May Mayhem 5…A Celebration Of Motherhood!

by The Mayor!

Sweet!! As in a “Sweet Blog Award”, from Pamela over at My Life As A Libra…made even better by the fact that “sweet” is not typically a term applied to me. Maybe she’s gunning for a free drink or two, since we recently discovered we’re in the same city, & ya know, good manners dictate I at least buy her a drink for passing on not one, but TWO blog awards. Thankfully, the second award was the “Honest Scrap”, so I can comfortably admit that I’m not so good with the good manners. But I’ll happily get together for that drink just ’cause I like her, & offer up an evening full of witty sarcasm & people bashing….if she’s really lucky, she may even wind up with a Tinkerbell tattoo & a mug shot as souvenirs of her night out on the Crazy Town. And after I show her the BEST non-sexual night of her life, (unless someone makes her their bitch should we find ourselves in lock up), she won’t be able to resist signing on to my newest Mayoral campaign to send the Crazy Train around the province gathering up The Mombshell, Bibliomama, & Shaunadnauseam for a summer weekend we won’t soon remember….& maybe, just maybe, we’ll convince that other Tracy to make the trip as well! In the meantime, it’s on to another edition of May Mayhem, celebrating motherhood…the good, the bad, & the ugly. Our guest post today definitely covers the “ugly”! The office of The Mayor feels compelled to once again issue a popcorn warning in Crazy Town today….should you encounter any flying towards you, DUCK…you never know where that sh**’s been! Or you can keep your enemies close by taking cover at The Mombshelter, though I think her delightfully insane writings are really just a nefarious ploy to distract you with laughter, while she arms her arsenal with a bra full of milk & popcorn…..INCOMING!!!!

Who’s Your Mommy??!!

I lay in my tomb of soggy teddy bears (my son sucks on them), crumbled cheerios, discarded socks (my kids are too enlightened to be constricted by socks and also to poop on the potty as a matter of fact, they must know something we don’t), cat hair and one lone used band-aid (its my son’s, I know this because I draw smiley faces on them for him, not wanting to buy the cartoony band-aids lest they give way to hypochondriac tendencies).

As I was saying, there I lay in my tomb (also know as my couch) amidst the treasures of our day, hair flowing over my breast (are you kidding I cut off any flowing hair once I lost the hours needed to be dedicated to its care and Monkeybone became afraid of the blow dryer). So I’m laying there practically bald, covered in shrouds or possibly just yoga pants and a stained tank top, there may or may not be a booger on my arm,(not my own of course) but boogers bear close resemblance to dried banana pieces so its tough to tell. The air is still and thick with the scents of exotic oils (ketchup and ranch dressing from lunch). Its nap time and deadly quiet.

Its in this dimly lit chamber with only the cat (and the Golden Girls murmuring in the background) for company, I come to a realization. A realization that I am sure has alluded anthropologists the world over (I mean Margaret Mead could only do so much and Samoans are no match for my kids). I’ve been mommified. Not mummified. Mommified.

I’ve been embalmed in diaper wipes and Vaseline, ritualistically anointed with sour breast milk and watered down orange juice. Through exposure to such extreme conditions (mainly sleeplessness and children’s television) over an extended period of time, a transformation has occurred. I’ve become an unshowered, mussed-up, train playing, lullaby singing, Goodnight Moon reading, in bed by nine o’clock going, mini-van driving, shell of my former put-together, exuberantly youthful, stunningly gorgeous (well stunning at least), coffee table dancing, long hair having, loud music listening self.

Will I be put on display? Will people flock to see my unwashed hair and the cavernous bags under my eyes? Will my likeness become fodder for ingenious Halloween costumes?

I imagine my rank, listless body laid out on a toddler-sized bed, wrapped in a Thomas the Tank Engine comforter with relics of my previous existence laid at my unpedicured feet; clingy lingerie (who has the time), low rise jeans (they just accentuate the baby roll), the abandoned blow dryer, dangly earrings (contraband now because of grabbing hands), a vibrator (what if it’s loud buzzing wakes the baby), a pretty g-string (when you push a baby out after having an epidural other things get pushed out too, like your whole butt. Its getting better but still…), a white shirt (every mom of small children knows you just don’t wear white, the reasoning is obvious)and various books by award winning authors (their reading would involve brain cells now dedicated to the production of breast milk and committing Green Eggs and Ham to memory). All these things, monuments of my former glory.

I am sure one day, a hundred years from now, I will rise from the rubble of Lego’s and dirty diapers to soar once again wielding a silent sex toy and a really expensive bottle of red wine, jubilant over the raising of children who can quote Wordsworth and find the midpoint of a line. Wearing skinny jeans and ankle boots, with flowing hair and eyeshadow I will have reemerged, untouched by regurgitated Heinz mixed cereal and Barney songs.

Until that bright shimmering day, I lay here mommified.

A mommy.

This is what I USED to look like...

...THIS is what I look like NOW!

The Mombshell!

I absolutely promise that I will suck it up & sneak back in to the Art Gallery should you ever be put on display…though I can’t promise that I won’t have anymore run-ins with security! And now that you’ve been suitably distracted by her fabulous humour & creativity, make sure you check your hair for any stray popcorn on your way over to her site! And I must insist that you head over there, ’cause you know you’re dying to find out the back story to the boob popcorn! But before you make good your escape, yesterday’s voting puts image #5 out in the lead for the Redheadlaw7’s new button. If you have not yet cast your vote, my goons are prepared to pin you down & tattoo “Redheads Rock!” across your forehead for dissing us, so get your butts down there….look down, look back at me….& just do it! Thanks once again to The Mombshell for contributing to my May Mayhem….possibly the only dudette who’s mouthier than I am, & I didn’t even have to censor her! Not that I would have anyways, it’s her trash talkin’ trucker mouth that I so love to love!

Signed,

The Mayor!