I'm obsessed with the word "puking". I'm a mother of 4 children...let's not forget that I deal with this subject matter, approximately 3.8 times per month. Hey, dry heaves count.
Whew, now that that's been confessed, let's move on to the heavy stuff.
I went off on a bitter old lady last week while shopping at Michael's with the spawn. They kept pulling things off the shelves and hen-pecking me to death with, "Can we have this?", "Will you buy this for us?", "Please, please, please can you get this?"
After my 4th stern NO, the bitter old lady came up behind me and the spawn and screamed, "NOOOO! Your mother said NOOOO!"
I whipped around as fast as I could and bellowed, "Excuse me!! No one talks to my kids like that, except ME! How dare you?!"
Yeah, I know the spawn can be annoying when out in public. Hell, they're annoying when we're NOT in public and just hanging out at home.
And I've long since accepted the blatant fact that I am THAT mom who everyone stares at when we're out somewhere.
Still, this may not seem like much of a confession...any mom would stand up for her kids in this same situation, right?
But, you see, it gets worse. Trust me.
The bitter old lady stared angrily at me, as if I had some nerve talking to HER like that.
She pointed her crooked, wrinkled finger at me and said, accusingly, "You need to contain your children in a store like this".
Before responding, I paused, fully expecting her to follow it up with a creepy witch-like cackle. Or to summon her flying monkeys.
I asked, "Uh, you mean in an ARTS AND CRAFTS store? I know, imagine that...children wanting to touch things in a craft store! Why don't you just take your walker and your little basket and head down the next aisle, where, to the best of my knowledge, there have been no sightings of loud, unruly children?"
As she hobbled off, I muttered, "And don't forget to take your Metamucil when you get home...it might do you some good to dislodge that huge stick up your ass."
The kids giggled because, of course, even though I had pretty much said it under my breath...they heard every single word.
Yet, 5 minutes later, they claim they didn't hear me yelling at them in the parking lot, "Get over here before you get smashed by a truck! We can't afford funeral expenses right now, dammit!" (probably should confess that little ooops right there, too, while I'm at it).
So sue me, I lost my temper. I'm not about to tolerate some little old hag yelling at my kids, when I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself. Yeah, so they don't listen to me...that's not the point, people.
I laughed hysterically later that afternoon when Cole told Bella to chill out and get the huge stick out of her ass, after she threw a major tantrum because he wouldn't give her the blue crayon the minute she demanded it from him.
Even though there's something inherently evil about feeling flattered when my kids repeat words and phrases that should never be mumbled by young children, I can't help myself.
Don't worry...I've long since given up the dream of winning the "Mother of the Year" award.
That dream was long gone in 2007 after my 2nd set of twins were born....along with another 4300 of my brain cells, my pelvic floor and the ligaments and connective tissue holding my boobs in the upright position.