My Remote Control: a Metaphor for Motherhood

As I was reaching into the depths of our couch cushions to retrieve our tv remote, I felt a strange affinity for the trusty device.

My remote control is…

Always sticky, covered in God-knows-what-from-God-knows-where,

Constantly getting its buttons pushed,

Running on old batteries, yet still expected to get the job done.

My remote 

Endures temper tantrums when it doesn’t provide instant gratification, 

(and likes to hide in the bathroom too)

Has the appearance of control, but is merely a means to an end,

Is sleek and slim⁠—

Damn.

The metaphor was nearly perfect. 

Published by

Miranda Keskes

I am a freelance writer, editor, tutor, and educational consultant with fifteen years of high school teaching experience. Helping young adults craft their unique writer's voice is one of my passions. As the mother of a child with autism, I also feel compelled to share our story, connect with fellow parents, and raise awareness for a diagnosis that is still quite misunderstood. Learn more at my business site, KeskesInk.com, and my personal blog, MommyCatharsis.com.

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