To All The Non-Astronaut Mothers Out There

I normally don't spend a lot of time around kids, but I was sort of forced into it yesterday afternoon. There were six or seven of the little bastards, ages four through seven ... just running around and screaming and hit each other with things, and unless you've got a tranquilizer gun and a roll of duct tape handy, there's no getting them to stop. It was maddening.

But then, nine hours later, they eventually did calm down and stopped using a rolled-up coloring book as a weapon, and started using it for its intended purpose. And they broke out the Crayolas and they made their mom a Mother's Day card, bravely ignoring their inability to spell, capitalize, or punctuate, and it just made it all ... well, actually, it still doesn't seem worth it to me. Not even close. But the mom melted like a Cadbury egg left on a dashboard on a 90-degree day. It was sweet.

Anyway, moms, I hope you enjoy your special day (the first of which was celebrated in West Fuckin' Virginia, actually). And kids, do something nice for mom ... she took you to practice, made your boo-boos all better, cleaned your dirty uniforms, and did your coach behind the dugout to get you more playing time. So if anyone calls her an astronaut, absolutely whoop their ass.