Someday. . .

. . . I won't have to pack a 50 lb. "mom bag" everywhere I go.

. . . I will be able to take a long luxurious shower without worrying that someone will chop his/her finger off while I am in the bathroom.

. . . I will be able to poop in peace.

. . . I will not have to mow the lawn because the boys will be old enough to do it.

. . . I will be able to go to the grocery store alone.

. . . I will have enough money to remove some of my excess boobage and pick them up off my belly button.

. . . my house will stay clean for longer than 1.5 seconds.

. . . every statement or question directed at me won't begin with the words, "Um Mom"

. . . I won't have to deal with so much poop. (I mean that literally, not figuratively. One always has to deal with the figurative kind.)

. . . I will be able to sit down to a nice family dinner where everyone uses utensils and no one rubs food in their hair.

. . . I will not have to share every morsel of food I have.

. . . I will be able to have nice cold drink without someone putting their slimy hands in it and stealing my ice.

Metamorphosis

I am afraid I may be morphing into Mama Fratelli. I can feel my face scrunching into a permanent scowl. Everything I say comes out in a growl and includes a threat.

I often find myself shoving the kids out of my bedroom door, slamming it shut and, in a very Mama-esque way, leaning my weary frumpy body against the door, heaving an exasperated sigh and grumbling, "Kids Suck."

It is probably a good thing we don't own a blender.

Apparently I'm not the only mother that has gone through this transformation. Bill Cosby's wife had the same problem.

Discussions with the 4 Year Old

Me: Kate! Don't jump on the couch!

Kate: Why?

Me: Because you will break the couch!

Kate: And then what?

Me: Then we won't have a couch to sit on!

Kate: And then what?

Me: Then you will stand in the corner!

Kate: And then what?

Me: Then you will lose a movie!

Kate: And then what?

Me: Then I will beat your butt!

Kate: And then what?