampoo, then scrub the entire bathroom including the tub.

YES, this does need to be spelled out.

The powder room and pets shall smell like a fresh meadow.

*Clean my car- that was incidentally trashed by YOU.

You shall vacuum the resident floor rubble and debris that you dragged in, clean all dog slobber off the windows, dispose of dead insect carcasses from the dashboard and remove sticky goo from the cup holders.

Again, sparkly clean.

•Vacuum both sets of stairs in the house and do not attempt to make a new family member out of the pet hair.

NO, I wouldn’t mention this if history hadn’t dictated already that it’s was absolutely necessary.

Plus, we already have our limit of dependents.

Use care not to clog the vacuum. I’m tired of performing an endoscopy on the Dyson every single time I attempt to turn it on.

This is a proactive exercise, because unfortunately some things do have to be spelled out.

Remember, this is only my short list. *grin*

Had my children had the foresight to say… toast me a lousy poptart, scribble HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY on a sheet of paper or pluck me a few daffodils from my own garden, I wouldn’t have been forced to make these heinous demands.

 

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I shall also, thereby be completely EXEMPT from partaking in any of the following on Mother’s Day weekend, which absolutely includes Friday and Saturday… from this year until the end of time.

I shall not cook or touch unprepared food.

I shall not go to the grocery store.

I shall not do laundry.

I shall be exempt from driving you anywhere.

I shall not do dishes… or even look at them.

I shall not answer questions or engage in conversations beginning with:

Will you?

Can I?

I need…

I’m hungry…

I’m borrrrrrred…

It’s not fair…

 

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Things that YOU can do for me:

Pretend to be unmiserable.

Make me coffee

Do not complain… about anything.

Most importantly, do this shit WITHOUT being told or reminded.

Anyone breaking the rules of Mother’s Day Weekend will be exiled to the back yard and forced to live in a tent.

I know my expectations are ridiculously high this year.



A girl can dream…



NOTE- This post was from 2013 and my children failed miserably that year.

That’s entirely different post.

You’re not alone moms.

I and almost everyone who’s not your kids, do in fact appreciate the Hell out of you.

Two thumbs up, mamacita’s!!

How OLD were the Golden Girls?

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Golden Girls NEWSFLASH!!

I was half watching the show last night, because the TV was on that particular station and I was too lazy to change it.

Q. How old is Betty White’s CHARACTER?

A. Answer at the end of post, because first we MUST define the term Golden when referring to age.

Yes, we do.

I always categorized the delightful ditzy trio as having a little too much pep for the nursing home, yet definitely UP there in age.

On deck to meet their maker.

Golden years = Retirement age.

No?

Sit down.

Betty White’s character is a spry 55 years old.

She’s practically a baby for fucks sake.

Has the expected lifespan of a human gone up THAT much since the 80’s??

I’m touching my 50’s with a short stick and it’s not a cane, dammit!

I’m not gonna lie, I sucked in a whole bunch of air when that little tidbit was thrown out there and I remain slightly bewildered.

I mean… my uterus hasn’t even been decommissioned yet.

Is there no respite between pregnant and dead?

I’m torn between shopping for jobs and coffins.

What to do?

Actually, I want to be cremated and dumped in the South Pacific (*Note- If i’m left in a cold body of water there WILL be a haunting) so my accommodations actually only require a ziplock bag, but coffin sounded way better than ziplock bag, so I ran with it.

How old did YOU assume these ladies were??

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Dammit Wonderwoman, You’re Late Again

This mornings chaos kind of cancelled itself out.

I love when that happens.

Bittersweet beginnings.

Bad news – Diva #13 missed the bus because I lost her track uniform, which was actually in the bottom of HER closet and took me under 60 seconds to find.

Note to self- stop hiding her shit.

Good news – It was the first time EVER, we were early enough to join the drop-off parade where you get to be part of the curvy  long line of parents delivering their chicks to school.

Awesome.

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My favorite part is where you get to wave and shout out the window to the other ugly parents.

The expression on Diva’s face was priceless and worth every  ounce of overpriced gas.

Also, and just in case God is listening, I’d like extra credit for not running down the Vice Principal who was in charge of the parade.

At least I think he was, except he didn’t have a baton or fancy hat.

I had a perfect shot too.

He and I have a complicated love ♥ affair on account of him suspending my son (Big Kahuna’s #16) for breathing wrong… or possibly something more serious like… showing up for finals wearing Shannon’s pink bra.

Don’t get me wrong, I can totally understand how this sort of tomfoolery can be very distracting to the other students, but it doesn’t mean the perp should be marked with a SUSPEND ME bullseye for the rest of junior high.

Or maybe it does.

It did, and it became another thorn in my side.

More Fun Facts-

The school has the right to invite you back to detention during summer vacation if you pull any shenanigans the last week of classes.

You should probably LEARN from this and not do it two three years in a row.

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Now that it’s time to wrap up this post, I’m at a loss because it escaped in so many directions.

That happens to me a lot.

Look a squirrel!

Closing FUN fact- the track uniform (that I lost) is a teeny little number- blue shorts and a red tank.

When the girls are all clumped together on the field they look like a herd of mini- Wonder Women.

It’s pretty awesome.

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See??

 

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Have a WONDERFUL day.

Facebook Spies

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Everyone knows someone who deliberately keeps a safe distance from Facebook, because they don’t want their family spied on.

You know, that reverse camera that transmits your every move, including random entries from your diary to Facebook TV ? That.

This is a legitimate concern, if you’re running a meth lab in your basement or secretly starring in adult films, in which case you should definitely keep a low profile.

(*as should people with custody issues and certain security clearances. No brainer*)

We’re not talking about THEM.

I’m poking a stick at those law abiding citizens with 2.5 children and a dog, who have an overinflated sense of ego and delusions that as soon as they create a Fb profile, they’re a movie star and the worlds the paparazzi.

Give me a break.

I could personally care less if my ex-boyfriends sister from 8th grade sees a picture of my cat.

It’s Facebook.

Get over thyself.

Badass Kitty

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This is Badass Halloween Kitty.

He got caught in the middle of an unfortunate situation involving the puppy’s leash.

My very smart friend Kathy McCarthy Mendez suggested I use tie wraps to keep his bones (the metal frame) from falling apart.

Brilliant idea, Kathy! 

And so, I did it.

I tie wrapped his head, abdomen and movable tail. *Good thing I’m an experienced Endoscopy nurse because the tail was tricky. I had to make a few incisions and get right *IN THERE.*

Also, he was missing a screw, (not unlike any other member of my family) so I improvised using Mighty Putty.

Badass Kitty is now 200% badass.

While I was piecing him back together a funny-evil plot popped into my head.

POP.

Let’s say you have a neighbor who you don’t exactly LIKE.

You could hide a SNAUSAGE or ribeye or something INSIDE their holiday decorations… and wait for them to let their dog out.

With your video recorder, of course.