Job Title – Mother Extraordinaire. No Experience Necessary

Job Title – Mother
Experience – None necessary.
Duties – Caretaker, nurse, cook, housekeeper, educator, disciplinarian, therapist, security guard, events planner, dot. dot. dot.

*Note- Candidate must possess flexibility similar to the human pretzel lady at the circus, as the above description is subject to change without notice.

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Let’s face it, kids keep a running tally in their minds of every chore or good deed they’ve ever done – to be used as leverage when they’re campaigning for something.

They all do it.

For shits and giggles, lets closely examine a mothers job description.

In fact, let’s be completely outrageous and pretend the level of acknowledgement bestowed upon her on Mothers Day depends on it.

JOB DESCRIPTION – short version

Incubate alien life for 10 months (40 weeks = 280 days = 10 months) which is likely to cause nausea, vomiting, indigestion, strained and sprained muscles, back pain, hemorrhoids, constipation and weight gain.

This is the EASY part.

Deliver alien offspring – don’t worry, if you can’t manage to push the melon sized package through your peep hole sized opening, because the valiant obstetrician will just cut it out for you.

And quit whining – you have a baby to take care of. This is no longer about you.

First five years at a glance- feed, bathe, dispose of stinky waste products, ensure minions get enough rest or they’ll morph into rabid Gremlins and eat you alive. And oh yeah – keep those adorable little buggers out of harms way.

It’s all on you Mamacita, you’ve been enlisted for a 24/7 special ops assignment that will stretch into the better part of two decades.

Believe it or not, it doesn’t get much better than this. This is the tender era of hopes, dreams and endless cuddles. Embrace it with both hands – these sunny days are numbered.

Ages 5 – 12 The fruit of your loins are becoming more independent. Add education, socialization and extra curricular activities to the above basic needs list and you have a pretty accurate picture of your new job description.

At this critical point you’ll be forced to re-evaluate and adjust goals accordingly. You’ll be comparing your initial expectations set out of sheer blissful ignorance versus the reality of your child’s actual development.

This can be a bitter pill to swallow. A colossal bummer even, as most parents have a certain ideal vision of how they’d imagined their child to be.

Newsflash – Special needs and unique circumstances happen.

If you haven’t read the incredibly witty poem Welcome to Holland written by a parent faced with a special needs child, pause here and take a moment.

http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Welcome_to_Holland#External_links

Ages 12 – 18 The slow painful transition to young adult. The good news is that your brood is now independent in hygiene, dressing and feeding themselves. Although some days this may be highly disputed. Your role becomes supportive- in addition to holding the gavel as wise counsel and disciplinarian, you’re their primary source for nourishment, clean clothes and transportation.

You perfect the art of eating on the run, prioritizing laundry into emergency loads like towels and underwear versus the rest, and that bucket in the laundry room once designated for potty accidents is replaced with a black caldron for panties caught in the red tide.

It’s important to state here that installing an aerosol form of Xanax in your home would not be overkill.

As your child nears the date of their high school graduation you learn to thank God every single day for the little things-

My kid is NOT…

*on drugs
*pregnant with innocent life
*incarcerated
*fighting for his life in the ICU
*runaway or lost
*suicidal
*DEAD

For some, these simple things are suddenly enough. Thoughts of college and it’s importance in the big scheme of things may be shuffled to the back burner.

Again you pause to re-evaluate your once naive parental expectations versus the reality of raising actual free-thinking creatures with intricate brain wiring and complex chemistry.

Ages 18+ The struggle for independence. For a few, the transition is relatively smooth. The honor students and those gifted with superior athletic or artistic talent may not miss a beat diving into this exciting next chapter. For others, it’s the beginning of a long painful journey through a dense cloudy tunnel filled with uncertainty.

You are the parental rock that keeps them focused, encouraged and grounded.

It’s important to remember that a person in crisis cannot always see the forrest through the trees. The stress of chronic crisis often leads to tunnel vision. Life is a game of survival.

That said, common afflictions like chronic anxiety and depression amongst other mental illnesses and special needs blow a dense fog into an already hazy and uncertain forrest. It’s not uncommon for the afflicted to become self absorbed.

Most moms with a special child or situation knowingly waive any hope or expectation of being lifted onto the sacred Mom pedestal every Mother’s Day, simply because it’s not in the cards… and it never was.

The rearing of special offspring requires a delicate yet potent combination of unconditional love, dedication, endurance and often times complete selflessness.

It’s the nature of the beast.

You were given this hand in life because the powers that be – knew you were up to the challenge; you were carefully chosen to participate as a member of the Parental Special Forces.

That’s like regular parenting, except with the grit of a Marine and stamina of a Navy Seal.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the special moms most deserving of exceptional recognition – who are also the least likely to receive it.

Hats off to you… the few and the proud.

May the sun shine on your face today and always.

You’re loved and appreciated more than you will ever know.

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:

imagesCASLN407

*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 a colonoscopy 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, hereby 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 fellow moms.

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

Rock on, mamacita’s!! The world as we know it would come to a screeching halt without you.

Word.

Christmas is in DECEMBER dammit

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Where I come from we get something like three-ish months of summer, which equates to MAYBE a meager 30 days of warm sunny weather- picnics, watermelon, fireflies, swimming and sandy flip flops.
 
In short, we have ONE summer month and… the REST of the year.
 
Eleven months of the grey season, which includes but is not limited to rain, drizzle, snow, ice and every other possible form of precipitation currently known to man.
 
 
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 So yes, when people (lets call them psycho-holiday enthusiasts) try to contaminate our sacred sunny month with Christmas pollution we tend to get a bit crabby.
 
 

Justifiably crabby.

  
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I for one, happen to be a solar powered individual.
 
 
I get my energy from the sun and my reserves happen to be dangerously low these days.
 

The makers of Prozac can only do so much.

 
They’re like, “You’ve reached your limit lady… our hands are tied.”
 

“Go get some mood enhancing sunshine.”

 
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And, so I do what I can. I soak in every single moment of summer.
 
The problem with winter-related holiday nonsense (no, I will not say the C word again) is that it’s like kryptonite for us who reside in the grey area.
 
The mere mention of the dark side during our sacred sunny sabbatical is enough to boot us out of our happy place clear into the fiery pits of hell, except in OUR hell, it’s snowing.
 
 
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Resisting winter is a northern defense mechanism that’s been etched in our brains since the ice age.

 
To top it off, we broke records for cold AND snow in 2013.
 
I think we did. It felt like it anyway.
 
That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.
 
It sucked Frosty’s longest hardest icicle if you get my drift, then to top it off, we shattered all previously set rainfall records.
 
It felt like it anyway… the record breaking part.
 
 We did, however experience actual flooding.
 
Also, we made the big time meaning we were featured on The Weather Channel.
 

 It was definitely a How-many-Yeti’s-can-you-fit-on-Noah’s-ark? kinda year.

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 Nobody really cares what the answer is.

The point is- when Yeti’s and Noah’s ark are mentioned in the same sentence you’re clearly fucked and there’s not a damned thing you can do.
 

Mother Nature is one moody bitch.

 
As a result, my people (those of us who reside in the grey area of CNY) have morphed into foul-weather warriors who’ve proven again and again that we can tough that shit out.
 
However, uninvited winter holiday hoopla in July tends to drive some of us right. over. the. edge.
 
For the publics safety we’ve established guidelines called…
 

The Northern Survivalist’s STRICT Winter Holiday Timeline.

 
Halloween– the fright fest officially begins Sept 30, although mums and pumpkins may be put out any time after Labor Day. (Note- generous leeway given, because I happen to be a mum fan)
 
 
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Thanksgiving shall occupy the time period between Halloween and the C holiday.
 
 
 
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The C holiday– not one bell shall jingle or hallway be decked prior to the conclusion of turkey day feasting.
 
This means the dishes are washed, dried and put away. Also, the turkey carcass is gone. I freaking hate the turkey-beast carcass with ever fiber of my being.
 
I would rather get a root canal than harvest meat from the leftover turkey any day of the week.
 
Make that two root canals and a pap smear.
 
(I threw that thing in there about the dishes, because I don’t care for the C holiday and I’m trying to keep it away as long as possible. Scrubbing a zillion dishes gives me a little breather)
 

Let’s call this- living in the goddamned moment.

 
Quit racing around like blind mice on meth preparing for the next three-ring circus that’s six months away.
 

Relax.

 

Breeeeeathe.

 
If you must shop or bake cookies in July, that’s your business. Just keep that premature holiday pollution off my facebook.
 
Also, I’ll be happy to taste your cookies.
 
I’m generous like that.
 
I may be a holiday bitch, but I’m an excellent taster of cookies.
 
Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do about greedy in-your-face retail peddlers who prematurely puke holiday what-nots throughout the land.
 
Winter holiday whatchamafuks will start polluting stores in August.
 
It’s the devils way.
 
Not only do I look the other way. (and say bad words) I also refuse to buy anything.
 
They’re not getting one premature cent from me until The Northern Survivalist’s Strict Winter Holiday Timeline says it’s time.
 
When I wander into Home Depot on August 15th in search of charcoal briquettes and get blindsided by a 12 foot blow-up of Frosty-the-freaking-unwelcome-snowman, I will breathe fire.
 
 This actually works out, because then I dutifully scoop Frosty up in a plastic cup and have something to chase my chocolate vodka with.
 

Hence, the only acceptable snowman in August is the one you drink.

Cheers…

 
 
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The Gazillion Concept

Sometimes anything greater than one seems like the equivalent to a gazillion.

I call it the Gazillion Concept.

Perfect Examples…

Loads of Laundry.

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Times you get up at night to let the dog out.

The number of instances in one week your kids miss the damned bus.

Pounds you need to lose.

Kids at a sleepover, in the same room, in a car, at the same table or simply on the same planet.

Mosquito bites.

Calories in anything chocolate or fried.

Miles over the speed limit when you’re teaching your pedal heavy 16 year old to drive.

Drops of pee your boys leave on the toilet seat.

Dog hairs on your black pants.

Dollar profit margin Hollister is swindling you for.

Teenaged girls.

Minutes until you get home when you have to pee.

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Degrees below zero in the winter.

Days left in your pregnancy.

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Hairs you missed while shaving your legs.

Days until your next period when you’re waiting for it.

Hours in a sleepless night.

Drops of puke expelled by kids and pets on the carpet at 3am.

Time after the first five minutes on the treadmill.

Grains of rice when it accidentally spills.

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Days until vacation, retirement or the end of a work day.

Minutes you’re forced to listen to any given Justin Beiber song.

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Summary- ANYTHING greater than one = equals a gazillion under the right circumstances.

The Gazillion Concept.

Seems logical.

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:

imagesCASLN407

*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.

 

6d8035183171b47bf440643eacd39d35

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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…

 

imagesCAPTJU22







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!!