Satan, His Whore, and The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

CAUTION: This blog is like arsenic, but it only tingles for a minute as you exhale. If the sharp words and cursing don't get you the dose of country twang is guaranteed to make you gag.

I wanted to wait to blog on this until I was calm.

I'm still not calm.

*deep breath*

So, it's back to school time. Every mom whose any mom is re-establishing relationships in the "I am Woman Hear Me Roar," "Telephone Chain" of not just a village but let's face it, it takes a whole fucking county of mom's running down the Wasatch Front to raise your children! Thank God for nosey neighbors, gossipy women, and the child communication chain of "Oh my God! What are we going to do when this happens?" bitchfest sandwich! I'm a piece of it. Meet the bread:

Moms.

Women worry. Just worry. That's why we live and breathe; to worry. Once you bake a baby in your belly your body temperature gets to a certain temperature at which point a part of your brain dies, a pop up thermostat engages, and YOU ARE DONE!



This phenomenon called "Motherhood" hits you so hard you freaking forget your name. Although you'll never forget that time you held two children in your arms in the emergency room as they puked all over you and you just sat there unmoved. Hell, you were practically comatose from not sleeping for a week and didn't even smell the wretched slimy mush.

Okay. Let me get back on track. On the 24th of July while playing at the park with the kids I get a call from Vic, the head Girl Scout troop leader.



Do I think scouting is geeky? Yes. But I became an assistant troop leader to dedicate my life to slowing my kid down from growing up too fast and guiding her towards becoming a strong woman.



The moms have lost touch a bit during the summer months as we always do, but with summer break on the downhill slide we are on the phone rebuilding connections and planning for the next year.

I love Vic! She knows everybody who's anybody and feeds me with information I can get NO other way. Why do I need this influx of data? Because as a mother you would kill for ANY information that would keep your children from getting hurt and at any given moment would throw your body in front of a high-speed bus to protect them. Besides, when your kids come from a broken home you learn quickly that if you weren't on the same page regarding parenting when you were married, you certainly won't be for the next … oh, decade. So move on with it, play the game, protect your king, and have counter moves planned steps in advance. Fail to plan? Plan to fail. History is a great predictor of future events. Karma is a bitch. Once you call check-mate, just sit back, smile, and wait for the kill.

Am I evil? Not really.

Vic and I proceed through our usual dialogue comparing notes on life events, bashing the ex-husbands, and giving each other updates on various happenings and who they're happening to. It's not gossip. It's survival for your child. Honestly, if your child is on a play date and you're not along for the ride don't you want to know if there's a gun in the house, if the kid's dad is being stalked by his secretary, if the PTA president might be sleeping with the mom?



This ain't junior high anymore boys and girls. THIS is elementary school. Just call me Mrs. Johnson.

Vic says, "I was with _______[other mom] at the park yesterday and we bumped into ______[Satan's whore]. Are you sitting down?

My response. "Um … Yes … Go ahead."

I did sit down.

Vic relayed the following conversation:

"Did you see my daughter?"

Other mom: "Yes. She's down by the river flirting with teenage boys."

"Oh, I know. I can already tell she's going to be one of those little sluts in high school."

Excuse me a moment.




*gulp*



I'm okay.



It shouldn't be fucking legal to say that about your own child! Isn't that child abuse? Why is it okay to take a back seat to parenting and just project what your child is going to be in four to six years without planning to do a thing about it? IT SHOULDN'T BE! Why do you need a license to drive a car, but any flotation device piece of shit, scum sucking bottom feeder can have a child?

*deep breath*

I shouldn't be surprised. After all, how much class can you possibly have if you bed someone else's husband while he has a wife and two children at home and then try to get her children to call you "Mom" during your elicit affair?



My first clue there was a whore in training was when my daughter approached me at the age of five to ask what French kissing was because she had heard the terminology from Satan's whore's spawn … out of the mouths of babes …



Am I judging? That would be a profound YES! Do I think I have the right? Abso-fucking-lutely! Why? Because I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in the pan, raise the children, do damage control for everyone, babysit Satan and his whore, and raise her child too.



My daughter is going through puberty. So too is her step-sister. We've been reading "The Care and Keeping of You" throughout the summer and I've been answering questions she asks in an age appropriate manner. She even asks me questions her step-sister has and then relays the information. Yes, I tried referring the child to her mother. She was afraid. I don't want my daughter to ever think there's something she can't ask me.

*breath*

For the men who are reading, be glad for the fact women talk to each other so much and that some of us even step up to the plate and talk to your daughters. There isn't a man alive, nor will there ever be, who wants to listen to everything we have to say. I don't blame them either. We make ourselves crazy with our minds and words reeling! Making you crazy is just one of the little extra services we offer.

Thanks for reading!

*still breathing*



*and exhale*