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Planning For My Untimely Demise

You want to do something super fun?

Imagine you’re dead.

Sure, at first it’s all cool pretending you’re in some comfy coffin finally resting. . .friends and family fawning over your perfectly still, well dressed body.  Although, those funeral directors often go way too heavy on the cosmetics, no?

There you are just snuggling into the roomy casket, sucking in the aroma of fresh-cut flowers, planning your first dreamy days in the afterlife when suddenly it occurs to you:  YOU ARE ACTUALLY DEAD!


Who’s going to do the laundry?  The cleaning?  The dinner prep?  Who the hell is doing the carpool?!

Who cares?  Not my problem.  I’m dead.   You think to yourself smugly.  Suckers!

But suddenly the stench of all those lilies seems cloying. . .the stupid coffin doesn’t seem so comfortable.  I CAN’T BE DEAD!  I HAVE KIDS!!  

What’s going to happen to my kids?!

That’s the game my Husband and I have been playing for the past few days.  Although, I imagine his version of my untimely demise involves a new and improved Mommy for the kids.

That bitch probably even showers daily.

Whatever.  I hope she consistently burns his damned taco pizza.

Anyway, we’ve decided it’s time for us to stop dicking around and act like adults.  Get our affairs in order. . .

By and large, it’s a simple process.  You hire a capable estate planning attorney and they do all the work.


YOU have to decide who gets your kids should you and your husband both kick it before they are old enough to fend for themselves.

I’ll let that sink in a minute. . .

. . . . .

. . . . .


Yeah.  Oh shit.

This is possibly the most difficult decision I’ve EVER made.

Who am I going to stick with these little monsters?

WHO?  Nobody I care about deserves that sort of burden.

But we had to name SOMEONE. . .

We compiled a short list of potential victims.  

And that’s when it got REALLY interesting.

Because you know what happens next?  You start thinking about their lifestyle and their parenting in a hypercritical manner.

“We can’t give so and so our kids.  They do X, Y, and Z.  We would NEVER do X, Y, and Z.”

After some discussion, we determined NO ONE could raise our children as well as we can.

“We can’t die.  We just can’t die,” I wailed dramatically in a pregnancy induced hormonal fit.

We re-examined our short list of victims, all of them fine folks, who we adore, all with wonderful children of their own.  All of their names crossed off the list for offenses like:

“They dress their children like refugees”

“Lives in a rural area which lacks diversity and access to art and other cultural entertainment.”

“Kids in daycare.”

“Kids have access to too much TV and electronic media.”

“Their house is filthy.”

“They feed their kids way too much crap.”

“They curse.”

“She breastfed until the kid was four.  FOUR!”

Oh My.  

So judgmental.  

Maybe our kids WOULD be better off with parents who aren’t hypocritical jerks?   








2 Responses to “Planning For My Untimely Demise”

  1. Rick says:

    Because even in middle age many people still think they are ten feet tall and bullet proof, the thought of an early demise seldom crosses their minds. Of course I can remember when my kids were in their teen years I wouldn’t have wished them off on my worst enemy.

    • admin says:

      I’m definitely NOT bulletproof – Those nagging aches and pains I’m starting to encounter prove it! Ha! I’m hoping for a long happy life but I want to make sure if things don’t work out, we’re prepared. And I’m SURE my parents would say the same thing about my teenage years! 🙂