Apr 302012

Some people say that motherhood is the toughest job in the world, but that is just absurd.  There are definitely harder jobs out there.    Like Sherpas.  Imagine having to schlep around an ungodly amount of someone else’s belongings!  Or how about assistants for crazy, unreasonable bosses… the kind of bosses who seem almost incapable of doing anything on their own, who often have total meltdowns for no apparent reason, and who, on their best days, throw random things at your head.  That job is definitely tough!  Or what about the poor people who have to drain port-o-potties or clean toilets for a living… the people who literally have to clean up someone else’s shit every single day.

Wait a second…

Well, motherhood may in fact be the toughest job in the world… but it definitely has the best bonus structure.

Apr 232012

For my daughter’s birthday she received lots of “toys”, like a changing table for her baby doll complete with safety strap, wipes and diapers; a toy stove and other cooking utensils, boxes that you put things into etc.  She also loves to play with the broom, dustbuster, laundry basket etc.  Her favorite toys all just happen to be things I dread… cooking, cleaning, changing diapers, laundry… basically any kind of household chores.  At what point do toys become chores?  Am I missing the fun here?  Do these activities become chores simply because we must do them?  I stared to think that  if I approached chores with a childlike sense of fun and adventure perhaps they could be fun again.  So began to dance around as I swept the floor and to fold clothes with whimsical abandon.  I literally began to whistle as I worked… then I remembered that I don’t know how to whistle and that my daughter also enjoys eating rocks, ripping up toilet paper, and spinning around until she falls down.  Ok, back to the laundry.  Sigh…

Mar 052012

I went in to Target the other day to get some formula.  After nearly two hours and $200 of crap I don’t need later, I emerged as though from a drug induced euphoria back into the harsh light of reality, aka the parking lot.  As I struggled to carry my giant garbage bag with a bright red bullseye on it, I began to think. And by think… I mean over think. Hmmm… interesting choice of name and logo, Target.  I have a bullseye on my back – literally as the bag is so big and heavy that I must carry it slung over my back like a low rent Santa.  Well done Target, you’ve targeted a weak consumer and lured me in with your catchy tv commercials and seemingly good deals on stuff that I don’t even really want but somehow now need.  Well played, my friend.  But you’ve got this shopaholic and sad, cliché of a mommy for the last time!  No more will I be your target, Target.

Awwww… who am I kidding?  See you in a few days.  Same time, same place.

Feb 252012

If adults acted like babies we would cry whenever we are hungry, tired, or constipated; throw a tantrum every time we don’t get our way; be easily distracted by bright and shiny objects; babble incoherently, sure that everyone understands what we are saying; insert dangerous objects into our mouths with no thought to the damage they might cause… oh my god, I AM A BABY!!!!