Vodka, Karen.

My mother is one of those people who always looks at the bright side of life. Unfortunately, that gene was not passed along to me. I’m working on it, though. Of course, vodka helps. Just ask Karen.

I’ve always admired those irreverent mommy bloggers. You know, the ones who entertain moms across the globe by writing about the trials and tribulations of raising children with an occasional F-bomb added to the mix to let us know just how human they are? I’ve always wanted to be a mommy blogger, but alas, I’m a little late to the game what with most of my four kids grown. And let’s face it. I lack follow through.

That being said, I do have a lot of mommy experience. However, most of it is pretty awful with a mere smattering of half-assed parenting. I mean, I tried my best when the mood struck me. But in all honesty, raising four kids has genuinely taught me just how awful a human being I am, particularly now that they’re grown and I’m seeing just how dysfunctional they’ve become as young adults. All thanks to me. Hang on while I refresh my drink. All of this self-deprecation has taken a toll on me.

There. That’s better

Perhaps its a millennial thing, you know, that my kids are dysfunctional. Aren’t all young adults pretty much wandering about aimlessly banking on mom and dad to bail them out when times get tough? Not enough money gas (code for your vape juice)? Here’s a $20. But I digress. I’m more inclined to say that it was the countless poor examples that I set for them. Case in point: My oldest learned how to spell the word “bitch” at the ripe old age of one because I would walk around the house constantly spelling out curse words. Stubbed toe? “SON OF A B-I-T-C-H!” Suffice it to say, my ex-mother-in-law was not impressed with her first grandchild’s new skill. I, on the other hand, thought that my spawn was a genius.

Not quite sure how this will all turn out. I’m not an optimist. But there’s always vodka.

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