Motherhussy

Sometimes, I Imagine I am the Carcass

Yes, I made the decision to have my children. I thought it was the best decision at the time--but days like these make me rethink my thinking.

My children mock me. I just got off of the phone having a full conversation with an old friend, all the while Colton mocked my voice. He was using a high-pitched, snotty tone. It sounded nothing like me, yet he thought he was being genius. I hate to admit it, but it sort of hurt my feelings. I hid the hurt in anger and sent him to his room to think about how disrespectful he was being. He just laughed in my face.

Dr. Phil, what do I do?

My children smell too. Yesterday, I picked up my two angels and we proceeded to head to our once weekly "lunch out" outing. About five seconds passed and the smell of rotting meat carcass filled the Jeep. I was thinking, "What the f is that? Is it me? Do I need to deodorize my "women parts"?" I pride myself in the cleanliness of my crevasses, so the possibility of the scent coming from me was unlikely. "Colton--give me your hat." I smelled the hat. It wasn't the hat. "Let me smell your hands, Colton." Not the hands. "Cody, hat." No smelly hat there either. "Give me your hands." The culprit was then known immediately. Cody's hands reeked of a sickeningly sweet smell I could only describe as "hot, sweaty death." He informed me he had to pick up trash during recess that day. What the heck?! Is my son attending third grade in a mink skinning shed? Was he made to pick up rotting flesh? I'm writing a letter to the school district. Once we got into the restaurant, Cody scoured his hands with the janitorial bleach hidden under the sink until my eyes teared up. Not really, but he washed his hands until I couldn't smell the death anymore.

I could go on and on, but you and I both know that I’m just full of hot air (also the little "angels" are yelling "Damnit old lady, do our homework!"). I love those mean little cusses. I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment. Nick, you will know this feeling when the “lima bean” sprouts. It will hate you, but you will still love it like you love Bloody Marys and Doc Martin. Now that’s love.

posted by Anonymous @ 4:36 PM