I’m starting to feel like Roseanne.

No, I don’t mean I’m packing on the pounds.  I mean Roseanne in her old stand-up days when she drawled, “I figure if my husband comes home and the kids are still alive, I’ve done my job.”

Or, in the words of my idol Erma,

I always wondered if someone ran an ad in the New York Times: WANTED: Household drudge, 140 hour week, no retirement, no sick leave, no room of own, no Sundays off.  Must be good with animals, kids and hamburger.  Must share bath, would 42 million women still apply?

I’m considering packing one of my children off to her grandparents.  Mom, I won’t tell you which one.  You’ll find out when she arrives in the mail.

Update:  Never mind, I’ve decided to keep her.



  1. It’s time for her to do something wonderful so you can’t bear to send her off (wink). Once in awhile, when we are at the airport sending the big kids off to visit their dad in CA, they will get into a spat and whine at me, “MOOOOMM…CHRISTIAN’S ANNOYING ME.” (etc. , etc.) I tell them they’re just squabbling so I won’t be so sad when their plane pulls away, ha. Hang in there. Lovableness will return, likely within the hour…Lisa

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