What kind of mother would:

Allow her son to live on chicken nuggets and fries?

Take her boy to an ancient nurse that is holding a huge needle, croaking out in a crone’s voice, “This won’t hurt a bit.  Knock off your screaming now!”

Shove boots on her child that she knows may never come back off?

Raise two children that managed to kill three fish?

Bond with her kids over horror movies?

Encourage her daughter in art that is in the form of zombie galleries?

Watch her children create a realistic guillotine, let them chop the heads off ten Barbie dolls, eight Disney Princess dolls and praise them for it!

Not mind that her beloved babies tell folks with a straight face that their mother is utterly insane.

Force her twelve-year-old to do laundry and her nine-year old to dry and put away dishes.

Listen to her kids call her nicknames like, “servant” and “slave”  Examples: “Hey, Servant, get me some more juice”  “Slave Mom!  Stop reading that book, I am telling you to do something for me!”

Have a daughter who feels different from the rest of the world and want her mother to explain why.  And the mother has no answer.

Get so angry at her autistic/bipolar/OCD son that she runs into her bedroom and screams into her pillow, “Why can’t you just be NORMAL?”

Not just put her cigarettes down forever without a thought, when she is asked to by her concerned children.  Instead uses medications, hypnosis and God knows what, hoping it will catch on.

Have a son that swears and threatens to kill others when he gets angry.

Have a daughter that is jealous of her brother’s severe problems and wishes she could have a “vacation” at the Hunt Psychiatric Center?

Watch her son put his fists through a door and feel relief that this temper storm wasn’t too bad.

Let her daughter watch three hours of television because that allowed her son to use the computer for three hours?

Time everything she does down to the last second so it won’t upset the children?

Take a job scaring the hell out of folks because it’s the best relief she has ever felt?

Feel so guilty over mistakes in the past that she creates mistakes in the present?

Watch her son roll across the floors while screaming and react by putting in earphones and listen to a musical.  Find herself staring at her flinging- about son and find herself timing him to her music.

Hold her daughter tightly, listen to her crying and have no response but to cry with her.

Hear that her daughter has a reading disability and Aspergers Syndrome and not even blink? Because she already knew..

Own ferrets that poop all over the place and scare the neighbors to death?

Allow the dust to accumulate so much that messages can be written all over the house?

Lose her dining room table under paperwork?

Let her house get so messy sometimes that it becomes a hazard to visitors?

Have days that were so busy or crazy that she never has time to brush out her hair or brush her teeth?

What kind of mother would…be me?  I am utterly insane.  I really do all these things.  It makes me wonder how my children would have turned out if they had a better, more perfect mother?  Their births did not include a manual, and Lord knows, I have never been a great example for anything but what NOT to do or be.  Yet there are a few things I can offer them.  I  have a crazed, huge love for my babes.  I have a loyalty to them and a burning belief in them and their abilities.  I have a sense of bizarre humor that keeps me alive and from saying or doing bad things to them.  I have a true belief that if I did not have my two children, I might not be here today.  Though I have no idea how to get rid of my guilt, I hope that someday my kids will look back on their nutty mother and have huge belly laughs that make them cry, when they are reminiscing…or at least make a lot of money writing the book about “My Crazed Mother”!

Melissa ran off the bus, burst into the house to tell me an incredible tale.  Her classmate told her that she was good friends with all of Big Time Rush.  She would take Melissa to the concerts, backstage even, but that the stars liked their privacy too much.  Melissa could not see any of the pictures of the stars hanging with the girl because her mom hid all her photos.  She took this as the gospel truth.

The other day the kids asked me what we had for snacks.  I gave them a detailed list of what we had on hand.  Eyes narrowed, hands on hips, voices laced with suspicion, they asked, “Are you sure you don’t have something else in there?”

Received a call from the Director of Mark’s school that Mark had made “death threats” in a loud voice.  I was informed that he was lectured, told that such things could lead to police action and could not “say” death threats to anyone. Mark would be sent home for the rest of the day.

Two days later I get another call from the Director.  Mark was mad at a teacher so wrote on a hallway blackboard the teachers name and the picture of a machete.  His defense was that he did not SAY anything.

Mark’s new counselor at the school likes to call me.  All the time.  She seems to be confused that he has special needs at his special needs school.  I received a call that she felt he may be having a breakdown.  Of course I became concerned and asked what his symptoms were.  The counselor told me Mark was playing with imaginary friends Bobo the Monkey and Flipper the dolphin rather than doing his work.  I told her that it sounded like Mark was goofing off.  She became stiff and angry.  “I don’t think you are very concerned for your child, Mrs. Casey.  This could be seen as a neglectful situation.”  Really?  I asked to speak with Mark on the phone and I asked him what he was doing.  He said, “Well, the woman wants to treat me like I am crazy so I didn’t want to disappoint her”  I told Mark to stop poking the stupid people and get his work done.  Half hour later I receive another call from the counselor.  In an abashed tone she said that Mark had apologized for teasing her and went back to doing his schoolwork.

Melissa said to her teacher, “Please don’t give me anymore math homework because it really confuses my mom.”

I discovered a note in Melissa’s backpack from her very worried teacher.  She said that Melissa cannot continue to receive school lunches without any pay, but if i was having trouble affording food to send, she could send me some information to obtain food.  A quick trip to visit the teacher and we discovered in Melissa’s desk over ten packed lunches and enough lunch money to take her class to Chucky Cheese for a week.

Can you imagine what these school officials would think if they knew my children bonded with us by laying on couches, covered in blankets watching Hell Raiser, zombie movies and evil dolls that chase children?  If they knew that my daughter got rid of all her Barbies by having her brother help her create “Execution Day”?   Tell you what though, my two kids are the cutest little demons to ever have been spawned.  Even the crazed Jesuit priest we hired for the exorcism thinks so!

Two weeks ago our microwave died.  I never knew how much I relied on that black heap of plastic until it broke.  I am heating water for tea in a saucepan while trying to defrost a frozen chicken in a sink of warm water.  Try reheating food in the oven while my son Timekeeper Mark stands over me with a watch and a whip.

Melissa tells me she feels her  food does not contain the main ingredients for a well-balanced diet, you know, tomatoes, cucumbers and double stuffed Oreo cookies.  Try making a casserole out of that!?

We are now up to three ferrets.  That is one poop to every corner.  Now I can say without being a bit dramatic that my day is shitty.

I have decided spring cleaning may need to happen early.  Small things seem to be getting ahead of me.  My dust has dust.  When i open the fridge, leftovers are singing “We Shall Overcome”.  I cannot seem to remember where I left the kitchen sink.  I am hoping some of the dishes, glasses, mugs and bowls will tell me.

Chris and i have started watching Kitchen Nightmares.  Every time we see this show we must eat.  We watched a Kitchen Nightmares marathon the other night and we gained ten pounds each.  My daughter wants to know when our babies are due and wonders how Dad will fit in maternity clothes.

Thank goodness January is almost over.  I promised myself I would lose weight, clean the house, organize things and pull my world together before February.  So if I can just procrastinate a few more days…..

On the second day of Christmas, my ferrets stole from me, my slippers and my morning cup of tea.

On the third day of Christmas, my son gave to me, two angry counselors and a Director who explained the school policy…on death threats.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my husband showed to me, four pairs of socks that only covered the top of his feet.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my debit card gave to me, an ATM that said, “NO”

On the sixth day of Christmas the doctor said to me, “Cholesterol too high, you need a diet, and I think you ate your family”

On the seventh day of Christmas my daughter came to me, “I need a costume for my concert, and when you show, please don’t embarrass me”

On the eighth day of Christmas my friends said to me, “Hey, let’s have a Christmas party, at your house, just cook up something”

On the ninth day of Christmas, my son said to me, “When I put on my pants, they rise up to my knees”

On the tenth day of Christmas, the ferrets gave to me, many chewed up earphones, and erasers that made their poop pink..

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my daughter told me, “All your pants have holes in them, all your shirts are stained, please don’t walk too close to me”

On the twelfth day of Christmas, I said to me, ” Lets tie up the family, tinsel them to the tree and the ferrets can replace the angel at the top!”

Every morning, afternoon and evening I am subjected to Selena Gomez singing her ONE song.  Over and over.  At the same time I am listening to Mark’s favorite computer videos, two young British boys, telling the SAME tales, the SAME jokes again and again.

Every November I look around and discover that we are not ready for the holidays.  There is a three-foot Grim Reaper leering over my husbands recliner, a vacuum cleaner that needs dusting before I can use it for vacuuming and table legs cracking under the weight of socks and paperwork.

Every day I spend at least an hour searching for things the ferrets stole from us.  Then I spend another two hours trying to find stuff the kids stole/lost/broke/hid or “borrowed” from us.

Every day I wash the same clothes that I swear I brought down just the other day.  Every day I search in vain for two matching socks for someone…anyone.

I was informed by my husband that his three-foot grim reaper will be staying out all year-long.  I am charged with finding a little Santa cap for Grim’s head and a big candy cane for him to hold, along with his scythe..

My nine-year old girl comes to me with a very serious expression and tells me she needs to talk with me. She told me she was a Goth now and only wished for black,silver, blue and purple clothing now.  The clothing itself consists of tight leggings that are black with glitter or have the jeans look to them.  Over the leggings she wears black tutus that have pink, purple or glitter touches to them.  Today she wore black glittery leggings, a tutu AND a long black glittery shirt that ended in a bright pink tutu skirt, which sort of puffed over the bottom tutu.  She looked like she was on break from a circus show so that she could attend a funeral.

I look at her dresser and closet, it’s mainly all the pink and rainbow colors that she had wanted last year.  I guess I will have some big bags for the donation bin.

Trying to be a responsible parent, I decided it was time to have “the talk” with my twelve-year-old son. After a minute Chris decided to join us.  I had given Mark a book a few months ago that covered the basics, I would ask if he had any questions, and he would always say no.  I waited until one quiet night when I called him to the table, I figured I should try to use words he could relate to.  However, when I tried to explain homosexuality, my husband burst into uncontrollable laughter and my son put his hand over my mouth, through his giggles he begged me to just stop talking.  I don’t know where I went wrong.  All I said was, “When one UFC fighter loves another UFC fighter very, very much..”, next thing I know my husband is in tears laughing and I have a hand plastered over my mouth!

I have a hole or rip in every pair of pants I own, except for the bright blue sweatpants that look very strange on me.  I own two bras.  A fifty dollar black bra with lots of foam padding with under-wire and a five dollar sports bra stolen from my mother.  Between the evil washing machine/dryer that hate me, ferrets that believe everything is their toy, and two children that thought my bra was something that can be used in the yard as a slingshot, the black bra now has three cups.  Unless I can grow a third breast, it doesn’t fit right.  However, I can now finally stun people with my chest!

The sports bra used to be white, it’s now a sort of gray color.  It has another little quirk too.  When I wear it, the bottom elastic tends to wander around.  Slowly, it makes its way towards my belly button.  It sags with my breasts.

Someone mixed up my makeup with the Halloween makeup, now when an occasion comes that I need to make up my face, I have an option of green or black lipstick.  For foundation I have dead white or graveyard color.  I will be a hit at school meetings and it should certainly jazz up any wedding or funeral.

When I was cooking dinner the other night, the skillet died right in front of me.  It was not a pretty death.  While I was doing dishes I noticed we only had three glasses, most of my silverware rusted or tilts in strange directions.  I have no real bowls, the three plastic ones I bought from CVS, melted to new positions.  My two sauce pans are rusted, giving our food a new ashy look and taste. What I don’t understand is this, if I have so few dishware and cookware things left, then why is the sink always so full?

I have written in the past about our white ferret named Trevor.  The thief of slippers and teabags.  As much as we enjoyed Trevor, we were nervous that he would be lonely.  After all, he looked so sad when we could not crawl into his play tubes with him!  So Chris and I tossed any last shreds of sanity aside and bought another ferret for Trevor to play with.  Her name may depend on whom you ask.  She answers to Teacup, Teardrop, Teapot, Little One and Girly.  The ferrets have taken over my dresser.  Trevor sleeps in my underwear drawer and Teacup sleeps in my pajama drawer.  If I use the bathroom, they rip the door open, play fight in my underwear, climb up my body, leap off my head into the bathtub.

Mark has made great progress in his new middle school.  He brings home a “Student of the Week” certificate every week.  He also brings home his full lunch because he and his friends are too cool to eat.  (they are not however, cool about the parent forgetting to send the lunch, huh.)  What he does NOT bring home from school is any sweaters, jackets, hats or binders.  I have threatened to not buy anymore clothes until he brings home what he has left at school.  One day he even came home without socks on and a whole different pair of pants then he had left with.  I never saw those pants or socks again either.  Someday he will come home just wrapped in unused lunch bags, I know it.

Melissa is also doing well, in fact she has joined chorus and a music group at school.  Her school will have a Christmas Show and she will be singing, “Eternal Fruitcake and Oh, Hanukkah” then she will play the recorder performing “Silent Night”, which in my mind is not silent at all, but similar to the sound of eighteen seagulls being skinned alive.  At the sophisticated age of nine, Melissa has decided to become a Goth.  Purple, black and glitter everywhere.  Tight leggings and strangely protruding tutu skirts that seem to mix a little wrong with her Big Time Rush and Selena Gomez music.  All of her Barbie and princess dolls were beheaded, stuffed animals given to me in bags to get rid of…yet, she still sleeps with a stuffed dog named Spot and her head rests on a purple unicorn Pillow Pet.  I was informed that only Bratz and Monster High items were wanted this Christmas.

Speaking of holidays, it was with great regret that we watched our favorite season end.  I still scare the school bus in the morning and the mailman in the afternoon, but it’s just not the same.  I miss the haunted house.  Chris refuses to pack away his three-foot Grim Reaper and is trying to find a Santa hat that will fit its bony head.  I am trying to figure out how to hang a Christmas tree from the ceiling so the ferrets won’t climb or steal it.  I suppose I should clean the house for the holidays.

Chris’s grandparents are coming over this sunday and will never understand why our table is covered in mismatched socks.  They will have enough trouble trying to figure out why we have several smaller rugs that match nothing, not even each other.  Imagine their confusion when the ferrets wander in and steal their shoes right off their feet.  Just wait till poor Grummy tries to use our bathroom!  Perhaps we should cage the ferrets while they visit?

To My Loving Husband and Children,

I leave to you all of my worldly possessions including:

One male ferret, all dishes, cutlery and glasses (you will find them in the sink), all the dirty laundry, all important documents, certificates and papers (check the junk drawer or maybe under the microwave, perhaps the lower intestine of the ferret), and I give all my monies to my children. (In other words, check Daddy’s pockets for change, kids!)

To My Dearest Husband and Partner,

I leave our two young little children to your care. (Don’t turn your back on them!  Not without battle gear!)   The numbers for their doctors, teachers and a good exorcist are on the fridge.  Just remember, when times are tough, you can always run away from home when the youngest hits eighteen.

To My Darling Daughter,

I leave to you all of my clothing so you may have material to slip-cover your bedroom or create funny tents for playing, also good for costume parties!  All of my jewelry that you have not already broken or borrowed you may keep as well.  It is all original jewelry, well, originally from Avon so it’s not worth much, but it is shiny.  Enjoy!

To My Wonderful Son,

I leave to you all of my books since you are the only one who enjoys to read like me!  Of course, you might wish to give away the romance novels, and do not be fooled by the covers of any V.C. Andrews books, it is not what you think!  Just hand those ones to Daddy, okay?  All of my horror and suspense novels are yours to enjoy and remember if you read late at night be prepared to avoid windows, showers, drains, shadows, trees,etc.  In fact, maybe you should only read these before noon.

To My Adorable Ferret,

I leave to you all of my shoes, sandals, teabags, facial wipes, deodorant bottles, nylons, socks and tampon boxes.  After all, they are already missing and somewhere within your hiding place.

Signed,

Nancy Jean Casey