At the bottom of my ice cream is a Tonka bulldozer

Yes, I know the writing world currently runneth over with cutsy columns and blogs from well-meaning and humorous moms chronicling every breath of of their kids’ daily performances on Earth. I’m finding that I am no different. I want my writing to be better, edgier, more creative than that of the average mom writing funny stuff. I want people to read my writing and choke out “that chick’s hilarious” as they break three ribs and soil their underwear laughing, but O.M.G. what if my writing’s just not all that? What if my kids and my writing are….. Dare I say it? Do I have the intestinal fortitude to utter it? What if I and everything else affiliated with my life is just plain…………. average. Perhaps I am the “a” word! AAAAHHHHHH. Someone get me a very plain, unadulterated steak knife out of my drab silverware drawer so I can end it all. 

Piercing scream, silence, blackness, hmmmmmm, getting up, anyone still out there?

Okay! ….Sigh, now that it’s out in the open. I feel strangely relieved, fresh, confident, dry and secure,  as if I no longer have to closet my ordinariness. I’m average, plain, sometimes even BLAND. And, gosh darn it. I’m okay with that. I’m like that penguin belting out “I gotta be me” among 30 million other identical penguins. Admitting my averageness has liberated me from having to hide my neatly folded vanillaness behind purple highlights, tattoos and an EMO facade, when really I secretly desire to grow Ivy above my kitchen cabinets, read romance novels and try that new Apple Brown Betty recipe I found in Better Homes and Gardens.

Yessirree, I’m average. My writing is average. My kids are too. and let me tell you about my car. Yep, you guessed it…average. My husband is no exception. He’s even averager than I am. If there was an average contest, he’d win. He has an excellent shot at being crowned King Average next year. I’m sure he’d stroll unsolicitiously in a “minding my own business” sort of saunter down the cat walk, sporting a plaid flannel shirt and jeans. His reading glasses tucked just within reach. He might even have a rolled up copy of the Wall Street Journal under his arm, just waiting for its 10AM trip to the bathroom.

Oh, and yes, I just finished my Moose Tracks ice cream. It was quite average. Smiling up at me from the bottom of my son Jack’s yellow and white bowl is a picture of Billy Bulldozer. Yes, I know I’m a mom when the best ice cream bowl in the house has happy construction equipment on it…

…an average day in the life of a plain old average mom who wants to make people, normal people, laugh, but not too hard…nothing out of the ordinary.

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