i pay my son for every time he kicks the ball in soccer. i lock myself in the bathroom and cry ’stomach ache’ just to get a little down time. i was in St. Lucia when Emily turned 7. i let the kids eat in the family room because i’m too tired to argue with them and force them to eat at the table. my kids use ‘that’s what she said’ correctly. i hide junk food from my kids and when they catch me sneaking it, i tell them it’s “diet food” so i don’t have to share. my son channels his inner Superbad and i post it on the internet. i dropped Josh when he was a baby…during a diaper change…when he peed all over himself…and in.his.eye.socket. and i had to figure out how to get it out. my kids eat hot dogs. i toilet trained with bribery - smarties. mmm..smarties…
i have my fair share of “mother of the year” stories.
but this one?
takes the cake.
last night i was sitting on the couch, laptop in hand. The girls were watching A Cinderella Story and i was enjoying some post-dinner-craziness down time. I was leaving a comment on Melissa Summers’ site, Suburban Bliss, on her post about giving a blow-job for her 11th anniversary.
“men…like…
Mommy? what’s a blow job?”
fantastic.
i hadn’t realized that Emily was reading over my shoulder.
panic.
“it’s something…it’s something bloggers do!!”
(“why’d you say Burma?” “I panicked”)
(also…not really a lie….)
“oh, okay.”
MOTHER
OF
THE
YEAR
where did my sweet baby girl go?
who in the hell decided it was okay for kids to learn to read anyway??
