This is what Adam emphatically stated to me with his face all frowny and pinched. He stomped his way over to the couch, sat down with all the force his little body could muster, crossed his arms and stared up at me with his AngryFace.

What brought on his declaration of terribleness? The injustice that set off his dramatic production? We were to sit down and read "Animals in the Snow" for his homework. But Adam had other plans in mind which involved a t.v. and Sponge Bob Square Pants. Being six, the unfairness of having to plow through three minutes of reading before watching the porous yellow sponge was just too much for him. "I have a TERRIBLE life!" he declared, "Just Terrible! "

I suppose I should have sat down and told him of all the children in the world who have nothing. The millions of children who die each day because they lack essential things like food and clean water. The children who die from childhood diseases, diseases that we think nothing of, because they have no access to medicine. The children who are orphaned and left to fend for themselves on the street because there is no one to care for them.

I should have told him about the parents who hold their child dying of malnutrition while across the globe childhood obesity is growing at an alarming rate. Or the children who want to go to school but can't - because they can't afford to - they need to work to help maintain their family, or they are simply the wrong race or the wrong sex.

I should have told him about all the terrible things that are going on in the world. The wars, the killing, the hurting, the corruptness.....the real unfairness of it all. But he'll learn all that in due time.

Instead I sat down, put my arm around him and said "somedays it all seems unfair to me too".

Kathy Bechtold wrote a very funny and insiteful article for the Yummy Mummy Club this month about being a recovering Mommy Martyr. She compared herself to Ernie and Bert. Normally she's Ernie who as you recall is a happy-go-lucky, easy-going, singing about his rubber ducky sort of guy. But she had recently morphed into Bert. Evil coneheaded Bert with his uni-brow and angriness permeating from his little yellow body. Not to mention the weird obsession with pigeons.

I've been feeling that way myself lately. Only instead of turning from Ernie into Bert, I'm more on the level of turning from Ernie into Freddy Kruger. Hmmmm....that reminds me...I need to book an appointment for a manicure.

Yesterday Adam told me that if he could, he would put a lever on my back and switch it to "nice" and just in case I wasn't getting the whole picture, he added that he would also include a button he could push that said "no yelling".

So what's up with all the angry yelling and Freddy Kruger slashing? These past few weeks I found myself falling down the slippery slope into the Kingdom of Mommy Martyrdom. The slippery slope is not a large mountain like Kilimanjaro where the moment you slip you come crashing down, arms and legs flailing, gaining momentum with every turn until you land in a heap at the bottom in great pain. No, Mommy Martyrdom is a low, gently sloping hill that you casually stroll along enjoying the view not even realizing that you're on a downwards path.

"Not to worry, I can hang your jacket and put away your boots. Of course I can babysit your kids. Don't worry hon, I know you have to work late, I'll do dinner, homework, baths and put the kids to bed by myself again. I have lots of time, I'll arrange the party. Oh, you're not able to babysit them? Okay, I'll bring Liam with me to my hair appointment - no worries. I'm too tired to workout, maybe tomorrow. Volunteer two days a week? Sure"

And then you stop for a moment and take look around and find yourself in the Kingdom of Mommy Martyrdom surrounded by other sad, overworked mother who are exhausted and feeling underappreciated.

Here's where I'm supposed to say something about these poor women and how something needs to be done to help them..........

Yeah, like that's gonna happen.

Buck up! It's your own fault. We've got nobody to blame but ourselves. The fact is I should know better. I work for the Yummy Mummy Club for cripes sakes. The whole vibe at the YMC is that Moms need to be taking care of themselves. I shouldn't let it get to the point where my Freddy Krugerness rears it's ugly head. Where I'm crying and exhausted and I'm taking it out on the kids and my husband. Where my son is wishing he could insert a No Yelling button on my back.

So why did I let it get to this point? I don't know. Sometimes it's just easier to do things myself than to delegate. But really...that's a bunch of crap isn't it? Because having a breakdown isn't easy. And hearing your kids tell you that you need your lever pulled to nice isn't easy. And feeling guilty because you know you're behaving like a deranged woman isn't easy. Or taking your kids grocery shopping only to yell at them in the frozen foods section (If you were shopping or working at Dominion yesterday, I apologize for my slightly psychotic outburst in the frozen food aisle) isn't easy. Plus all the crying makes my eyes all swollen and yucky and I may act like Freddy Kruger but I sure as hell don't want to look like him.

Yep, the Kingdom of Mommy Martyrdom is not a fun place to be so yesterday, with Paul's help, I climbed back up that hill and am enjoying the view from top. We are in full emergency catastrophe clean-up mode and today I'm going to switch my lever back to nice. I'll probably have to oil it first - it's a bit stiff.

I like George Clooney. I think he's the cat's meow. The bees knees. The best thing since sliced bread. My husband humours me and goes along with my little crush on George because he loves me (and because he has a crush on Mary from the bachlorette - although that scares me since she got arrested for attacking her fiance).

I like George because he's smart, he's funny, he has a self-deprecating sense of humour, he comes across as very caring and loyal and he's cute. I also like that he does humanitarian work (visit the website http://www.notonourwatchproject.org/) and acts in movies that have a message. Of course, he's also smart enough to know that women also like eye-candy, i.e. Ocean's 11, 12 and 13.

George is coming to Toronto to open the Toronto International Film Festival. If you've never been to the TIFF, you should try to go. It really is a film festival for regular people, you don't have to be famous to attend and you can see great movies that you would otherwise never get a chance to see.

Anyway, back to George.......he's coming to Toronto and as I was sitting at my computer, I came up with the brilliant, absolutely brilliant, idea of inviting him to my house for dinner! I'm so smart sometimes that I amaze myself!

I quickly ran upstairs and asked Paul if he minded if I wrote a letter on my blog to George Clooney inviting him over for a bbq. Paul looked up from his science magazine with a dumbfounded look on his face. He was so taken aback with my genius that he could barely get the words out "Sure, Sharon", while shaking his head slowly in disbelief . Isn't it great that after 8 years of marriage, I can still stun him with my brilliance?

I run back downstairs and now here I am at my computer writing to George...hooray!

Dear George,

Rumour has it that you are going to be in Toronto for the film festival. While you are here, if you would like to come over for the three B's (I mean beer, bbq and basketball - get your mind out of the gutter George), I would love to have you (at my house, not literally). I understand that you might not be comfortable around the kids but I assure you I have no problem locking them in their rooms for the night. Paul, my husband, would love to play some one-on-one basketball with you (mental note: don't forget to ask Paul to play basketball with George). I would play with you (basketball, not literally) but I would hate for you to have to go back and tell your friends that you were beat by a 5'3", 38 year old woman.

Please feel free to drop me a line and I will send you my address. Also let me know what kind of beer you like and if you would prefer steak or hamburgers.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sharon

Brilliant! I wonder what I should wear?

It has come to my attention that there is a large misrepresentation regarding the amount of sex that married men are having with their wives.

While in the locker room getting ready for their weekly hockey game, "Bob" mentioned that he and his wife have sex every night. Every. Single. Night. Sue is practically a sexaholic because she wants it so much. She can't keep her hands off of Bob. By telling the other guys this, "Bob" is doing two things. He is trying to make his sex life look like something out of an 80's porn movie and at the same time, making all of the other husbands feel like their sex lives are something out of Disney. I will give credit where credit is due. Bob is a smart man.........but he is not as smart as me.

I would like to clear up a few things. Bob is lying. He is a lying liar. I smell smoke because Bob's pants are on fire.

How do I know this? I know this because I know Bob's wife. And let me tell you......the chats WE have about Bob and Sue's sex life in no way resembles the sex-fest that Bob is rambling on about. Secondly, Bob is lying because he knows that you will never question Sue about their sex life. Seriously, the next time we're over at Bob's house for dinner, are you really going to say: "Bob tells me you're a minx in bed and want to jump his bones every chance you get. Can you pass the chicken please?"

And last but certainly not least. Do you really think.......do you honestly believe.......deep down in your heart of hearts..........that while Bob is in the hockey change room bragging about his sex life at 7:30 p.m. on a Tuesday night and Sue is at home trying to give 2.5 children a bath, do homework, get them into bed, clean up the mess from dinner, tidy up the house and get lunches ready for the next day all while planning her three year olds birthday party, that she is really waiting around in her lingerie for sweaty, beer-smelling Bob to come home so he can ravage her? Or is it possible. Just possible. The teansiest, tiniest, little smidgen bit of a possibity, in this strange place we call REALITY that Sue has actually collapsed, exhausted into her bed and is ruing the day that she ever had sex with Bob once let alone ever again. Do you think this might be a little bit possible?

Men also have a huge misconception about what turns a woman on. Walking up behind us, wrapping your arms around our waist and whispering in our ear "I'm horny" doesn't do it. Neither does suggesting we spend the night in bed with just the two of us and a bottle of chocolate sauce. Because, quite frankly, I know who's going to have to clean up that mess. And that person doesn't have a penis.

Do you really want to know what turns us on? Listen carefully.

Throwing your dirty socks and underwear IN the hamper instead of beside it. Mmmmmm........ Being the one to get out of bed when one of the kids wakes up at five in the morning. Oh yes, baby....right there. Opening the dishwasher, seeing it's full of clean dishes and actually emptying it instead of closing it and walking away. Mmmm.....that's it. Please don't stop. Offer to look after the kids so we can do the grocery shopping on our own. Oh YES! YES! Right there! Please don't stop! When you call us from work and hear children screaming and crying in the background, ask us how we're doing instead of reminding us we need to pick up the dry cleaning. Yes, yes yes......that's it baby. Don't Stop! Better yet, surprise us by leaving work early and come home and help. Oh God, I'm right there! Put your dirty dishes in the dishwasher instead of in the sink. That's ITTT Don't Stoppppp!!! Change a diaper when you can smell poop instead of pretending you don't notice. YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! mmmmmmmmmmmmm......

And that, my dear men, is how it's done.

(This was a post I did awhile back from my blog - if you want to read more, you can visit it at http://motherhoodtheultimatesurvivor.blogspot.com/

and green and a nice turquoisey colour too.

You need to read this particular blog carefully. If I can save one parent from having to go through what I'm going through, then I should get some sort of medal or at the very least, a bottle of wine.

Ya know that Crayola colour explosion paper? The black paper that comes with the special pen and it makes all sorts of rainbow pictures? The kids love it and actually, so do I. We do lots of nice pictures together. Good ol' family fun.

Ya......so never ever ever ever ever (are you getting this?) EVER pick up that paper while your hands are wet. Because the black comes off onto your hands and turns them a cornucopia of colours - mostly different shades of blues and greens. Quite pretty actually. Yes, a beautiful rainbow of colours that is somewhat.......PERMANENT.

Oh, that's not right......I'm sorry. I didn't meant to yell. I just lost my head for a minute there.

It's just that it's now day two and my hands are STILL blue. I've scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and my hands are now not only different shades of blue and green, they are dry and sandpapery. They're a bit sore so it's hard to type. Makes me kind of grumpy.

So my advice to you, dear readers, is always make sure your hands are completely dry when playing with the black paper.

There! I've done my good deed for the day.

Now go colour with your kids. Just make sure your hands are dry.