A Better Mommy

Remember the movie "Taxi Driver"?  That guy, the assassin -- had this mechanism hidden in his jacket where he'd fling his arm with empty hand straight out, and the concealed gun would be ejected out of his sleeve into his waiting hand. 

That's what I want, except loaded with kleenex. 

Here's the scenario:

You're on your way somewhere in the car... Your darling daughter due to teething, allergies, whatever has a minor case of the sniffles.  Or so you choose to believe before depositing her at the daycare with very strict rules about dropping children with potentially infections conditions. 

Putting on your lipstick in the mirror in traffic, you smile at your cherub in the back seat, you can glimpse her in the rearview mirror.   Back to your lips or the traffic, whichever...  you hear an outrageous sneeze that belongs to .  You look back to see your darling daughter with a quarter sized glob of radioactive green slime hanging from the tip of her delicate nose.  You can't just see this in the mirror, but must crane around to verify that it's not a trick of the light. 

Traffic is moving, no place to pull over, dammit.  I look over to see the dog eating the last shreds of a kleenex box.  There has to be something to wipe a nose here somewhere... Maybe this coffee cup will work.  At last, I've come up with a shred of paper,  a reciept I think, but something reasonable to wipe the giant glob off her delicate nose... but as I pull to a stop to reach back for it, I notice the glob is no longer there... well, yes it is -- it's just been relocated to her chin, her forehead, her fingers... Good god, she's been playing with it, smearing it everywhere.  Aughh.  Wipe EVERYTHING. 

That instantly appearing kleenex in my hand trick would be SO handy 5 minutes ago.  The other hand needs to dispense some sort of spray disinfectant. 

I'm sure there will be a zillion more times it comes in handy...


Parenting Children, Not Your Own

Getting away on a weekend vacation with friends to the mountains for a little skiing, a little mountain biking in a quiet cabin sounds like a great idea.  But then, only after you're committed and enroute, do you realize that one host has included their two darling, rambunctious boys, 5 & 7 years old.   Further, on the way to the cabin, they have purchased, two obnoxious toy machine guns for use on this 'getaway' trip.  OH BOY, that's going to be relaxing.   I strongly dislike the concept of toy guns for children -- kids should play with real guns or not at all -- let's not blur the boundaries of reality and make some guns okay to point at people, and some guns not.   I grew up with a bb gun, and did my fair share of damage, but always maintained a healthy respect for the weapon -- pointing it at people, animals and things in general had real consequences.  Not so with these kids - they were instantly pointing them at everything and everyone and blasting away.  But these aren't MY kids, and I shouldn't be imposing my views proper toys on their parents.  Well, at least not outright.

So I give up any hope of peace & quiet reflection in a mountain top setting, and I settle in to play with the boys.  "Boys," I say " if you're going to wave machine guns around, you gotta do it right."  It's amazing how a couple of normal white pillow cases can be turned into very good looking kaffias.  "Now boys, when one of you sights the other one, say 'Durkka, Durkka, Jihad', the other one in response should say 'Die Infidel, Die'..."  Soon enough we're ducking behind rocks and in the mountain landscape, shooting each other up, and having a grand old time.   Oops, time for me to run off to the mountain biking and skiing I came here to do with the other adults.   I think my work here is done.

Gratification:  We're all back in the cabin relaxing after the ride, and the mother of the darling boys has just returned from some grocery shopping for the impending dinner.   Her darling son comes in from play with his brother, and asks his mom "Did you buy me a present at the store?".  She replies "No", so he points the toy gun at her and says "Die Infidel, Die" while firing off  a blast on the machine gun.  I nearly wet my pants with glee. I'm hopeful there will at least be a momentary pause before the next toy gun purchase is completed, and I'm certain the boys are being "spoken to" about the wisdom of shooting people even if it's only with a fake gun.

It All Comes Down To How You Say It...


Parents, are you tired of getting dissed by your single friends for not having anything *interesting* to say? "Really, can't you talk about anything other than baby poop?"
Try using Cheesy Porn Speak.  I enjoyed the full and rapt attention of several of my childfree peers while describing my motherly duties in this fun format...

Stripped Down
As she wriggled closer to me, I was alerted by primitive olfactory impulses... a delicate sweet scent of a mixture of body fluids.  I let her come closer, waiting for the other subtle clues she was ready for me.  No point in rushing things.  A low groan from her throat, the slight flushing of her face.  She was getting restless and I knew we were mere moments away.. her breathing became heavier.

We moved with the choreography of dancers into the bedroom and onto the bed, closer to our accoutrements, should they be necessary.   The thought passed my mind, could I restrain her arms?  Would she put up with it?  I skip it, thinking I could always try that later.  Another thought, shall I rip off all her clothes now, or just move enough clothing out of the way to do the deed?  What the hell, I think, and in one swift motion that surprises us both, her dress is a crumpled heap on the floor.  She lays back in a spread eagle pose as I carefully peel back the folds of her diaper, and observe in dismay the shreds of a missing catalog, scattered in her poop.  Oh well, plenty of fiber for this girl.  A few wet wipes and  in moments she's back in a fresh diaper.


Hot Nipples in the Subaru
After we left the meat counter, in the deserted cereal aisle, she made her desires known - she grabbed me, thrusting her face between my breasts; she wanted me.  I was nearly dripping with anticipation, literally aching for her.  We hurried through the rest of the shopping, and at the checkout counter, she snagged one of the zucchinis out of our bag, on a whim.  We made it to the car, tossed in the groceries in the last spot left in our already overloaded Subaru.  

No other space left in the car, so we both jumped into the drivers seat - I started unbuttoning my blouse, exposing my firm, full breasts, while her mouth ravenously found my nipple.  She brandished the zucchini, thrusting it between my breasts, and laughing at my reaction to the chilled vegetable probing.  As she struggled to get into a better position, she accidentally sat on the horn - honking it to further attract the attention of curious passersby as she playfully smacked my face with the zucchini...

Then of course my cell phone rang - it was my father with his terrific sense of timing.  A spurt of milk sprays across the windshield as she is momentarily distracted from my nipple.  I answer, "Hi Dad - no, everything's fine. .... Just tying to feed the baby in the car."