COSSET verb
To treat as a pet : to pamper :
"The Maven's sheeple cosseted her with many, many words to choose."
(The noun form means "pet lamb", but I have far less to write on that unless you want to know about childhood nursery rhymes, or what I hear goes on in the dead of night in some lonely sheep fields; Just rumours, you understand.)
There's a whole lot I can write about cosseting - or pampering. First of all, I'm really good at it. I can cosset with the best of them. I didn't realize I had it in me until my first little gremlin hatched from the fiery pit of my womb, spewing forth a deep love I didn't know was possible - and a placenta. I stared at my hatchling and knew I would do absolutely everything I could to make his life a good one.
I admit to pampering my children just a little too much at times. It's par for the course as a stay-at-home-mom; My strong work ethic carries over into my domestic life. For example, the boys get chocolate milk with mini marshmallows once they come in from outside, and I'll tuck them into blankets and endure far too much Sponge-Bob blaring in the background as they slurp their drinks rather loudly, then leave the cups on the table. And in those moments, do I remind them to pick up after themselves? Why, no! I let them be slobby and ignore the twitches in my body. I crack a smile at my little darlings - the types of which seen predominantly on the criminally insane - and jerkily retreat into the kitchen to do the stack of dishes I've asked no one else to help me with.
Of course, most of the time I insist on a little more independence, but only because I refuse to deal with the accusing glares of their future partners. The gremlins need to know how to pull their own weight in life or risk divorce proceedings and many pink slips.
When my children grow up, I will not own a dog. I know myself too well. If I make the error of getting a dog, it will turn from this:
Into this:
I possess a deep desire to nurture everything and anything around me. I could have used that nurturing to become arich passionate doctor, but instead I became a full-time mom. This is great, except that when the gremlins scurry from the nest in a few years, there is a real danger I will become one of those dog or cat owners. Oh, I laugh at them now, but only because I know just how similar our DNA is.
I figure I might have to do something a little wild as my boys grow up. Instead of caring for others, I should cosset - get ready for it - me. Yes, me, The Maven. She deserves spoiling, does she not? And who better to do it than myself? I had better become a veryrich dedicated doctor quickly so that I may afford to get my nails and hair done regularly. They'll know me so well at the spa that a mud treatment will be named after me. Maven Mud: I like the sound of that.
Until then, I'll touch up my own roots in the bathroom and cut the crust off everyone's sandwiches just so.
And I'll patiently wait for the right time to come out of the cosset.
To treat as a pet : to pamper :
"The Maven's sheeple cosseted her with many, many words to choose."
(The noun form means "pet lamb", but I have far less to write on that unless you want to know about childhood nursery rhymes, or what I hear goes on in the dead of night in some lonely sheep fields; Just rumours, you understand.)
There's a whole lot I can write about cosseting - or pampering. First of all, I'm really good at it. I can cosset with the best of them. I didn't realize I had it in me until my first little gremlin hatched from the fiery pit of my womb, spewing forth a deep love I didn't know was possible - and a placenta. I stared at my hatchling and knew I would do absolutely everything I could to make his life a good one.
I admit to pampering my children just a little too much at times. It's par for the course as a stay-at-home-mom; My strong work ethic carries over into my domestic life. For example, the boys get chocolate milk with mini marshmallows once they come in from outside, and I'll tuck them into blankets and endure far too much Sponge-Bob blaring in the background as they slurp their drinks rather loudly, then leave the cups on the table. And in those moments, do I remind them to pick up after themselves? Why, no! I let them be slobby and ignore the twitches in my body. I crack a smile at my little darlings - the types of which seen predominantly on the criminally insane - and jerkily retreat into the kitchen to do the stack of dishes I've asked no one else to help me with.
Of course, most of the time I insist on a little more independence, but only because I refuse to deal with the accusing glares of their future partners. The gremlins need to know how to pull their own weight in life or risk divorce proceedings and many pink slips.
When my children grow up, I will not own a dog. I know myself too well. If I make the error of getting a dog, it will turn from this:
 |
| Awwww! What a cute puppy! |
Into this:
 |
| Who's mama's little fluffy princess?? Smile for the photographer, baby girl! |
I possess a deep desire to nurture everything and anything around me. I could have used that nurturing to become a
I figure I might have to do something a little wild as my boys grow up. Instead of caring for others, I should cosset - get ready for it - me. Yes, me, The Maven. She deserves spoiling, does she not? And who better to do it than myself? I had better become a very
Until then, I'll touch up my own roots in the bathroom and cut the crust off everyone's sandwiches just so.
And I'll patiently wait for the right time to come out of the cosset.