I expected to miss my boys this weekend, but thoroughly enjoy my alone time. Instead, I missed my boys this weekend. Period.
They've got their hooks into me, those two.
I went Christmas shopping today. As I wandered through the various stores, I cooed at the crying babies and smiled at the clumsy shoppers stepping on my toes. I found myself drawn to every sappy imprinted sentiment; every inspirational book; every one-with-nature knickknack. I think this means I'm happy.
I think it also means your present is going to suck balls this year.
Every once in a while, a married mommy or daddy has to do it solo for a while. Mom or dad goes out of town or gets sick or whatever, and the other parent is left to go it alone and inevitably says something like, "Oh my god, when is this going to be over? Single parenthood is sooooo hard."
Sometimes I take that as a compliment. Sometimes it's exactly what I need to hear when I'm feeling overwhelmed and beating myself up for not being a better mom.
But most times, I just wanna smack 'em.
Sooooo hard? You had, what? Three whole days? Wow. Try six fucking years of that shit. You think you're bad? You ain't bad. You're nothing. You're NOTHING!
And then I put on my intimidating zipper jacket and dance around like this:
Yeah. That really shows 'em. Shamone.
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