Today, on the way to preschool, Dylan and I pretended to be fancy Brits. Well, it really was more me. I spoke in my faux British accent about all the tea and crumpets we would eat with the Queen after preschool. It was an absolutely brilliant stroll.
Just after dropping her off, I stopped for coffee and a paunchy bald man in his later years was ordering just ahead of me. There are a lot of English folks in my hood so I wasn’t a bit surprised when a British accent popped out of his mouth. I’m assuming it was authentic. It’s unlikely that he was playing, “pretend to be a Brit” on the very same day I was playing it. As I listened to him order, I thought, “this bald, chunky, old dude seems a little SEXY.” Oh, the almighty accent.
A guy could be the biggest loser cad pain in the arse, but throw an English accent on him… and hello handsome – what are you doin’ later laddie? These Brits must have it so good in America. Sometimes in the bedroom Rick puts on one of these debonair accents as part of our role playing (you know, to spice thing up). I’ll let you wonder whether that is actually true. A girl can not divulge all.
A few hours later, I picked Dylan up at preschool and our stroll home was much less posh and downright bloody awful. There would be no tea with the Queen. Summer was along for the ride and girlfriend was pissed (not drunk but super mad). I would have preferred drunk. She’s not feeling well and did not take kindly to being strapped in. She wailed block after block. I was walking like a mad woman on 6 cups of regular, jumping curbs and skirting by leisurely tourists. I finally stopped and took Summer out of the stroller just to calm the poor lady but it was futile. The tears continued to streak down her sweet, damp cheeks.
So it was a tortuously long walk, with all those stares from strangers, sprinkled with some irritating commentary. You know how it goes. “Oh poor baby. She’s so upset.” “Don’t cry baby.” “I think your baby is cold.” Cold? She has on six layers, plus a hat, she’s stuffed into a stroller sleeping bag and it’s a not-so-terrible 43 degrees outside. Oh wait, maybe she’s hot. I take her hat off.
I feel like the queen of crappy moms because I can’t soothe her. Finally, we get home. She continues to sob. I put on “Jack’s Big Music Show” much to Dylan’s delight. I rock and nurse Summer a little. She starts to simmer down. She begins to babble a bit. It’s over.
Right-O. Thank goodness. Crumpets will be served after all.
mama bird notes
The results of our weekly mama poll are in. So, are you happy? Turns out, yes! 63% of you are overall pretty happy. Cheers to that. 38% of you are so-so happy and would like to revitalize one key area of your life like career, relationship or body image. And nobody was way down in the dumps. A lot of happy mamas all around.
Our sex poll was one of the most popular. So why not find out more about what’s going on in the bedroom. How do you and your spouse or partner keep the magic alive? Take our anonymous poll. Just click on, “your mama says what?” I’ll have the steamy results next week.
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Finally, don’t forget to comment on the mama bird diaries this week to enter to win our divine mama bird giveaway package. You’ll also need to forward a post to a friend. But girl, don’t worry about that part right now. That’s later, gator.