I find it hard to believe that I used to be a human being (i.e. not a mom). I barely remember the ‘before time’ when my boobs were still were they belonged and my day started didn’t really start until after noon. Back in the land of languorous meals and tight jeans, late nights and binge drinking. Back when responsibility was making sure you never left your solo cup unattended in a crowd of strangers. Using a bathroom was something you never even gave a second thought to, and eating a candy bar on the couch was a viable option.
I KNOW it all wasn’t some crazy dream but it seems like so long ago…..
..Now I have carpool and sticky fingers, spit up stains and yoga pants. Mastitis, bronchitis, goldfish crackers and apple juice picnics in the living room on a rainy day. There’s finger painting. There’s chaos. There’s a permanent bathroom chaperone that reminds me to ‘flush, wash and be on my way’ repeatedly. The only late nights are the ones filled with feverish snuggles, runny noses and sore throats. My drinks no longer need protected, they all have lids. Responsibility means molding tiny human beings into productive members of society. Love is abundant, as are tears, snotty noses, and squished fingers. Yes, my world has changed quite a bit in the past six years.
I wouldn’t change it for all of the candy bars in the world.
We’re moving. Yeay! I’m just dying of excitement! I don’t know if I can sleep, what with the anticipation of packing endless boxes of seemingly useless junk, trying to convince myself I really DO need every single item that has accumulated over the past year and dealing with my confused, anxious dogs and grouchy children. Moving is great. Because I do so love the feeling of dread at moving large pieces of furniture only to discover a treasure trove of misplaced junk or running out of boxes only to make a dozen late night trips to the local big box stores to steal boxes like some cardboard hoarding creature of darkness. Not to mention the pure exhilaration of identifying the mold covered blob of mystery under M&M’s bed. And when it’s all said and done, you are left in a hollow shell of what once was a happy home. But you aren’t done, oh no, there is still fun to be had. Because living is messy. No matter how thorough you may think you are there are nooks and crannies full of the debris of life. Bits of crayon, dried play doh, old food, random bits of fluff, dust bunnies and mysterious works of crayola art on walls that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Oh yes, I love moving. Let the games begin!
I’ve been miserably sick for the past week. In that amount of time I have probably gone through an entire factory worth of Kleenex and probably a months worth of Vick’s. I’ve also learned a few important things about being sick with kids.
1) Never assume that your children will have sympathy for you longer for two seconds.- Seriously, it’s like a NatGeo special. It’s survival of the fittest, you are now the weakest link in the herd. Unless somebody gets hungry. Then they’re your best friends again.
2) Your husband/spouse/boyfriend/significant other will ALWAYS be sicker than you are. It’s a law of nature, like gravity. You have a cough, he has full on bronchitis. You have a sore throat, he can’t live any longer. You have a head cold, he lays in bed moaning like he’s two seconds from death while you are barely upright trying to make it through one more hour until nap time.
3) Alcohol makes it worse- But I’ll be damned if a Robotussin martini won’t do the trick. Just be sure the sharp things are secured and nothing flammable is within reach of the kids. (I’m KIDDING, obviously. I put my kids in their cages before I indulge)
4) It’s hard to yell at a room full of squabbling preschoolers when you are losing your voice, BUT when you’re this pale and leaking fluid from every orifice on your face AND said children happen to be terrified of zombies…well, throw in a leg drag and your already perfect moan of death and voila!
5) Hallucinating CAN be fun. When your fever spikes at 104 all the while Conan comes dancing out of the TV and everything tastes purple just think of this time as a vacation. Between the boredom of being sick and the inability to sleep because you can only breathe through your mouth you take what you can get.
Posted: September 12, 2013 in Uncategorized
When you are dealing with the mysterious illness of one or more of your own spawn no matter how many times you have been there done that there will always be a little part of you that panics. Like soul crushing guilt, irrational panic goes hand in hand with motherhood. In light of that fact no matter how tempting it might be to ask Dr. Google, don’t do it. A quick internet search on ‘common cold symptoms’ or ‘childhood rashes’ it will undoubtedly lead to frantic searches on ‘childhood cancer’ or ‘lupus’ or ‘how many hours does my child have left to live?!?!’ an hour later. At the very least if you are that worried about your kid and don’t want to go rushing to the er like a madwoman or call your doctor at 2 am at least call your mom or a mom friend so they can talk you down. You’ll thank yourself later.
Posted: September 6, 2013 in Uncategorized
..Can you please not use my shirt as your own personal Kleenex?
Posted: September 5, 2013 in Uncategorized
(Overheard whilst washing dishes)
M&M: When I grow up, I’m going to marry the Prince Bubba, because he’s a frog.
L: But I want to marry him first.
Lil Man: I’m not a frog.
M&M: Well, I’m going to marry Prince Bubba the frog. Not you.
Lil Man: I’m not a frog.
L: But I want to marry Prince Bubba Frog first!
Lil Man: I’m not a frog.
M&M: No, you can’t marry him because I am first and he is a frog that will be a prince.
L: No, I will marry him first! He can be my frog and THEN your frog.
Lil Man: I’m not a frog!
M&M: No, He’s my frog.
L: No mine!
M&M: No, my frog.
L: Nu-uhhh he is my frog.
M&M: No, he is going to marry me and be my frog.
(continues for another 5 minutes…during a very brief pause in the argument I hear…)
Lil Man: (sigh…in a quiet voice) I’m not a frog.
I feel for that boy, I really do. Stuck in the middle of three sisters can’t be easy.
At least he’s popular today.