The Bosc Pear Woes

Here’s a taste of my recent performance at Mom Shop 2.  Hope you like it.

When I was young and had time to think of such things, I liked to think of what I would do when I was an adult. I was going to sip coffee in Paris, perhaps infiltrate the KGB as a secret agent. I would live in an ultra modern high rise overlooking Central Park and tempt fate by driving a roadster while wearing long scarves. I would be beautiful and vivacious and stunning to behold. It didn’t really work out that way, now did it? Uhuh, I stand before you, living the wild life I dreamed of: wife, mother of three, driving a minivan no less. Let’s just say that my life hasn’t turned out quite like I had planned it. Three kids will do that to you.

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Stop the Merry-Go-Round, I’d Really Like to Get Off.

Some days, I get why all those 1950s moms were hopped up on Valium much of the time.  It’s days like that when I really wish I could “Calgon, Take Me Away” right to some deserted desert island complete with a cute cabana boy and lots of those drinks that come in coconuts and sport a wee paper umbrella swizzle stick.  Of course, knowing my kids, they would figure out a way to find me.  I swear, the umbilical cord may be cut, but you birth a baby and they get a GPS unit more effective than anything Garmin could ever whip off an assembly line.  So, thank all that is good that I have a husband who can take over while I lock myself in the bathroom or do some mindless aisle therapy at the nearest shopping realm.  (And I’m not even much of a shopper!  Of course, my local Target understands motherhood.  Have an in-store Starbucks and a magazine rack and the frustrated mamas will come by the van load.  Ka-ching.)

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