Yet Another Reason I Will Make A Terrible Mother

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My seven year old nephew decided to pop by my office and visit me. After the preliminary two second chit-chat about school, pets and life--he decided he was bored.

I supplied him with a stack of paper and a stapler and told him to have at it.

He sat behind me whacking away at the stapler.




I was expecting it to occasionally be punctuated by a scream of bloody murder and perhaps a fountain of blood.




I only stopped him because I was tired of the whacking, not because I was concerned for his digits. Why should I be concerned? After all, I purposely stapled myself in the palm of my hand when I was little and I survived.

I will also use this disclaimer when my children try to: jump off the roof, eat worms, swan dive onto the brick floor off of high chairs, have who-can-knock-the-most-bark-off-the-tree-my-swinging-into-it-on-the-rope-swing-contests-and-ensure-the-most-bodily-harm (person with the most injuries wins!), pull a tendon and refuse to see the doctor, be dumped from the buckets of tractors and generally do stupid things that most parents gasp at the mere mention of.

Oh, that's right. I'm not getting married and having children. That's right. No need to call child services yet. Though, you might want to go ahead, so they can put a restraining order on me getting pregnant. (Yes. I realize this means I would have to be pleasant enough to be in the same sleeping quarters as a male for 2.3 seconds.)

Considering that, I wouldn't worry.

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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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