Would you like to come over to my house and take a shower, or flush a toilet? You totally can, now. My filter is unclogged and my tanks have been pumped. (That sounds so much more fun than what actually happened….) It cost $1 less than what I paid for yard clean-up. So, if I’d known yesterday that this was going to happen, when Yard Guy pulled up on his tractor I would’ve been all “Okay, if you can do the whole acre for a dollar, I’m in!”
But it’s not MY trauma (or, more accurately, my bank account’s trauma) that needs discussing.
My children would like to warn others so that, perhaps, others won’t have to suffer as they have. Don’t allow warning signs to go unnoticed; be vigilant and proactive. Respond to any of the following with swift and immediate retaliatory behavior.
The following are signs that your mother doesn’t really love you:
1) The sun comes up too early.
2) There is only an empty pop-tart box on the shelf. (Sure, maybe you’re the one who took the last packet and put the empty box back; that’s irrelevant.)
3) You are expected to go to school even when you have _________. [Fill in the blank with one or more: a hangnail, bedhead, socks that are “too bunchy,” ennui.]
4) She insists that you like meatballs, just because you used to eat them. You HATE meatballs. OBVIOUSLY.
5) She goes out and leaves you with a sitter.
6) Alternatively, she cancels the sitter. Either way.
7) She buys your sibling new shoes without buying any for you. She SAYS it’s because your shoes are fine and/or she just bought you new shoes, but COME ON.
8) You’re required to bathe just because your fingernails are a little bit black underneath.
9) Sometimes you have to wait a minute or two before your needs are met.
10) Sometimes–oh, the humanity!–they aren’t met AT ALL!
11) There are times when the television is off.
12) Bees. (Think about it. If your mother loved you, would you still be able to spot a bee 100 yards away while you’re on the swingset and come shrieking into the house? Of course not.)
Hopefully you won’t have to confront the atrocities that others have faced. Just remember, that which does not kill us, makes us stronger. Also, hell hath no fury like a child perturbed.
Poor Chickadee–I mean, you must NOT love her if you are refusing to buy her shoes, which are the universal sign of love.
Plus, bees! Do something about that, will ya?
Oh the horror of it all.
I use to open my freezer and find frozen bees. I feared I was cultivating the neighborhood’s next serial killers. But no, she turned in to a wonderful mom years later. But I still can’t find my soup spoons.
Teeheeheeheehahahahasnork Okay. But seriously, my socks are totally bunched. So, can I cut out from work early today? *still laughing. WITH you. No, really*
P.S. Did I mention I did my grocery shopping for the weekend on the way in? Diet sodas and frosted poptarts — the big six-pack boxes! :-)
Oh dear! I am afraid Diva Girl is a part of Chickadee’s resistance cell. The no-win scenario you describe is all too familiar at my house these days. you have my utmost sympathy. And respect for not putting her up on ebay with no reserve bid.
Ohmygoodness! You’ve just handed me the key to my sanity! I had NO IDEA that bees mean that my mother doesn’t love me. No wonder I’ve struggled so emotionally all these years.
Thank you, Mir. Now I can really start to make progress in my personal life. What a revelation!
My children say I don’t love them because I – dare I say it? – make them clean up their own mess. I know, I’m almost as cruel as you! If only we could make them understand how much they’ll miss all we do for them once they grow up and have to do it for themselves. My plan is to be on a beach drinking Mojitos when they start calling to apologize for their childhoods. It’s a pretty fantasy, anyway! ;)
I’m just giggling imaging Chickadee or Monkey begging off school because, “Mama, I have ennui.” Heeeeee!
LOL! I could have SO written that list. Ennui = hilarious.
You are so brave to admit these atrocities. It will be a miracle, if your children make it to adulthood– cause the pain of having bunchy socks is truly overwhelming. Ahh, the suffering they must endure!
You’re still talking about your septic system, and my heart is still pounding. At least the yard guys found it before YOU did with a doomed flush. Oh, I could go on and on…I’m having flashbacks now.
There is a bee in my living room. I knew you hated me.
*sigh* So true. But I think you forgot at least one:
13. You stumble and fall down (or bang your head, stub your toe – pick your poison) 20 feet away from your mother but it was all her doing.
Wow…it’s too bad you frittered that money away on yardwork and septic tanks. You really should have earmarked it for Chickadee’s therapy account. You, know, the one she’ll need when she’s sorting through the bee trauma and the bunchy sock fiasco and the *sob* MEATBALLS! You are so gonna have a book written about you.
Take heart. Drama Queen’s already penned the first two chapters of hers. I’ll have her forward her publisher’s contact info to Chick, when she’s ready. :)
Wow, it’s like a handy-dandy tear out sheet for Chickadee to take to her therapist. How convienent! I’m gonna try the whole bunchy sock excuse next time I want a day off, I’m sure my boss will buy it. Although I think I might have better luck with the ennui, I think I can sell it as an illness that takes a couple days to recover from. Wish me luck!