Oh my goodness, I haven’t blogged in years. Why? Because I
have kids, duh. Four kids to be
exact. 10, 7, and 22 month old
twins. (don't even bother looking to the right, those pictures are completely inaccurate and out of date) So why am I sitting down in front of my computer, waisting valuable nap
time? Who the heck knows. Maybe
because venting in my head while I vaccumed for the 5th time today
wasn’t getting the job done. So
now all 3 of my followers get a chance to hear me rant.... It occurred to me that there are a
billion, (I’m sure that number is completely accurate), mommy blogs who spout
absolute truth about the humor, complications, annoyances, and down right war
zone that is parenthood. However, every one I read seems to take all the bad,
and wrap it up with one big beautiful “but its all worth it” bow. Not me
people. A piece of crap wrapped in
shiny paper is still what?.... a piece of crap. Now please don’t get me wrong, I am NOT calling my children
or mother hood a piece of poop! I am merely suggesting, that at times, it just
plain stinks. I’ll give you some
examples.
1)
The miracle of child birth. Two people kept it real with me during my first
pregnancy. First was my over
critical, non-filtered boss. She
asked me one day how much longer I had in my pregnancy. My answer was “a few
months, why?” “Really? You are
already so big.” That’s right. She
told the truth, gasp! I was not
glowing. My face was round and my
hips were wide, I even have the stretch marks to prove it. That being said, I actually love being
pregnant, since it is the only time I feel I can throw portion control to the
wind. Second was a girl I knew,
already 3 kids deep. She told me,
“When you are giving birth just push really hard like you are going poop.” No one else told me this. So when the magical day arrived I
pushed, hard, and guess what I did.... yup, right there on the table. Gross! I want to touch on the topic of c-sections. While I have never had to have one
myself (not even with those 7 lb twins), I can only imagine the horror my poor
husband would have to face as my guts are being passed around, from doctor to
nurse, like a bong in 1972. How do
you erase that image? Every time
he looks at my stomach would he be thinking, “hmm, I’ve seen every thing in
there.” Not that a vaginal childbirth is any less terrifying to witness. I’m just saying.... they are guts!
2)
Goodbye sleep. I
am CRANKY when I don’t sleep! Good
luck with that.
3)
I love making a home cooked meal, on the table by 6:30, every
night for my family. Call me
crazy, but I just do. Have 4 kids,
and just like that, 20 minute food prep has now just become 45! I kid you not. Last night I was stopped at least 4
times while chopping an onion, by some one who “needed” something. Why are they all so needy?! I’m not
needy. I want something I get
it. I need something done, I do
it. I am trying to teach by
example here little people, please take note! You’d think the older ones would understand, that’s what I
don’t get. “Do you want to
starve? No? Then let me make your dinner!” Remember when you used to be able to
sit down and slowly consume warm food? Me either. I am looking forward to the day when I can eat in peace like
the other 5 creatures at the table, and not have indigestion when it’s all
over. I dream big.
4)
Good Grief, everything in my house is sticky! From about my waist down, all of it,
gross. How does this happen? I feel like I am living with blind people,
who have to touch every surface they pass by. And why do I clean it all exactly? I must be crazy, that’s the only explanation I can come up
with. Why just today, as I
was dusting, I came upon the piano bench.
Now, I use the term dusting loosely, as that bench required some major
elbow grease. And why shouldn’t it?
It hasn’t been cleaned in at lest 6 days..... any way, cleaning your
house with small children around is like waving a cookie in front of their face
and expecting them not to take a bite.
My piano bench, finally shiny again, is not shiny any more. I’m going to give my boys the benefit
of the doubt and say it lasted a solid 3 minutes, before being covered in
finger prints and an unidentifiable stick/crusty glob. Thanks guys! I sweep a minimum of 5 times a day, vacuum almost every
night, and wash a dishwasher full of sippy cups and plastic bowls, just so it
can all begin again in the morning.
5)
Privacy is for rich people. Seriously.
Maybe if I hired a nanny I could expect a little “alone time” in the
bathroom. Alas, I am it around
here. This is how a bathroom break
goes for me: Make sure Yo Gabba
Gabba is at the very beginning of a new episode, (so it isn’t done before you
are). Next, throw some lucky
charms their way, (sugar cereal and a t.v. babysitter, yeah I got this parent
thing locked down). Finally, the
diversion, point out the back window a shout, “look, kitty”, and run while
their heads are turned. Quietly
close the door, as not to alert them, and enjoy the 15 seconds of silence you
have just bought yourself!
6)
Best part of my day?
When every one is sleeping.
Worst part? When I hear
them all starting to wake up. Is
that awful to say? Well, I just
did.
7)
I love Target.
Love it! I look like I have four
kids. I shop at Walmart now.
8)
Date night? You
mean to tell me, that a husband and wife can go out alone together, wearing
“dry clean only” clothing, and eat food at an establishment that does not offer
color crayons? Mind blown!
9)
Vacations are not vacations. Not for moms anyway.
For dads, yes they are. Vacations are babysitting in a different
location. There are no
schedules! You are at the mercy of
we’ll sleep when we sleep, and we’ll eat when we eat. Then we will all go back to a crammed hotel room with one
cartoon channel and one bathroom and try to not have CPS called on us. I always
need a vacation after my “vacation”.
Always!
10)
Good cop, bad
cop. Why am I always bad cop? Even when it’s my husbands turn to be bad cop, he
is still good cop. I don’t know
how many times I have told him, “you can not punish the children with a smile
on your face.” It sends mixed
signals, seriously. Fifth child,
my husband is. Your face needs to
read, “you hit your brother one more time and that arm is coming off.” Not, “please stop, giggle, giggle.” Why
do my children not do exactly as I say?
I’m sure I was a model citizen as a child. Sure of it! They need constant reminders, at multiple
volumes, about everything. And so help me, one of these days, the back talk,
loud “my mom is the worst” sighs, and eye rolling will come to end! I’m not
sure how really, or even when, but I remain optimistic none the less.
These kids are killing me. Maybe not in a bullet to the head kind of way, but more like
small doses of arsenic in my food over a long period of time sort of way. Don’t worry about me though, I’ll be
fine. I am living and learning.
And while I may not be the same girl I used to be, I am a mother now and I got
this! Oh, and my boobs are really,
really, saggy.
