Kidding Around

I wish I could be a selfless person but the fact is that I am not. I am totally wrapped up in my own head and that even means when it comes to the Sept. 11 tragedy. The anniversary of this day always spurs me to think about the BIG LIFE THINGS I still want to do and my hopes that I get the chance.

Recently, I thwarted the idea that my biological clock had started a-tickin'. Well, let me tell you, kids, I believe I was in denial. Or lying. Or both.

(Side note: I think I just came up with a new phrase for biological yearning: wovaries. Woe+ovaries. Geddit?)

In any case, I've been thinking of love and marriage and kids and front-loading washing machines a lot lately. Not, like, crazy, "I gots to pop out some babies pronto." But, for the first time in my life, I'm starting to notice (and believe) that I would make a very good mother.

Wipe that smirk off your face, buster.

(See there? I'm a natural. Now get your hands out of your pants. That's not polite.)

No, really. I mean, I can apply Band-Aids, don't mind puke, know a zillion different ways to sneak vegetables into meals and have 300 different uses for pipe cleaners (and 298 of them are kid friendly).

I also have infinite reserves of patience, which, sadly, up to this point has been largely wasted on unworthy boyish men who have no desire to understand the advantages of moving outside of their parent's house.

I reneged on this statute for a while but I am proclaiming, once and for all (again), if you live at home and are NOT taking care of an ill parent or performing otherwise necessary duties, I cannot date you. More importantly, I cannot have sex with you when your mother is down the hall. It. Just. Doesn't. Work. For. Me. (If you know what I mean.)

I think part of a parent's job is kicking your kids the hell out when it's time. In fact, I was considering kicking out a particular little kid the other day.

My nephew, Sam, was busy with one spindly finger up his nose, when he cavalierly asked, "Aunt Beans, why don't you ever get out of your PJs or look pretty?"

Do you know how humiliating it is to have a five-year-old criticize your dressing and hygiene habits as he's standing there fishing for boogers in full Batman costume (complete with wings and a mask) while sporting a chocolate pudding mustache?

No, you probably do not. But that's probably because, unlike me, you don't work from home, a place where showering and changing clothes makes about as much sense as dating the past couple of guys I've rendezvoused with, which is to say none at all.

Who do I have to impress? The mail carrier?

Besides, we do a fair amount of swimming, which is just as good bathing in my book.

See?!? I would make a great mom.

In the Comments section, tell me why you would be/are a great parent.