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Milk Mom

I’m
seriously considering fencing in our back yard and buying a cow.
Not only will the cow eat my grass so I won’t have to mow, it will
also provide free fertilizer for my flowers. This cow could be a
family pet and my children could feed her, which would be a good
lesson in responsibility.

I’ve decided to name my cow
Helga. Helga’s main duty wouldn’t be mowing or fertilizing, it
would be to provide milk for my family. Why? Because I’m sick of
lugging it home from the store. I don’t mind carrying the
groceries in, but anyone who has ever tried balancing a bag of
groceries in one arm and two gallons of milk in the other, while
trying to unlock the back door, will understand what I’m saying.

No wonder commercials always
show beautiful young women with milk mustaches. No one would buy
the stuff if they showed stressed moms dropping a gallon of it in
the driveway for the dog to lap up.

Even when you finally get the
jugs in the fridge your problems aren’t over. Two jugs of milk
take up so much space that there isn’t room for the five bottles
of soda you bought. And in the morning when you’re half asleep and
want milk on your cereal, it takes someone with the strength of
Samson to get the top off.

So my plan is to attach
milkers to Helga out in the back yard and pump the milk through
tubes, straight into my kitchen-thus solving many of my problems
at once.

When I ran my idea past my
husband he just looked at me and laughed.

"Who do you think will
end up feeding the cow?" he asked. I didn’t answer.

"Who will shovel the
manure from the yard to the flower bed?"

My brilliant idea was losing
its luster.

"Who will separate the
cream from the milk and pasteurize it?"

"Okay, you win!" I
shouted. "No cow, but what about a goat? I hear they eat just
about anything and we could name her Gertrude and…"

"Teresa, give it up.
Carry the jugs home and make the kids carry them in," Bill
advised.

That’s easy for him to say.
Now that three of the five are teens, they’re never home and when
they are, they’re on the phone or hiding from me. I’ve threatened
to order the kids bracelets like convicts wear when under house
arrest just so I can keep up with them.

But Bill is right about the
animals. They would just mean more work for me.

Maybe I can kidnap a carry-out
boy from the grocery store…nah. With my luck I’d have to clean
up after him too.

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