I wrote this quite some time ago, but I’m replaying it today because honestly…I like it still. Hope you do too.

I originally wrote this post back in the day of memes in response to Queen of the Mayhem and Janet a.k.a. Wonder Mom. The task was to describe a real mom.

Those two women each hit the mark dead on with their posts, and I wasn’t sure what I was going to be able to add. Looking back on on it and the time that has passed since I wrote it I am so grateful for the relationships I’ve developed with so many amazing real moms I’ve met through blogging and other social networks. Through their stories, they have reaffirmed my belief that the following is absolutely true.

Real moms? You want to know the ugly truth? Our deepest, darkest secret?

We have NO shame.

Sure real moms look around the table at a work meeting and secretly want to look like the single fashionistas, but they’ll wear an outfit from Target if it means their chilren get the birthday present of their dreams or a memorable vacation.

Real moms gag at the smell of vomit, but they’ll go to the pharmacy with it in their hair when their toddler is running a fever and can’t keep anything down.

Real moms will clean toilets at a bar if it means their family has food on the table.

Real moms will exhaust themselves raising kids by themselves rather than modeling a “normal” relationship as loveless or violent.

Real moms might try to have children naturally, but they’ll love the ones they get with every fiber of their being regardless of any genetic relationship.

You can try every trick you have to put down a real mom, but it ain’t gonna phase her. When it comes to her family there isn’t anything she wouldn’t do.

You want to demean her? You want to degrade her? You want to make her invisible? You want to treat her as less than equal?

Fine. As long as you’re willing to be met with the ferocity of tiger. Because a real mom will battle to the death to protect her family and provide a safe and loving environment in which her children can grow up to be healthy and happy.

Oh, and she’ll have an army of Target clothes-wearing, toilet brush-holding, vomit spewn-haired women standing behind her to take you on. Because that’s what real moms do.

Mamma here ever prepared to keep you up to date on breaking news.

This morning we learned that a new Guinness world record has been set!

While I’m inspired by the fact that there is still time for me to challenge this record, my desire to dig deeper into the story for you, my readers, was not satisfied.

My first question, of course, was “well who holds the record for the world’s strongest pen*s?”

Before I could find that answer though, I came upon this headline.

Typical. It wasn’t the woman’s accomplishment.

Wanting to get the rest of the story, I didn’t allow myself to become distracted and went right to Google followed more leads in search of the record holder.

It seems the folks at Guinness aren’t as concerned with finding the world’s strongest pen*s (male judges can’t handle the competition, hmmm?).

The best information I could find was at least a year old and comes to us from the far East. (do not click w/small children on lap; however, if you have teen-aged boys call them over immediately and tell them this is what you’ll do to them if they have sex before they are 35.)

My journalistic blogging instincts told me not to trust that source. I was suspicious of the fact that the gentleman’s back is turned to us and that he is naked except for a strap around his waist.

I continued my search for two more minutes and found that World’s Strongest Pen*s remains a record yet to be set. A certain company claims to have “the world’s strongest pen*s enlargement formula”, but I’m fairly certain drug use would disqualify you from the the title.

So readers, what did we learn today?

You’re never too old to set a Guiness world record (Get Kegeling* girls. We can’t let the Russians beat us!). AND, guys start “lifting.” You still have a chance to be the first!

*Am I the only one who finds the irony in the name and product line of this company?

I want to write about what is taking up all of my time right now, but I can’t.

Let’s just say that one of my three sons is on a certain baseball team.

My husband hasn’t shaved in three weeks. I’ve been driving a pick-up truck instead of my normal car for three weeks. This year no CDs were created to get the team pumped up before games (they were NOT good luck). I bring the same cooler to every game. I even have a friend who texts me before every game and once during the game to get and update because he’s been doing so for each game.

There are plans to go to the beach in two weeks. There are plans for me to go to BlogHer in three. I went ahead and bought a plane ticket to Chicago because not doing so would be a slap in the face to the “gods of the diamond.”

You just can’t mess with things.

I can reveal that I have developed zits on my cheeks for the first time in 25 years. There are approximately 17 lbs of infield dirt in my car. And yes…

I am a baseball mom.

Now keep your fingers crossed or do whatever lucky things you need to do.

I’m not joking. Get to it!

There’s been an addict in my life for over twenty years.

I’ve locked my doors. I’ve hidden my purse. And I’ve been stolen from regardless.

I’ve been mad. I’ve cried. I’ve been hurt. I’ve been embarrassed and ridiculously angry.

I’ve pretended not to care.

I’ve done to Al-Anon, and yet the worry remains.

My sister has been “clean” for the past four years to the best of my knowledge. She might actually be finding the way to live with her addiction, but just one overheard conversation and my temptation to go into “she’s high again” mode jumps on my shoulders like one of Jack Hanna’s animals going after David Letterman.

My goal each time is just to keep the animal from taking a crap on my head.

Last night I overheard my son talking to his mom (my sister). I could hear him repeatedly asking her what she was talking about. Each time he said it I felt my shoulders pull higher and higher.

“Why isn’t she making sense?” “Is she slurring her words?” “Fuck, she’s using again.”

We learn in Al-Anon that the addicts’ problems are not ours–that we don’t have to react to them. But when you’re raising the addict’s child how can it not affect you?

I AM a mamma lion. Don’t mess with my kids or I’ll cut you.

I won’t think twice about it.

Even if you are my sister.

Tell me I can’t doing something and that’s all I want to do.

Tell me to do something and I’ll find every other possible thing that needs to be done.

Why oh why do I have such authority issues? They aren’t convenient either professionally or personally. Do I get to blame a parent? A rogue police officer from my past?

Guess I have to suck it up, put on my big girl panties and perform any number of other cliches and get busy doing?

Yeah. That’s what I thought.

Crap.

Dear Small People* Who Climb into Bed with me at Night,

It sends warm fuzzy feelings directly to my heart just thinking about the fact that the most comforting thing to you is to sleep nestled up against me.

BUT, we must have some rules. Trust me, following these will come in handy later in life. I can’t get into the WHY now, but I promise. I’m your mom. Would I lie to you?

1. Humans lie PARALLEL to each other in bed.
2. Limbs are to remain still–even during dream state. Flinging and flailing of extremities is strictly prohibited.
3. Wetting the bed is not appreciated—especially when you leave your co-sleeper with the wet spot to sleep in.
4. All nails must be trimmed neatly. Drawing blood is highly frowned upon by most except for the random girls who read Twilight one too many times and really?? That trend will be tired by the time you’re old enough to understand what a freak your mom is for giving you these helpful hints for “co-sleeping.”

Love,
Mom**

*No! I’m not talking about THOSE little people, I finished with that phase back in ’97. Jeez, keep up!

**The same mom who worries weekly about the kind of mate you will make later in life, and winces just a little each day for the men or women who might have to live with your love of fart humor and inability to pee INTO the toilet.

Facebook has tried to keep the fact under wraps since early 2008, but today fabulously famous blogger MammaLoves (aka Amie Adams) revealed the truth.

“I was ignoring my family. I was wearing dirty clothes. I couldn’t get enough. My life was falling apart! It wasn’t until my dog licked the computer screen showing Facebook and I noticed her madly dash in circles chasing her tail did I realize drugs were involved.”

Ms. Adams accuses Facebook of including games like Bejeweled Blitz and Pathwords on its site as a cover to emit crack fumes therefore rendering users unable to click off of the site.

Facebook sources refuse to comment on Ms. Adams’ accusations, but say Facebook works hard to promote a clean and healthy environment for its users as evidenced by their diligent effort to prevent photos of mothers nursing babies from soiling their pages.

The dog was quoted as saying, “dude.”

Tonight you asked how many sleeps you had until Kindergarten. Telling you it was almost 100 would have been so overwhelming especially since you can’t count that high yet.

But in a year from now?

You’ll be counting the stars. You’ll be reading. You’ll know what to do during a fire drill.

Once you start Kindergarten, you’ll probably be broken of the verbal habits we’ve let slide because you’re our youngest and damn if they aren’t cute.

No more will you tell me about how you “runned” on the playground. Next baseball season you won’t ask me if we can go to the “‘session” stand. And I’m guessing that your favorite toys will cease to be described as “mines.”

I mean you’ve already left “sanks” (thanks) and “pickels” (testicles) behind.

Guess I’ll just have to savor every last one of my 100 opportunities to get you into your “jamas” before school starts up again in the fall.

The most recent directive from the 6 year old:

“Mom, you have to get me some Old Spice body wash.”

I don’t even know what to make of this…

Yes. Gummy worms will melt if you leave them in the car on an 85 degree day.