Last week my entire family was struck by the plague. Which is why this here little blog sat quiet and empty for so long. I was too busy mopping up puke and doling out Tylenol to the feverish masses to try and write.

I’ve been asked if it was the dreaded Swine Flu that struck my family with such a heavy blow, but truth be told, I was too busy shivering and trying to stop the jack hammer trapped inside my head to bundle up my family to take them to the doctor and find out.

In the end, it doesn’t matter which virus it was, we all survived it and my children learned a valuable life lesson.

They now know that if they puke on the floor they are old enough to wipe up their own vomit. While I would step in front of a moving locomotive for my children, my maternal love stops short when faced with a pile of gelatinous congealing barf, especially when hurled by someone else.

I’m a fickle bitch what can I say?

In other news, since this is the post where I talk about unseemly subject matter, my daughter has now taken to harassing me about shaving her legs. Legs which are covered with invisible peach fuzz unlike my own Sasquatch-like monstrosities.

Apparently, she’s the only one in the entire school who doesn’t rub a razor up and down her skin to remove unsightly hair. (I demanded proof that she alone was the only one with prickly legs but she confused proof with a big sigh and rolling of her teenaged eyeballs.)

She claims this makes her a loser. How this impacts her social status I can’t figure out.

Do they line all the girls up in the hallway, make them pull up their pants and then caress each leg to see who has the worst stubble?

Do they have a weekly caressing competition and ribbons are awarded to the smoothest skin?

Are hall passes awarded based on length of leg hair??

Since I am steadfastly denying my child any chance at rising up the social ladder by refusing to buy her her very own five bladed razor complete with moisturizing shaving cream, my daughter has taken to stealing mine.

Which accounts for why every time I try to shave my legs I either rip large chunks of flesh off my legs or my hair just stands up and salutes me as it avoids the dull blade.

I have since given up on trying to shave the savage beasts and I’ve encouraged my daughter to do the same.

She, however, is refusing to see the beauty in leg hair long enough to braid.

If she keeps stealing my razors though, I’m going to go to her gym class wearing my shortest shorts and parade my fuzzy gams for all to see while lecturing to all the girls about why they should embrace what Nature gave them instead of waxing it off.

Then I’m going to braid my armpit hair and put beads on it and make sure to raise my hand a lot.

Mommy never misses her shot.

I’ll explain to her as her friends watch with horrified glee, that it takes balls to be a real woman.

Mine just happen to be big and hairy.