THIS BLOG ISN'T FOR YOU if you are a proud PTA member, or if you live for weekends schlepping children to and from sporting events and friends' houses, or if you feel fulfilled combing bubblegum from pigtails!
But, if like me, you occasionally wish that your offspring would disappear, if "Get me out of here!" is your mantra, if you have come to relish the dentist office for its delicious quiet, then you are a Muddled Mother! Read on!
Upon finding out that the child I was carrying was a girl (maybe even eons before) I vowed the vow of a mother’s will that my daughter would not under any circumstances be one of those—ugh—princess girls. Princesses, at least the ones that I grew up with, were weak and daft, consumed with their looks and gowns and unable to solve life’s problems without the help of that ever handsome, ever tall, ever strong, ever wise prince or knight in shining armor. Blech. Double blech. It certainly didn’t help that I read voraciously over and over ‘those’ types of books my entire childhood and I BELIEVED and tried desperately to live out the scandalous lie that there would always be a man to scoop you up and set you right.