Just call me Mud (you know what that is spelled backwards, right?)

Remind me again why I signed on for this whole stay-at-home-mom thing? After having a mother of a day, I am seriously considering self-medicating.

Two sick kids (No.1 - home from school - and No.4), a bratty 3 year old who had a Chernobyl because I wouldn't let her do "gluing" while I was in the bath, an almost-one year old who's discovered that puking gets attention (and the four extra loads of laundry that creates every day), cats that fill the litter box to bursting every damn day, Jehovah's Witnesses that don't take a hint, hairy legs that I didn't get a chance to shave because of the "gluing" situation, sweating like a pig because the house is roasting so the sickies don't get the shivers....

PASS THE TEQUILA, MAMA'S GETTING PLASTERED!!
*sigh* I wish....

No, whenever it gets to be too much for me I put the baby in his crib with a bottle and toys, sit my daughter in front of the tv, then lock myself in the bathroom and chain smoke for 10 minutes, while retreating to the magical world of my imagination, in which I am a 5'10 gorgeous blonde with legs up to here and boobs out to there, puttering around my immaculate showhome-clean house while my perfectly silent kids do math equations or some such educational crap, making pies and setting them on the windowsill to cool, chatting with the envious neighborhood ladies, elegantly sipping a martini while wearing a cute little apron and nothing else...

In case you don't believe me about what I deal with around here, here's a nice little story about something that happened to me yesterday morning.

First of all, completely forgot it was Garbage Day until the kids had 10 minutes left before they had to leave for the bus. So I'm throwing the bags off the deck while Gunnar's outside hauling them to the bins. Fine, good, that's done, Gunnar takes off for the bus, I head downstairs to do laundry. Only to realize upon walking past the litterbox that it desperately needs to be changed and that should go out to the bins, too. Fine, okay, done with a minimal of fuss and only a couple gags (lots of swearing though). Time to take it outside. Great, good, almost to the bin, give it a good swing to get some momentum going, only the handle of the bin catches the bag and.... RIIIIIIPPPPP! Like a cat litter explosion of gravel and shit chunks all over me, in my hair, down my shirt (actually I was just wearing my tight little nightie top with a pair of shorts pulled on) so it was all over my boobs. Before I actually thought about it, I'd grabbed the bag to prevent more spillage, plunging my hand into the litter in the process. So there I am, outside in the -5 weather looking like a slut covered in cat shit litter, screaming at the top of my lungs for Lena to throw a garbage bag off the deck so I could rebag it. Oh, and did I mention the hairy legs?