The amount of ridiculousness in my life is truly endless. I intend to document it so that one day my offspring can understand the viscera that is my life. I also hope to bring a small amount of levity to this awesome job.
And I mean awesome in the so-fucking-huge-it-makes-me-want-to-curl-up-in-a-hole-and-cry-sometimes way; not in the wow-that’s-fucking-rad way ($0.50). Context, people. Pay attention.
Why a swear jar? Because one day my teenage son told me I needed one because I use a lot of bad words. Of course that made me feel like I had just bitch-slapped ($0.25) a kitten and I spent a long time beating myself up about my propensity for profanity. And then, in typical female-fashion, I over-analyzed every other thing I do or don’t do as a mother, wife, daughter, friend, etc. And then I used that as an excuse to eat pretzel rolls hand-over-fist until I was just as deliciously doughy as those marvelous little treats.
But then I realized that I’m just a girl … who loves her family one million, billion, zillion … who tries to do good and be good but who is a Type A control freak, room-mating with six people who couldn’t care less about a clean or organized anything. It’s a great formula for a funny blog about family and the extremes to which motherhood will take you.
As for me? I am a pudgy mid-western girl on the wrong side of thirty-five. My husband and I have five children together and we spend the majority of our time herding and schlepping and feeding these kids all over hell’s half acre. We love our kids and, yes, sometimes we hate our kids but we remain devoted to our family and feel truly blessed to have these five beautiful, hysterical, annoying-as-fuck-sometimes ($0.25) children.
I worked so super hard in my twenties to get an MBA only to retire and become my kids’ bitch ($0.25). I was a project manager for a pharmacy benefit manager which is – surprisingly – not that different from managing kids. Nowadays, I project manage the shit ($0.25) out of this family.
The truth is that raising kids is hard and it kind of sucks sometimes. Parents are imperfect people holding themselves to impossible standards and it never ends. There is no weekend. There is no vacation. You can leave for a few days but, if you’re like me – female, control-freak, incessant worrier – you take it all with you.
So … I’m going to pour myself a bourbon and 7-up (diet, of course … might as well pickle my innards good with all that yummy aspartame and save myself a few calories) and brain-dump about The Fam.
CAUTION: I use the word fuck ($0.25) a lot. It just makes me happy and it makes me laugh and that’s the point. I hope you enjoy my stories.
Each potty word I use in a post is a quarter in the swear jar! If you comment on a post, make it good! I’ll choose my favorite comment each fiscal quarter and donate the money in the swear jar to a tax exempt charity of that reader’s choice. Herein lies the shtick of the blog Mommy Needs A Swear Jar.
Come, share in my shame.
Total owed to the swear jar: $1.75