If you don’t have kids yet...... Don’t!

 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 (don't even bother looking to the right, those pictures are completely inaccurate and out of date)  So why am I sitting down in front of my computer, waisting valuable nap time?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 5^th 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.