This is how close my kids' faces are to my face at any given time of day.
Now, don't get me wrong, I love my kids to the moon and back. Some days I love them so hard to the moon that I have considered starting a Go Fund Me that would create a NASA program to send people there to colonize. Of course, I'd need other mothers to be a part of the program or there'll be a bunch of inbred babies running all over the moon with adorable cyclops eyes and delightful (I'm sure), yet disturbing, missing strands of DNA. No offense to all of those first cousins who didn't need to look outside their family reunion gathering to find their soulmates. And, congratulations! Your baby is so... human!!
I know this sounds awful, but people who have kids are allowed to daydream and it's not child abuse to dream. I checked. And, for the people who don't have kids, screw YOU.
This is a typical five minute period in my day in which I am trying to concentrate or accomplish something.
THE EVENTS DESCRIBED BELOW ARE NOT EXCERPTS FROM REAL LIFE. SOME OF THE DETAILS HAVE BEEN INVENTED BY A VERY TIRED, OVERLY IMAGINATIVE MOTHER.
ME: *trying to concentrate on what is most likely directions for cooking something for my children to consume like black holes only to ask for more food thirty seconds after it comes out of the oven*
KIDS: "Is dinner ready?"
ME: "Does it look ready?"
ME: "Ok, then."
*brief millisecond of silence*
KIDS: "When will it be done?"
ME: "When I call you for dinner, you'll know it is done."
KIDS: "We'll just sit here and watch you."
ME: "Go. Outside."
*brief silence while kids erase everything that has just been said from their brains*
This is what OUTSIDE looks like, children. You should try it sometime.
Also, I found this picture at shakespearesmom.com. I didn't go to the site because I'm afraid it's not a mom blog about how comedy is tragedy plus eighteen dependent years.
KIDS: "Can you call us when dinner is ready?"
*the kids blink and wait for a response... OBVIOUSLY NOT GETTING IT*
*kids scurry off*
*four whole seconds of focused reading... 20 minutes at 425 degrees...*
KIDS: "We're sooooooooo hungry... We wish dinner was ready..."
ME: "Yeah, too bad we don't own a genie and you just have a mom. GET. OUT. OF. MY. KITCHEN."
*collective sighs and moans*
ME: "OK, THEN!"
*walking away as slowly as is humanly possibly while dragging their toes across the wood floor in slow motion protest*
ME TALKING TO MYSELF: "Ok... Where was I...?"
KIDS: "WHAT??? WERE YOU TALKING TO US? DID YOU CALL FOR US? IS DINNER READY NOW???"
ME: *opens oven door, pulls burning hot cookie sheet out with my bare hand, makes direct eye contact with all of four children as slowly as they take a hint, and dumps the entire thing, cookie sheet and all, into the trash.*
Then, I grab a jar of feta stuffed green olives from the fridge and drag my toes across the hard wood floor slowly as I simultaneously walk backward and maintain eye contact with the kids until I get to my bedroom to watch Netflix in bed and binge snack behind my locked door.
THIRTY SECONDS PASS
KIDS: *knocking on my locked door* "SOOOO... Is dinner ready now?"
ME: *quietly contemplates the meaning of life while the realization of the inevitable event of my brain exploding in T-MINUS 3 seconds, leaving only a cloud of glitter and pasta as my legacy, slowly washes over me*