Career Mum, I Am Not

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Dear Lord. Save me from a fate worse than death.

Today, should have been a vaguely normal sort of day. Ok, so I woke up when I was supposed to be at work. But, after I raced in, I discovered, all the day care worker's in town were either on strike, dead or sick. Personally, I think all those excuses are rather paltry, even death. HOW ON EARTH ARE WE SUPPOSED TO GET ANY WORK DONE?

These children have not only consumed the time and energy of their mother, but insist on terrorizing ME as well. This is sufficient evidence to warrent me never fit for having children. They are not content to run screaming up and down the hallways, or stuffing highlighters in their mouths or even stapling everything to the walls. They come into my office with their beady little rat eyes and demand that I entertain them. I know to do approximentally two things with children. Feed them. And, well, feed them.

In a moment of inspiration I gave them paper and markers telling them to draw me pictures. BIG MISTAKE. After they did a quick redecoration of my office, and their clothes and an attempt at my clothes. I began feeding them, again. But, little children are only so happy so long with stale potatoe chips and coffee residue vapors. GOD FORBID I FEED THEM CAFFEINE AND FUEL THEIR LITTLE DEMON SOULS.

So now, their mothers is juggling spaghetti-o's, applesauce and telling them to count in Spanish. While they lay on their backs, kicking their feet in the air, spitting and throwing the aforemenioned food across the room. Did I mention these children are two and three?

I love children, I really do. But I love the children in Ralph Lauren Catalogs and Pottery Barn stores that build quietly with blocks and say "please" and "thank you" and entertain themselves with their miniture renditions of Romeo and Juliet. (THEY ARE ACCOSTING ME WITH MARKERS, AGAIN. Bloody little buggers.)

Do you think it is too early to get my tubes tied?

1 Responses to “Career Mum, I Am Not”

  1. Blogger QOS 

    geez. couldn't agree more.

    anyways, just thought i'd let you know that you crack me up.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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