I was reading my usual hundred or so blogs, and I came across one that was trying to explore that which is the mother and son bond, and it was all puppy dog tails and the sweet rambunctiousness of little mop haired boys with devilish ways and pockets full of marbles...
And it led me to reflect upon my relationship with my sons.
And there wasn't a damned happy puppy dog tail memory in sight. ( No easy feat, I assure you, as we actually have had 3 puppy dog tails in our lives, only they have grown to become the mangy pack animals of confused sexuality found here: MYSUESTORIES: That Doggy has Style )
But there is a special bond between those future farting champs I call my sons, that I don't believe I would ever share were I cursed enough to bear daughters. ( Besides, belching, farting girls? Never leave home.
That mother/son bond? Oh it's there, all right. How else could I ever explain my ability to capture and provide housing for any assorted varieties of reptiles, amphibians, and (((shudder))) spiders? Not only have I played a ridiculous version of Steve Irwin procuring various vermin from the wilds of our backyard, I have then been blessed with laying out oodles of $$$$ to buy insects and creepy crawlies of all types with which to feed those little f*ckers. The vermin, dear reader, not the boys....although technically, ...oh nevermind.
Not only have I had to buy and transport these bugs, I then had to bring them into my home! These are the same creatures that, had I spied them crawling across my floor under normal circumstances? I would happily smash them with a well heeled shoe, all the while screaming my trademark battle cry of "Die, M@therf*cker!"
Puppy dog tails? I say NAY NAY. True motherly love is snatching an eight inch garden snake who has been AWOL for a week out of the heating element, all the while yelling "I've got you now, you little b*st*rd! " (Again, to the vermin, not the boys.....not that there haven't been days.....nevermind.)
Yeah, show me a mom with a cute, clean young man with manners and a pet rock and I'll show you a woman afraid to venture into the wilds with her off spring. Me and my devil spawn? Get us an old sauce jar (preferably with some sauce still coating the bottom!) and we'll take that brat's little pet rock and find us some creepy crawlies underneath it. 'Cause that's how we roll here at mysuestories manor.
Why, that cute, clean little well behaved boy? I bet he doesn't even make it the burping playoffs!! Heh!
1 comment:
you're right, I HAVE been talking crotch over on my blog for quite some time now. I feel like it's the only place anyone (other than my husband, of course, who has to listen or else...) will listen to me and be supportive.
And regarding this post, which I read over coffee this morning from my trust phone, I can't wait until my boy develops some of these snips and snails you speak of. Because he's less puppy and more pu... Never mind.
Let's just say he's very marble pockety these days.
Keep up the blogging lady, you make me smile with every post! I'm terrible at commenting because the only place I can really do it from is work, and you know how sometimes they make you work at work? Yeah, they've got me doing that these days.
Bunch of jerks.
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