You see, the problem with mothers is that they can’t make up their minds to save their lives.
It’s as if they are physically incapable of making a solid decision and sticking with it.

“Mom, can you drive me to my friends house?”

“No.”

“Please mom?”

“I’ll drive you in an hour, I’m watching ‘The View’.”

“But mom, I really need to go sooner than that.”

“Fine! Get in the car we’re leaving right now!”

“Wait... but I’m not ready to leave right this second!”

“I’ll be in the car. Don’t make me wait.”
And out goes mother in a whirlwind
while I hop one one foot to put my sneakers on
before she pulls out of the driveway without me.
Or even worse,
before she decides that she has to run a few errands before she drops me off.
Because the problem isn’t those errands she has to run.
The problem is that she has to hit the grocery store, 
and the bank, 
and the other grocery store all the way on the other side of town that has the toilet paper that matches that bathroom walls,
and of course she has to stop and have a fifteen minute conversation with every person that makes eye contact with her.
The problem is that two hours ago,
before I asked her to drive me to my friends house,
her plans involved sharing a few laughs Ellen and Opera
and consulting with Dr. Phil on her latest dilemma.

The problem with mothers is they’re mentality.
Just because she went through 18 hours pain to give birth to me,
and bought me my favorite ice cream at the grocery store sometime last week..
(which really turned out to be my brother’s favorite and not mine)
doesn’t mean that every single word that comes out of her mouth is gold.
And not to mention,
she always has a tendency to say what she wants done not once,
or twice, or even three times.
The problem is that someone fooled around with mom’s remote control,
and now she’s stuck on repeat,
and if I have to hear her say the same thing over and over and over
one more time, I’m going to snap -
which never really ends well and
I really, really can’t be grounded this weekend
because me and my friends are going to the mall,
and I’m probably going to need mom to drive me there,
so I can’t afford to make her mad.
But the problem is, that sometimes when mom talks,
I want to leap over the living room table and give her a piece of my mind..
but without having to fearing the consequences.
After all, she always told me that “honestly is the best policy”
which honestly, it obviously isn’t.

The problem with mothers is those classes that they take while us kids are off at school.
You must be familiar with some of them...
Let’s see, there’s “The Anatomy of a Successful Guilt Trip”,
“Understanding What We Just Don’t Quite Understand”,
“How Not to Accidentally Embarrass my Child”,
“Reverse Psychology: The Art of Lying to Your Child in Order to Catch Them in a Lie”.
and of course, “Puberty 101.”
It’s about applying understanding to everyday situations!

I guess it’s fair to say that they’re problems with everything,
but lets be honest, mom’s top the chart.
What’s the point of driving a car the size of a small school bus
if she can’t even drive me to school?
Not that I even want her to,
because that involves me attempting to silently slip out of her bright blue mobile-home Mini Van unseen by my friends who are waiting for me in the front of the building.
And there wouldn’t even be a problem if I was given the chance to successfully complete this task.
The problem is,
mom and I have the same sense of humor,
and I know for a fact that she goes home grinning with some sick satisfaction
when she sees the look on my face after I heard “the beep.”
Because what follows the piercing horn of that car is even worse.

“HONEY!...” - Her voice echos.

“BE A GOOD GIRL TODAY!” - Dead silence.

“WRITE DOWN ALL YOUR HOMEWORK!” - All eyes on me.

“I LOVE YOU BABY!”
And with that, all fifteen years of my life flash before my eyes,
and I think I might pass out from embarrassment.
I can already see my friends giggling,
knowing that they would expect nothing less from me if I had a child.
And off goes mom, squeaking and rumbling
fighting fleets of school buses and soccer mom’s that still haven’t had their caffeine fix.
The problem with mothers, is that they have problems of their own,
which always happen to be with other mothers.
And mothers, know how to argue fiercely.

The problem with my mother, is that she’s my mother,
and she did give birth to me,
which was probably excruciating,
and she did stick up for me that time a kid made fun of my lisp.
The problem with mothers,
is that they can’t possibly be hated.
I know this too, which makes it even more frustrating.
Because after all she always does make me hot chocolate when I’m sick,
and even humors me when I pretend to be sick so I don’t have to go to school.
She even holds my hand when I get shots...
and has yet to tell anyone that I still get really nervous when I go to get my yearly physical.
She even stood by me those times when all my friends didn’t.
You see, the problem with mother’s is that they have “the hardest job in the world,”
and how am I going to argue with that.