You Can’t Make This Shit Up

A Mother’s Loving Retrospective

– The feeling of satisfaction I get when matching the pile of single socks I have had nowhere to put is likely an inappropriately high response. I think squealing might be overkill.

– I am attempting to buy healthier snacks and whatnot because I want to take pictures and tell Facebook what a great mom I am. I bought cauliflower cheez it’s. My daughter tried them. She said they’re the most disgusting things she ever tasted. She said “it’s not just that they are bad, but it’s just wrong on my tongue”. I think she’s overreacting until I taste one. She wasn’t over reacting. Go team healthy mom!

-I also attempted to buy organic protein bars for snacks because it’s a nut free class room. My sons both love them. My daughters review: “great news mom. I tried them. They have literally no taste. It’s like smooshy nothing. But! Then there’s an aftertaste, and it’s disgusting.” I really don’t know who the fuck taught her all this sarcasm.

-In an attempt to make up for my organic offenses, I offered to take the kid to get her nails done, because I was missing 2. I brought her friend and her friends mom who is my friend. I figured surely this will prove I’m an amazing Facebook mom.

”Twas not my daughter, but my own pants that turned against me. As I was bending over to get my purse to pay, after I’ve been all around the world, my daughter and her friend do the exact opposite of quietly informing me of the gaping hole in the ass of my pants. That I was au natural underneath. Fortunately, I got to spend the entire rest of the day too far to get to my house and change pants and too busy to do anything but some sort of shirt pulling, sideways paranoia ass hiding shuffle.

-There’s currently a massive pile of shit on my daughters floor. I cleaned half her room last week in an angry attempt to teach her a lesson by doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing, and proving to her that in this endless game of room chicken, she will likely always win, because I have OCD and she plays dirty.

“Why is there a pile of shit in your room?”

“Oh, I’m sorting through it. I need to decide what brings me joy.”

…any clever suggestions on phrasing that if I do not get a vacuum in her room by Friday, flushing everything that brings her joy down the toilet will be the only thing that brings me joy?

Other Reading

You Can’t Make This Shit Up

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