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The Tired Zombie Mom Chronicles: “Mt. Cocoa Puffs in Philly”
Date: 9 March 2017
Time: 6:45 A.M.
Location: Philadelphia, PA
Crime: Emotional and Psychological Assault
So my three-year-old lumbered himself downstairs like an Ewok in Star Wars, Episode VI, Return of the Jedi a few minutes before I did this morning. Not typically a big deal on most days. However, today — instead of grabbing the remote control so he can tune into the lasted episode of Sesame Street or PAW Patrol, or The Wiggles (sorry, I just threw up in my mouth a little); he must have taken advantage of the few minutes momma wasn’t watching and found the secret “Cocoa Puffs” stash in the cupboard and proceeded to dump said Puffs in a huge pile in the middle of the kitchen floor.
When I finally made it down the stairs, I was already exhausted from an especially hard day yesterday and just needed that first cup of java to make me feel like I had enough life in me to keep going. Instead, I walked around the corner and into the kitchen and immediately felt the blood (literally) drain from my face. To add insult to injury, the little bugger I call “my son” was hysterically laughing and psychotically grinding the Cocoa Puffs into my kitchen floor with his country biscuit-sized feet like a crazed little midget. The fine powdery chocolate looked like poorly manufactured hot cocoa — I wanted to cry. No, I did cry … wait … I don’t know dammit. It’s still hard to remember at this point.
— Cara Maria Leighty (@mrs_leighty) March 27, 2018
Trust me, I now know how a mother can have both intense love and blinding “hate” for their child (or their actions rather) simultaneously. I understand how a good-hearted mother can have the motivation and ability to protect and defend their flesh and blood like a battle-hardened Navy Seal on a mission in Afghanistan or mother grizzly in the wilderness — but at the same time, want to put a Tony Soprano-style hit out on them and deny any knowledge of it to FBI agents.
The dichotomy is both mesmerizing and sobering.
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Anyway, the presiding question today is: am I a bad mother for wanting to fire up the SUV, drive my son to the closest Wal-Mart and abandon him in a dirty, weathered shopping cart in the middle of the parking lot, or am I just a bad mother for sweeping every delicious Cocoa Puffs up and methodically stuffing ’em back in each box? The older kids won’t be the wiser and the chocolatey Puffs will invariably disguise a multitude of dirt and incidental foreign objects. Plus, times are hard right? We have to save where we can.
Maybe I’m just a bad mother for letting my son beat me down the stairs this morning. Either way, I certainly don’t get the mother of the year award today … or this month for that point.
As you’ve already figured out…this is how my “wonderful” day started. I believe I finished an entire pot of Folgers coffee before starting on the massive and daunting pile of laundry laying on the cold basement floor. In the dark, it looked like the looming silhouette of a wooly mammoth after being speared to death by a slant-fore headed, Cro-Magnom hunter. My pre-coffee brain kept echoing, “wooly mammoth won’t fit in your washing machine Susan … wooly mammoth – too big.” Thank goodness the freshly-brewed coffee soon shook off that momentary brain injury.
Now it was time to get to work.
So…yeah…the next person I hear saying stay-at-home Moms don’t really work hard or don’t contribute to society … or are lazy … blah, blah, blah … gets throat punched and choked out MMA style.
Have a great day guys!
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