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5:40 a.m. - 2001-05-13


This is for all the mothers who used to smuggle gin and vodka into elementary school football games and holler "Tackle the fucking bastard!" at the top of their lungs at their children and when their children asked them after the game "Did you see me tackle that kid?" they could say "No. I was blowing your teacher in the parking lot."

This is for all the mothers who sat up all night watching videotapes of Jerry Springer while their children vomited rancid hot dogs and cherry kool-aid in their beds and hollered "Could you hold it down in there, you grubby little bastards? JERRY'S ON!!"

This is for all the mothers in Kosovo who fled in the night and left their children behind to masked gunmen who had bayonets pointed inches from the children's faces, taunting the kids by saying "Mommy left you behind. It must be because you did something bad."

This is for the mothers who gave birth to children in public bathrooms and propped them up in tampon boxes so they looked like bloody puppets from hell.

And for those mothers who saw the bloody puppets from hell on television and muttered "Goddamned welfare mothers."

For all the mothers who watched the Columbine shootings on television and then bitched because they were postponing Sally Jessy Raphael for "This shit??"

For all the mothers who blindfold the kids in their carpool and threaten to drive off cliffs if anyone makes a peep.

For the mothers who sew Halloween costumes that make their second-graders look like prostitutes and pimps.

What makes a good mother anyway? Nice hooters? The ability to cook a meal that's somewhat edible? The fact that the kid is still alive? The ability to nurse a baby and sing "Back Dat Ass Up" at the same time? Or is it the mother who understands that her children want a steady diet of chocolate bars and soft drinks? Is it the mother who feels that ache when she sees her child walk to school for the first time and she realizes that she's finally going to have to clean the house herself and start getting up early regardless of how bad the hangover may be?

Maybe it's the jolt at 2 a.m. that makes her jump up to the baby's room, put her hand on the back of a sleeping baby and scream "SATAN, GET THEE OUT OF MY BABY!!!" and then push down as hard as she can several times.

Perhaps it's the need to flee wherever she is and go and hug her child everytime she hears about people getting busted for growing pot plants in their basement.

So this is for all the mothers who sat down and explained to their children where babies come from in graphic detail, using the words "cock" and "pussy" in abundance.

And for all the mothers that wanted to, but couldn't. But were more than willing to explain it using crudely drawn cartoons.

This is for reading "Goodnight Moon" twice a night for a year and sometimes even reading it to the children.

This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and threaten them with taking them to the adoption home even if they don't have a clue where the adoption home is.

This is for all the mothers who taught their children to store their boogers under desks before they started school. And for all the mothers who laced chocolate milk with Bailey's Irish Creme as a pick-me-up for their kids in the morning. For all the mothers who bite their lips sometimes until they bleed when their 14 year olds come home with pierced genitalia. Who lock themselves in the bathroom when babies keep crying and won't stop until the oven temperature reaches 450 degrees.

This is for all the mothers who show up at work with jism in their hair and subway stranger's sperm stains on their blouses and used condoms in their purse. This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to sing Judy Garland songs and their daughters to chew tobacco.

This is for all mothers whose heads turn automatically when a security guard says "You're under arrest for shoplifting" in a crowded store, even though they know their purse is empty. This is for mothers who put empty Jack Daniels bottles and pictures of fetuses with the words "You were never good enough for me" scrawled in crayon across them on their children's graves. This is for the mothers whose children have gone astray, and who can't find the time to reach them.

This is for all the mothers who sent their sons to school with stomach aches, assuring them they'd be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later telling them their kid has cholera and has affected half the school and the high school gymnasium is full of puking, shitting teenagers right now.

This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation to the point that they're diapering the dog and walking the baby on a leash. As well as mature mothers learning to let go when their child is sentenced to life without parole. For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers and deadbeat mothers who swear it's not their child. Single mothers and married mothers. Mothers with money, mothers that spend every penny on crack. Especially for mothers who wanted to be mothers, but could not bear, which would, of course, not make them mothers at all, but delusional schizos that think lugging a 30 year-old "Prissy Paula" doll with matted hair around in public constitutes them as being a mother.

This is for you all. So hang in there.

"Home is what catches you when you fall -- and we all fall. Some fall further than others. Some fall all the way to Hell. Some mothers call Hell "Home". Those are what we call "Bad Mommies". They deserve to be in Hell. Bad Mommy. Bad, bad Mommy."

Please pass along to all the wonderful moms in your life that you know. (I would have, but I'm too damned lazy to do it.)

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