by Corky Jones

Created on: June 20, 2007

Are you a working mom? Are you a mother trying to make it through college? Are you a stay-at-home mom who works her fingers to the bone cooking, cleaning, washing and pampering? Are you all of the above? Great news...you're not alone.
We are chauffeurs, maids, nurses, professionals, students, chefs, taxpayers, friends, daughters, wives, girlfriends, commuters, neighbors...the list goes on for miles. Aren't we remarkable creatures? We, single handedly, uphold the obligations of each of these titles, and more, every day. As stressful and chaotic as our days may be, we continue on gracefully, fueled by ambition and the deepest love for our families. At times, the road gets rocky and it seems that we're traveling straight uphill and although weary and tired, we persist. Now, we all need our moments to wallow in self pity. It is only natural to do so. We wonder if we are appreciated, if our accomplishments go unnoticed...sometimes, they do and sometimes we just think they do.

None the less, at the end of the day, its important to reflect on the day and the joy it has brought us. Our chaotic homes are generators of some the most awkward, hilarious and precious moments we will treasure for the rest of our lives. So, kick the shoes off your aching feet, get comfortable and be prepared to enjoy your relaxation time..I know I treasure mine. Read the tale, then take a moment to engrave your special moment of the day in your memory....
I arrived home from my night classes at 8:00 pm in the evening. As I pulled in the drive ending another long commute, I could hear the loudest, most obnoxious music coming from inside my home. I came through the door, deafened by the theme to "Loony Tunes" and nauseated by the smell of burning plastic. I snatched the remote control from beneath the couch and punched the mute button as I ran backward into my kitchen to pinpoint where the foul odor was coming from. As I called my husband's name, I raced to oven and swung the door open. There, on the rack below two smoldering pizzas, was the scene of a murder. Yes, that's right, a triple-homicide.
There lay Captain America, Spider-man and the Hulk in a puddle of molten plastic. It was the most horrific scene.
Immediately, with blood boiling, I interrogated my husband. He simply indicated that he had not smelt the dying icons due to his stuffy nose. Irritated, I dismissed the first witness and called in the suspects, my children. With a heightened tone, I demanded a confession. I got no reply. I

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