The Things Mothers Do For The Ones They Love

"Don't worry Oscar, Lenny, Brenda, and Travis.  If Mama's goin' down (pun only partially intended, but not really because there are the offspring fish to consider and that's just sick, ya sicko), you're going down with her."

Happy Mother's Day.  Of course, you had your slightly burned, but slathered with love, waffles long ago.  You called your mother, and your grandmother, for good measure.  If you're a real suck up, you called your mother-in-law and made her day.  She still talked about you to her sister, like she does every Sunday, but this time she felt a little more guilt than usual, so kudos on that.

Of course, these are all of the things you might be experiencing if you fall for those stereotypical scenarios, willingly or otherwise.  I'm sure I'm in the middle.  "Of what?" you might ask to which I'd have to say a jelly roll, but you know I'm a liar.  I'm actually sitting in the middle of a big fat turd flake, today.

Here I am at work on Mother's Day.  Boo fucking hoo.  Here I am sick.  Did I cry today?  Yes, but that was probably only because my body said no coffee and you know there's all that suppressed tiredness that got me jumpin' the shark on up over in here (whatever that means).  Coffee is my last vestige of addiction (if you don't count food, sex, kombuchas, whining, my phone, tv, and the internets), so I am allowed to mourn the loss of her java ways.  I have avoided moving into full-on anxiety attacks this coffee go around, but we all know it's only a matter of time before she turns my cruel alertness to matters best not thought about, like how fast my heart is beating while I'm dying.

I suspect I am mourning things other than coffee, as well, but my co-worker who replaces me just showed up, so I probably won't go into all that.  Suffice it to say, another McSweeney's List was submitted and last night I laughed my cajones off watching Ladiez being funny.  Right off.  Catharsis, people.  Catharsis.  There is one three-day school week left and two four-day ones, a field trip to NASA with a bunch of hormone infused tweens (including The Genius) and probably no sex until school is out.  (How clever to slip a complaint about no sex in there after all this time, though upon re-reading, quite ineptly, since it's adjoined to a sentence about chaperoning a field trip of 6th graders.)

But, seriously I'm in a hurry on up over in here.  I'm just gonna flip this swi

1 comment:

Randal Graves said...

Discounting the possibility of abandoning the rugrats for naughty chaperone theatre? Unless it's just you, which can still be naughty, just less so.