Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a middle-aged mother who was long passed being mistaken for a beautiful young maiden.

This mother had traded in her ability to sing woodland animals into helping her whistle while she worked, her penchant for taming even the most wild of the beasts, and her magical coach and footmen for a humble life with The Man She Loved and a Child for whom she’d give her last breath, along with piles of dirty laundry waiting to be done, dishes that just wouldn’t wash themselves, and an ass that magically expanded at the mere sight of food.

It was a mundane existence, but one filled with its own inspired moments. For the love of the Child could not even compare to the perks her Fairy Godmother once provided. Dreams of princes, beautiful ball gowns, and happily ever afters might have been nice while they lasted, but this mother understood that her place in Reality was one she could take great pride in, even if that place was a precarious one and sure to drive her as insane as her crazy Step-Sister who spent her days in a padded room trying to shove her size 10′s into a size 5 glass slipper.

“Who wears a glass slipper, anyway?” the mother wearily sighed. Forget the mere idiocy of the thought and the smell of nasty foot sweat sure to come part and parcel with wearing the damned things, but if it broke? Good Heavens! How unsafe it would be in her humble home for The Child while she cleaned.

One night, the mother dreamed. She dreamed vibrant colors, swirling images, and magic-filled words. She woke to hear The Child crying for her and tucked her dream away for just one more moment, one more day in the land of Reality, and tended to The Child’s, filling her sweet head with visions of singing mermaids, beautiful princesses, and houses built of candies.

Her own dreams could wait. For just a little while longer.

 

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I never thought I’d get to ask this question legitimately, but why exactly did the chicken cross the road again?

 

Have you checked out The Afterbirth yet? It’s my sometimes daily blog where I publish little snippets of Motherhood as I see and experience them. And while I want to keep this little place to share my thoughts to well, myself, I’m hoping other writer mamas out there are interested in sharing their own thoughts.

Call it ego or an OCD need to plan for every eventuality, but I already have a blog name and URL purchased and ready to go for my own vision of a spin-off of The Afterbirth. I’m not doing anything with it until I know that I’d have a constant and ready supply of writing to post from contributors, though.

So until then, it’s just an idea. The rest is up to you.

 

I wonder if there is a Mexican equivalent to Murphy’s Law. Or maybe there isn’t, and Murphy just tailors his fuck-with-me type tendencies to my Spanglish life. Take tonight for example. After a day of nothing, I decided to dress us both and run out to Target for some Christmas decorations, since I seem to have left all of them in Michigan.

We were doing great until about five minutes before I got home. Buttercup started coughing. A lot. She’s dealing with a sinus infection and the poor kid gets smacked with the worst of it at night. Her coughing grew progressively worse while I raced home, praying she would wait to throw up until I had her out of the car.

I was *almost* home free.

“Cough, hack, cough, hack, hack, hack.”

“It’s ok, baby.” I spoke into the rear view mirror. “We’re almost home! Look, there’s the house!”

“Cough, hack, hack, cough, cough.” She tried to clear her throat, but gagged as I slowed to pull into the driveway. “Ok, Mama. Cough, cough, hack, hack, cough, ha…” And then it happend. Just as I was easing the minivan up the steep driveway bump designed to help water run off during the rainy season, she gagged one last time and lost all the contents of her stomach.

“Aye! Oh, shit! Aye Dios!” It was all I could say as I hurried to put the minivan in park, grab my keys from the ignition, and run out to her side to manually open the side door. I know my first concern was supposed to be Buttercup and her well-being, but since I know she was only throwing up from sinus drainage and nothing more, I was more concerned about how long it was going to take to clean the puke up after getting her in bed.

It was an absolute nightmare. She was covered in yuck and it wasn’t until after she was asleep that I was able to assess the damamge. Little princess has a Britax Boulevard, and those bad boys are a pain to take apart and put back together, seeing as how they’re made to stay in place once you install it properly. After an hour of scrubbing, Frebreezing, and getting the Britax reassembled with a new seat cover, I was finally able to breathe.

My first thought when I was all done?

“I miss the spit-up days. Toddler puke sucks.”

Seriously.

 

IMG00397-20091125-1438The leftovers are bagged up and in the fridge. The washer and dryer are full of clothes I’ve neglected for about as I’ve neglected blogging. Buttercup is still fighting a sinus and ear infection and sitting next to a pile of laundry while wearing her windbreaker, mismatched shoes on backwards, and a too short dress. And I’m sitting here on the couch while Elmo’s World plays on the DVD player, my hair fuzzy and undone.

Normally, I’d be flipping out because of everything that isn’t getting done today, but today’s different. For us, it’s the day after Thanksgiving and because the calendar date doesn’t mean anything when already still digesting turkey and ham and sweet potato souffle while the rest of the country is just getting into holiday preparations, I’m in full relaxation mode.

The Husband works on Thursday, so we celebrated early with friends and co-workers. It was two days of craziness with dinners hosted at our house both on Monday and Tuesday. And now that it’s all over, Buttercup and I are relaxing and starting to decorate for Christmas while The Husband sleeps before his midnight shift tonight.

And with that said, I’m logging off now to go and cuddle with my daughter in her bed. It’s time for story time, snuggles, and more planned laziness.

I love days like this.

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