WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 06, 2010
Hey! Look how my dog fell asleep while I was writing this!
Me??? Ohmygod! I’m so excited! I’d like to thank my children, without whom this honor would not be possible! Do I get a tiara with this? Do I get dental? A one-way, single ticket to a Vegas spa would be nice… I don’t have to take the kids do I? I mean, it IS “Worst” Mother. That should count for something.
I know, you want to know my secret! Well, obviously it’s my slavish devotion to completing unwanted homework; an eye for when my kids are lying to me about whether or not they are wearing clean underwear; and the ability…no…the GIFT of screaming at decibels that frighten the guinea pigs.
I have to admit, I find the whole nomination process a bit confusing, considering that it only takes the purchase of Pop Tarts or allowing them to stay up ten minutes more that wins me “Best Mother of the Year.” Clearly, the awards are subjective.
Oooh! I’ve been handed the nomination essay that clinched the title for me! It says;
“You are the worst mother ever! Making me do homework is CHILD ABUSE! Do you want to abuse your child? Why do you hate me? It’s math! That’s against the something-in-war Convention!”
You can’t see this part but there are stage directions that say drop to the floor, writhe like you are burning in the fires of eternal damnation, oh yeah, and scream. Loud. Really loud.
Wow. Jack nailed that AND stuck the landing! I wonder if tantrum-throwing shouldn’t be an Olympic sport! My nine-year old would win more medals than Michael Phelps after having the lower half of his body switched with a porpoise.
I am so proud of this great honor, I’m going to take a quick break and call Mom!
(insert mumbling on cell phone)
Huh. She laughed hysterically and hung up. And somehow, I feel strangely validated.
Happy New Year!
The Assassin