Black Hole – that space between the front seats of the vehicle and the console between them. Intense magnetic force pulls everything from French fries to lunch money quarters to chapsticks and everything in between to the deep, cavernous and non-reachable crevasse of your car.
Figgy Pudding – that blubbery, jiggly, stretch-marked vastness that reaches from belly button to the southern nethers below; who cares if it housed three beautiful children for a collective twenty-six month period of time. Little five year old fingers squish the goodness out of it whilst singing a made up figgy pudding song. Lovely.
The Face – you know, THAT face…the one that children and spouses alike know that you are one minute-millisecond away from an explosion to rival Hiroshima. The one face that everyone within a five mile shock zone knows that no words are needed, action is immediately necessary and that bomb shelter may be an appropriate hide-out for the next few hours.
Padded Cell – the one room in the house that a mother goes for a brief ten minute sanity check: the bathroom. Little does the family know that when mother is in her padded cell, resist the luring desire to jiggle said cell door handle despite an overwhelming need to do so at that moment. Any continued attempts to break into the padded cell while a mother is in there may cause an immediate display of The Face (re-read above to prepare for the consequences).
Grey Hair – they sprout on your head like dandelion weeds in the heat of summer. Each time you see a child wearing one of YOUR sacred socks. A child bringing home the 40-Millionth fundraiser this week that matches the same one his sibling brought home. The husband snoring for hours on end resulting in yet another night of missed sleep.
STFU&EI – the response you dole out when the complaints start flying about the myriad of vegetables and healthy assortment of foods you spent time preparing for their dinner. Of course, that STFU&EI remains bouncing off the inner most part of your skull while you kindly ask the family to please try it, eat a few bites and then make them a PB&J.
Snatch – despite a Mother’s best effort to persuade a child to order their own entrée or eat their own requested food, the acts of wee wittle offspring deciding they want what is on the Mother’s plate. Said act of snatching leaves the Mother with no option but to ingest the childish food; otherwise, said Mother would be stick thin.
Cliffhanger – waking up in the middle of the night grasping and clinging on for dear life by the mere threads of a 400 count sheet as a tiny thirty-five pound body manages to take up 99% of the marital bed residence.
Tell me, any new definitions that you propose being added to Mothers Edition 2013?