Thursday, July 26, 2012

I'm Entering Witness Protection, or, You May No Longer Call Me Mommy

I'm getting a little bit twitchy here, Diligent Readers. Summer has lasted long enough to make me question if I'm actually trapped inside a nightmare, inside a dream. "Summerception" is what I'll now call this blisteringly hot juggernaut of parental punishment.

I talked to another mom this week who cursed summer in new and colorful ways. I cheerfully agreed that summer can head right into fall, anytime now.

It's tough being a mom these days, Readers in Uruguay.

I think, for the sake of Brilliant Word Art, that I should count the number of times a day someone yells "MOMMYYYY!" and then follows it with a convoluted tale of victimization and woe. I would put cold cash on that number being in the low thousands.

When I was a wee small Your Favorite Writer, I remember thinking that my mom was infinitely interested in dispensing wisdom and justice. I know better now; she was interested in getting us out of her face so she could finish something adult that didn't involve whining children. Did I mention her "the-door-is-locked-drink-out-of-the-hose" policy? No? It sounds like a GREAT idea these days.

In order to save my own sanity, I have since instituted the Emergency Whistle. Basically, I throw the kids out back, try to restore my family room to some semblance of order, and one of my two yahoos gets to wear the bracelet attached to the aforementioned Emergency Whistle. They could, theoretically, blow the Emergency Whistle in the event of a true emergency, and I would come running with super mommy hero skills.

My mom, of the locked door summer policy, does not have great faith in the safety offered by the Emergency Whistle.

She and The Man firmly believe that my neighborhood is prowled by hundreds of serial offenders looking to steal small children. Neither one of them think I'm hilarious when I respond, "Well, they'd just RETURN them." I'd like to add that neither Grandma, nor Daddy are actively trapped with the darling children for approximately 28 hours every day. What's that? There are only 24 hours in a day? Come to my house and allow me to demonstrate the unique quantum physics involved in raising children.

Today was library day, and we returned our books in exchange for points and a collection of quality plastic toys from China. I ran into not one, but TWO moms-with-kids from our school. The moms looked oddly...frazzled? Traumatized? Tired? I mean, one of them was marking off days on what appeared to be a tattooed countdown-to-school, but other than THAT warning sign... No, NOT really.

Only two weeks left, Friends, two weeks left.

Until then we always have duct tape. I mean, the Emergency Whistle.

Comments, questions, how has YOUR summer gone?









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