I hear all the time that a good mother should never do the things that they did when they were younger.  Just like June Cleaver, a good mother is at home by 5 pm (or stays home with the kids), cooks dinner for the family, plays a game around the fireplace, does bathtime, then bedtime, then tucks the children in after she sings them a song with a kiss on the forehead.  Well, I guess that means that I am the mother of the century…or maybe the antithesis of the mother of the century, whoever the fuck she is.

My day goes more like this…work all day, come home, cook dinner for the kids (this is my Leave it to Beaver moment), get in the shower, get dressed for the bar, slip in a bit of homework here and there, go back to work, skank it up a bit to get extra tips for those shoes my daughter wanted, stumble in the door at around 3 am, and then pass out on the couch.  I don’t know if that qualifies as mother of the year, but its what I have to do in order to make the bills get paid.

One of these days I’ll be running my own clinic and I can have people pay me hourly to get to talk to me.  For now, I guess I’ll just stick with skanking it up.

Anyway, yesterday was a bbq at a very good friend’s house, and this morning I woke up with some colorful bruises on my right foot.  I definitely did not get these ones from derby, so I had to ask myself, “Self, how the hell did you bruise your foot like that?”  Then I remembered that about 3 beers and two shots into the evening I chased my friend’s brother through the house and slammed myself onto my ass after slipping on the tile with my wet feet.  Crap.

I did have one supermom moment though…my son almost drowned in the pool, and, just like last year, I jumped in to rescue him, fully clothed.  It was quite dramatic….I guess you had to be there.  Take that, June Cleaver…