Back to Mother's Day, I was reading an article today that asked people to nominate their mothers as the "best mother" or some shit. As I was reading some of the submissions, I realized that I wanted to be fucking nominated. I wanted to nominate my own damn self. I didn't want the Divas or the SBF to nominate me because they don't know me. They have no fucking clue about who I really am. They don't know my cares, fears, dreams, and desires. They think I am bat shit crazy and I am suppose to grant their every wish and desire. Silly rabbits...they live in a delusional world. They have not seen the late nights where I have watched them breath, prayed for them to be healed, cried over their troubles, stitched up their clothes, prayed for strength to keep trying, and contemplated whether my meds should be doubled. Who can tell my story better than me? I know all of the ins and outs, all of the shits and fits. How can I expect them to be able to properly relay the fact that I continue to try to do my very best while they continue to act like fucking morons??? I want more than one fucking day dedicated to mothers because nowadays people celebrate their fucking birthdays an entire month. All month they focus on themselves for just being born. Shit...really? How about I celebrate every fucking day...the decision to grow something that fed on my body and continues to shit on me everyday. Yikes...was that too harsh? Sorry...real talk is a bitch sometimes.
So, I have been thinking about what I would write to deem myself necessary of such an honor. I came up with the following: I would like to receive a spa package because Miss B shit herself five times in one day and once in the tub last week and I took it like a pro. I would like to receive a gym membership because my middle Diva told me that my boobs looked like pickles while I was attempting to try on clothes for an upcoming Vegas trip. Fucking pickles....really??? Miss B added that they were "bumply" like pickles. I just stared off into space while all three of them bent over to see if their boobs looked like pickles. I said nothing. I did not scream "they look like pickles because I breastfed all three of you ungrateful bitches". What I did instead was bend over in front of the SBF about ten times all while sobbing "but they do look like pickles". I want a gift certificate to my favorite retail store because I got bitched at by the SBF for spending money....on get this...his damn children. Guess what happens to most children...they grow every 2 months and need new clothes. Then, the seasons change and they need more clothes. And in Mississippi it's 37 degrees one week and 80 degrees the next which leaves a mother little time to crawl up in the fucking attic to get down 18 rubber maid containers of hand me downs.
I would like to receive a years supply of my favorite wine because I have spent endless hours reading some horrific shit on google trying to cure an ailment or behavior. I would also like to receive a getaway package because the getaways I have taken for myself in the past have resulted in me feeling guilty and undeserving. The getaways....where instead of drinking and passing out...I tried to remind myself that I was a mother....blah blah. The getaways....where the first two days involved me sitting numb in a corner or sleeping because I was too fucking tired from every day life to enjoy my getaway. I would like a parade also. A parade where I walk down the road looking all cute and shit and people yell my name and I wave at them. They even scream "you rock", "you the shit", and so forth. The Divas yell my name 1000 100 times a day and it's usually to get me to do something for them or tell me that I didn't do something for them and because I respond 75% of the time...I want a damn parade. I see a Mother's Day parade in the future. Get ready...bitches!!!
Since I am ranting, I would like to address the community. It would be unfair to paint a picture that the perps in mommy trafficking are only the Divas and the SBF. Oh no, it's some mommies, and daddies, and community leaders, and volunteers that have helped contribute to my anguish over my motherly duties. I would like to have my next two therapy sessions paid for because there are some shitty mommies and daddies out there. I am addressing the "mean greens" that have produced little assholes that are creating havoc in my home. I have had to exercise too much of my so called love and goodwill to all mankind lately. Real talk, I want to stop you in the carpool line and tell you to kiss my ass or better yet kick your headlights out while I scream "Get your shit together. We are raising the future, you son of a fucker!!" Note: the son of a fucker instead of mother fucker because it's Mother's Day. I would like a massage because I have volunteered too many times only to end up being used and abused. I'm not referring to the times where I have taken on more than I can handle. I am referring to the times where people seem to ask me to do all kinds of shit for them like I don't have anything better to do. Often times, these requests involve free fucking labor of some sort.
I would like my cellphone bill paid for three months because I have sent out numerous texts, emails, and phone calls that people seem to ignore. Let this be known...all mothers are busy. If a mother takes the time out to contact you for any reason, please do her a favor and respond within a week. Don't let the mother walk around feeling like she is crazy because she's constantly checking for a response or wondering if she ever even initiated contact. I only have time to stalk my kids not other bitches. I would like a manicure because I have burned myself on hot glue guns trying to create shit for a party, sliced my finger from cutting up fresh fruit to send to class, or watched my fingers cramp up from writing notes, typing up minutes, signing checks etc. Volunteering and being a mother are both thankless jobs. So, why do I do it?? I don't fucking know. I guess I want the world to be a better place. I want to do my part.
I could write an essay about how to be a good volunteer, how to treat a volunteer, how to be a quitter and how not to end up as member of a "strategically put together mommy mafia". There is nothing like spending your excess free time doing shit for free only to find yourself telling your husband that you are going to "fuck that bitch up at the next meeting." I would like a designated parking space at the local Kroger because I have tried to educate our community leaders instead of going on a "shit throwing streak". Real talk: don't fuck with my rights. I am a leader of a small tribe in my house...you don't want a war...you don't want these problems. Funny, how I wished for a designated Kroger parking space and 95% of my Kroger purchases are for other people.
So that's it folks. You just read a little real talk mommy essay entry for a Best Mommy Contest. I know I am blessed. I am thankful. I know shit could be worse. I have seen worse. I have seen good as well. I have seen miracles and beauty. I have seen a love transpire that I did not know was humanly possible. I have also seen a five year old go ape shit because she couldn't find her pink scrunchie. With the good comes the bad. Both sides have to be acknowledged. It's hard out there for a mommy. If I were ever in a Miss Mommy Pageant and the judged said to me "Mommy Davis, what is your motto? I would so eloquently say "Do no harm, but take no shit."or better yet "Mommy Davis, what's a mother?" I would recite the following:
***drops mic and exits to the left***
Happy Mother's Day to all of us not just this Sunday, but every fucking day.
