I am MOM

I am MOM
If I knew then what I know now . . .
"I take a very practical view of raising children. I put a sign in each of their rooms: 'Checkout Time is 18 years.'"
Erma Bombeck

Monday, May 6, 2013

Flummoxed


“Hey guys, I would personally like to thank the member of my family who knocked over the jar of olives in the fridge, and left it to ooze over three shelves of food and containers.”

“Oh, what was that?.... You didn’t mean to do it. Unh huh, I see.  Oh, well then, never mind.  I was just wondering what I was going to do with all my free time today– between the laundry, pumping up your bike tires, fixing your rear brakes, gathering the garbage from the van, cleaning the house, feeding the pets, picking up groceries, mowing the lawn, walking the dog, cooking, planning your summer camps and checking into the hospital for a lobotomy!”

Do you ever have one of those days?  The kind that is overwhelming from the minute you get up?  The kind where you are so flummoxed that you water the near-dead plants, and then a minute later – while talking to the dentist on the phone, opening a can of beans to pour in the crock pot, and taking your sick child’s temperature – you water the same plants again, and water pours through as if the plant is a mirage?

Do you ever want to run, full steam ahead, into a brick wall – thinking that you can actually run right through it? Imagine how good that would feel.  Bricks and mortar flying in all directions, a hole the size of… of an elephant, and you standing on the other side, victorious (and free)!  Or, quite possibly, lying on the ground amidst the rubble, with broken wrists, shoulders and collar bones, with blood gushing down your forehead as if you are the centre piece in an elaborate water fountain.  
Okay, I'm not going to do that!

But truly, I don’t know what I AM going to do. I am running a three-ring circus without a safety net.  I am training circus animals who would rather not eat than perform.  I am a juggler incapable of keeping the balls in the air – and the moment I bend down to pick one ball up, several more fly in from all directions; I feel like I have tripped a trap in a paintball battle field.  The bruises are beyond the depth of my skin. 

There is only one thing left to do…… 
Better a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy. :)



Enjoy the audio version here:  http://snd.sc/12LpWxF

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