ok … THAT is it.  I am officially handing in my mother tap dance shoes and withdrawing my name from the local butcher’s Mother of the Year contest and my chance to win a meat platter.  THAT is how strongly I feel about this.  I am almost completely Australian now and let me tell you … Australians NEVER pass on the chance to win a free meat platter.

I freely admit I never did that.  Had I known there were people somewhere looking for that kind of proof of love I would never have consented to sex, let alone children.

In my day, fighting off a rabid dog with your bare hands was considered proof enough that you were a dedicated mom and we just had to nod when someone else said it, we never ever had to actually do it.  We said all kinds of things and nodded back in those days.  It never meant we did it or even believed it.  We just were not “freed” yet and most of us were still wearing our bras.

We high fived each other for surviving the terrible twos.   We praised those among us who had not turned to drugs or alcohol.  We thought it awesome that our children made it  through their time with us alive.  Let’s not forget we let those kids play in asbestos.  Their toys had lead paint on them.   We let them ride in cars AND shopping carts without seat belts, crash helmets or TV.  We fed them complete crap.  We let them teeth without necklaces.  They were lucky if their brother or sister drew them into the family photo on the fridge … who could afford a camera let alone the time it takes to have them pose and put on all that gauze?

My kids were lucky to have their diapers changed.  I was lucky if my husband remembered to take the garbage with all those dirty diapers out soon enough.  We didn’t eat poop. I know my kids might argue that some of their food tasted like poop but as tempting as that idea was sometimes, I never did it.   We filled the disposable diapers with their poop and sent all of it to the landfill so our kids could grow up and tell us what a shitty polluted world we had left them and we could laugh in the old folks home about the irony of it all.

I.  Never.  Ate.  Poop.

I clearly did not read the directions.

I want a refund.

And trauma pay.