Well, first of all, since you have all been no doubt reading my blog for a little while, you know that I am the hippest, coolest, most fabulous mom that ever birthed 3 children, so it must not come as any surprise for you to know that I made sure to ring in 2010 in the most stylish of ways and that I would absolutely not ever dream of putting the children to bed, watching a quarter of a football game, and retiring to bed by 10 pm instead of some much more glamorous revelry. That kind of lame boringness is reserved for moms who probably also wear the same jeans for a week straight and shower every 3 days and pass off a knot of hair wrapped with an elastic band as an "up-do"... and we all know that I'm absolutely NOT guilty of that.
Nor would I, super-mom who tackles all house-hold chores with an alacrity befitting some kind of domestic goddess, ever be too lazy to puree chicken in multiple batches and instead cram multiple pounds of cooked chicken thighs into the blender at once, producing more smoke than baby-food. Someone like that is clearly a rookie baby-food maker, as a pro like myself would never over-work a prized kitchen appliance in a show of sloppy short-cutting simply to get to bed by 10 pm on New Year's Eve. Pah.
Speaking of kitchen blunders...
And for one, final instance of "gosh-I'm-glad-I'm-not-that-stupid" brilliance, I'll leave you with the assurance that any woman who makes a comment like the following is probably not going to score above 80 on an IQ test. Picture, if you will, a mother gazing intently at one of her infant daughters and noticing all the little details like curve of the nose and presence of dimples, shape of eyebrows, etc. Then imagine her sighing and remarking to her husband, "You know, she has my this and your that... It's funny... she kind of looks like what you'd get if you and I somehow I don't know... mixed ourselves. You know?" It doesn't even matter that seconds later it dawned on her that wow! that's exactly what happens when two people make a baby and 50% of each person's DNA winds up in their offspring. It does not, in fact, matter that she smacked her forehead and admitted stupidity and laughed (albeit weakly) at her own moronic observation because her husband now has that ammunition forever and ever... you know, just in case that same woman fails to mention her pasta pyrotechnics at some social event in the future or neglects to own up to blender abuse when touting her domestic resume.
It imparts upon my heart a certain amount of levity when I marvel at what an absolute shit-show some people can be while I sit here, in my cute outfit, typing with manicured nails, sipping gourmet coffee, enjoying my clean, organized home. I just thank the powers that be that such a disaster is... well, Not Me!