I’m no one’s mother. But this is the sort of mother I’d want to be.
In the wake of Mother’s Day, I’ve been contemplating the real lessons and sacrifices of what it takes to be a mother. Should someday, I lose my mind (read: get incredibly drunk) and tell my children the truth…I’m afraid that it’s going to sound painfully like the following list…
1. Kids, when you were babies, everything about your bodies was miraculous and beautiful, but now my biggest fear is that one of you will grow pubes, and that I might accidentally see them. I’m pretty sure you harbor the same fear, so let’s all just be cool, and keep this from happening, okay?
2. Children…loves of my life…there is NOTHING I wouldn’t do for you…NOTHING…except let you drink out of my glass. It’s fucking gross, and you’re old enough to get your own cup, so let’s make that happen, or I’m going to start backwashing on purpose.
3. The ten minute drive between your school…
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I loved this! I found her last night.
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Thank you! I’ve now found yet another blog to follow. Wait, why am I thanking you? You’re as bad as M-R! Getting me hooked on yet more blogs I don’t have time for. 😉
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Right!? (But NO ONE is as bad as M-R in this dept.)
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This is true. Hey, M-R, we’re picking on you! 😉
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🙂 The job does come with a wicked awesome set of stretch marks, though.
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I’m not a mother either.
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