If there were any Reese’s Pieces in the house right now… I
would be self-medicating. Heavily. (Note also that I consoled myself with a
handful of chocolate chips.) These are the times that try mothers’ souls.
Why?
Two words:
THE. CHILDREN.
I love them. Goodness knows I do.
But HOLY FRIGGIN’ COW they know how to get to a lady after a
long day.
Let me explain, before I get too carried away and you start
imagining a horror film made about my insanity ten years from now.
After a long day, Hubunk scurried off to his job to make
some big American baffos, while the children and I spent a luxurious evening
eating cotton candy made from rainbow clouds, singing “B-I-N-G-O,” and giggling
beneath our cozy living room blanket fort.
FALSE.
This is real life, people. And while we do have our moments
of joy in our blanket forts, we also have big arguments about who gets to clean
it up when all’s said and done.
So here’s the real story, from the moment Hubunk walked out
the door and left me all alone with my
children and my inner crazy person (who was already close to free of her
metaphorical cage):
Napping child had an accident while sleeping in my bed. It soaked through all four
layers of blankets and sheets, which I had just
washed.
Due to said accident, formerly napping child woke up in a
sour mood and screamed, “I’m not your mommy anymore!” when told she could have
a bath, but not until dinner was done (obviously, she’s a bit confused on who
is whose mother here).
All of the children screeched and argued and injured one
another while I made a wondrous meal that none of them wanted to eat.
The children fought over who got to hold the bowl of dip
while they ate the only parts of the meal they liked.
The children screamed for a bath while I attempted to live vicariously
through Elena Gilbert as Stefan and Damon fawned over her on The Vampire Diaries.
Five minutes into Bath
#1, the children leapt from the bath and yelled, “POOOOOOP!”
There was more screeching and arguing while the {naked}
children awaited the draining and cleaning of the tub.
While I was trying to clean the tub and watch TVD at the
same time, youngest child (the pooper), still in the nude, came running up to
me with an unpleasant smell attached to him. More poo was found on the floor,
but the rest of us are still unsure if all
of it was found.
And to top it all off, in all the commotion I left my
pumpkin seeds in the oven too long and fried them crispy. So much for a treat
tonight.
Right now, I want to lie on the floor in fetal position and
take deep breaths while cranking Katy Perry’s “ROAR.” And for a minute, I
might.
But then, I’m going to get up, referee whatever argument is
going on in the kids’ bedroom, wipe a bum, and put everyone to bed – which is,
unfortunately, quite a process.
And then I will collapse in my own bed (after getting all of
my now pee-free bedding from the dryer and re-making it), possibly without washing my face because-who-has-energy-for-one-more-thing-tonight-seriously,
sleep for a time, be awakened by someone needing to pee or having already peed,
sleep a little more, and hopefully wake up in the morning, ready to do it all
over again.
Moms do that. And it’s hard. And it’s not all kicks and
giggles like I thought when I was 13 and wanted a family akin to that in Cheaper by the Dozen.
I’m still learning. Every day is an adventure. But through
good times and bad there are a few things I know for sure:
I choose to enjoy the here and now and accept every minute
for what it is and what it’s worth.
I choose to hug and kiss my kids many, many times during the
day, no matter how hard it’s been, because they are important.
I choose to embrace the decisions I’ve made and everything
that goes along with them.
I choose to love this life.
It is all a choice.
