High-Fives with Tom Petty

obligatory palm tree/sunset pic

I’m usually pretty good about switching from my normal, not-safe-for-children-mode back to MOM instantly. You know – that switch we all flick that allows us to ignore opportunities for a good dick joke or reduces the use of “fucker” by 40%. After spending time away from the house I can usually walk right back into giving a shit about the laundry or the crazy schedule or which teenager needs more teenager-type shit. Not this time.

I’m struggling.

My brain is mush. Inappropriate conversations and jokes are happening.

On the way to drop my daughter off at High School this morning, 7:00 a.m., Tom Petty was jamming. “You Don’t Know How it Feels” blaring, and Olivia says:

“All your old songs sing about drugs”

Me: “Well, all your NEW songs talk about sex.”

O: “I’d rather have the sex than the drugs.”

At that moment, my brain must have thought I was still on an island with my equally inappropriate friends, because I fucking high-fived her. What?? Instead of feigning shock or giving her shit (even though I know it’s only her clever wit that makes her say this shit) I GAVE HER A HIGH-FIVE.

Immediate regret.

I managed to utter some Mom-ism about “neither one being ok at her age” or some bullshit before she got out of the car.

What is wrong with me?

I guess 6 days of no responsibilities, intense doses of serotonin, and a splash of vodka, made me a little too comfortable with being AMANDA and not MOM.

Not that my kids are completely shocked by some of the things that come out of my mouth. But, I usually try to refrain from congratulatory sex/drugs/rock-n-roll behavior (well, not the rocking – that’s encouraged). Even my son gave me a knowing glance last night as we were making dinner and he said “The more meat, the better!”, waiting for the classic “That’s what she said” comment from his sophomoric mother. Dammit.

It took me 3 trips to the grocery store to get everything I needed for lasagna, I can’t seem to remember to go to the pharmacy, or call my very persistent grandma back. And I’m traumatizing my children.

Time to reset. Do some yoga, laundry, and other super normal life thangs. Reset my brain back to MOM. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing – I love yoga and hiking with the dogs and hearing teenagers ramble on about boyfriends and classes. It’s what I signed up for and I’m lucky that my kids can laugh my stupidity away. But it’s time to dial it back, brush the vacation fog off, and get to the fucking pharmacy.

And plan the next vacation.






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