Disclaimer: If you have a penis, please discontinue reading. Thou shall only judge and Offer judgmental judgy practical and boring daddy advice. Ain’t nobody got time for that…

…Cheese and $2 rice crackers girls, but there is a  difference between being a stay at home mom in South Africa and here in the land of lambs and lollies. I knew there was no Bongi here,  I mourned, I  adapted to being the house bitch.  I wash, I fold, I scrub, I remove substances from surfaces and get that shit done like my home girl Martha…

But guys, them babies are killing me. Far from being greatful that their father and I worked like 18th century indian love slaves to get them to a country that offers them free fruit in supermarkets,  unlimited free health care and education as well as beautiful scenery, a doting momsy at home darting to each whim and smooching each boo boo. Not to mention prancing ponies, rugby tots, breastmilk on demand, a beach for a backyard and a pet rat in lieu of pets in transit..
But 4 months into this bullshit, I have realised  they are in fact secret  bipolar crack smoking teenage midgets. On the dark days  I can only ever make one happy at a time and for a portion so fleeting not even the slow mo setting on my phone can capture it. Every night I go to sleep mentally abusing myself and silently vouching to be a better mother, and lo and behold on the day I’m about to see how much of my torso I can fit into the laundry basket to escape, they somehow get their shit together and become God’s Devine descendants from the golden sicillian shores and are so precious and perfect I want to eat them and squish them endlessly. Diasies spring from the ground, the theme song from little house on the prairie enters my brain and we enjoy a day of utter harmony,  belly laughs and free flowing cuddles. Hand in hand they skip in jubilation along the perfectly safe and Immaculately tendered, purpose built footpath to the award winning children’s play park to swing and slide and delight in their joy and share it with the community at large.  On these days I rejoice. I  doubtfully hope. I begin to believe in the Lord’s good promises.
But,  and i’m in no delusion I am being punished for the sins of my past,  this all comes to a screeching halt if one atom of a split molecule from pavlov’s pooch falls out of place.  Dark, proverbial cumulohugeness clouds descend and the theme song of Rocky Balboa’s first offering takes over and I enter forth into the black hole of fucking hysterical mayhem that will continue until the mystical daddy creature steps his perfectly socked foot into our scrubbed hallway..

The end