Have you ever had one of those deals where you meant to take care of something and you kept thinking, “Whoa, I have to take care of *that*” but other things kept getting in the way, like family members getting sick and scout campouts and kids doing their level best to flunk out of school so your life became a whirlwind of teacher meetings and progress reports while other kids were graduating so high in their class that they couldn’t fit their heads in their cars anymore and you had to spend all your soi-disant “free time” compiling photo tributes and getting them (the photo tributes, not the kid) laminated (which is surprisingly inexpensive, by the way; I’m thinking of laminating the dog and some of the sloppier kids, come to think of it) and hauling them off to various places for enshrinement and then you got one more phone call from yet another kid saying that their science teacher insists on meeting with you at 3 p.m. today and you have a sneaking suspicion that it’s not to collect a prize for having The Best Science Student Ever? and so then you started hoping that the blog you hadn’t updated since April 27th would just die a natural death or at the very least WordPress would fall off the face of the earth so you wouldn’t have to think about it anymore but it just stayed on the face of the earth and the guilt just got heavier and heavier and so you just decided to suck it up and suck down too much coffee and just start typing dammit?

I knew you’d understand.

What got me going this morning is more random clicking. I really should stop this, because it just raises my blood pressure and lord knows I have enough of that, what with Mr. Science Guy and his teacher and all. A very entertaining blog called Ads of the Weird reviewed a series of Suave ads targeted at moms and their ability to ‘keep themselves up.’

The blog is interesting; what is more interesting is what happens in the comments, which has turned out to be a brawl between one woman who apparently was a pregnant widow, a software architect, owner of her own business who still manages to look SO good at rained-out high school band concerts that her son’s friends compliment her, her fan club, and the rest of the us who are standing in the shower just discovering that our teenaged daughters have yet again wandered off with our razors.

Every time the MILF of the Year posts she adds yet another accomplishment to her list (I think the last time it was making her own bread during board meetings), so that the rest of us will be stunned and amazed at how she juggles and still manages to fend off Hef and his repeated requests for her to pose naked, holding nothing but her briefcase and her mixing bowl. (Note to my own sainted mother: please don’t ask me what a MILF is. Please google it the acronym and after your hair falls out, let’s just assume you called me and yelled at me, ‘k?)

There are some side discussions: ruminations about how men sit on their collective cans balancing beer cans on their guts, don’t help around the house, but still manage to find time to wonder why their wives have let themselves go.

You know: the classics.

The Romans had the gladiator fights. We have Competing Moms. If you will excuse me, I have to go find my razor. To shave my legs or to slit my wrists because my butt’s too big and I haven’t baked bread during a board meeting in an age…haven’t decided yet.