So you know how before you have kids you have all these thoughts like “I’ll never say ‘because I said so’ and I’ll never spank my kid and I’ll never do X or God forbid, I’ll never do Y to my amazing children because they are going to be amazing/ wonderful creatures that need to be nurtured and led through this world with a strong guiding hand.” I look back at that idiot that I used to be and say “Shut up, you idiot. Get a life.”
My children ARE amazing, wonderful creatures that I openly admit are also evil minions that I procured in order to slowly and effectively take over the world (Think Gru from Despicable Me… I still plan on stealing the Eiffel Tower… the little one from Las Vegas.)
My oldest daughter will tell you she’s a “hot mess,” using those words. True, she learned those words from me, but she says them with pride. And truer words have rarely been spoken.
My middle child, the only boy in the lot, likes to warm up his belly with a kitty by finding one and falling on her, hard, without catching himself. And then giggling. The cats are fine…. most of the time. They have learned to run. Well, the smart one has. The dumb one? Well, there’s a reason for survival of the fittest, and that theory is hard at work in my home.
My littlest one? Well she’s only 10 months old, so I still have hope for her.
I’m not the high hopes wanna be parent I used to be. I’m not raising a Rhodes Scholar (though if they are that, score for them!) I’m raising a happy and healthy productive adult. No, not a doctor or a lawyer. If they want to be mechanics, more power to them, but they have to have some thing to feed themselves, because at 18, I’m no longer guaranteeing their access to cable. As for right now, though, I serve spaghetti more than I should cause it’s fast, cheap, and easy. The kids don’t eat enough greens, I know, but they are served it. I will not yell or force feed them. I will not make their favorites, and if they don’t eat what they are served, they get to be hungry. I don’t do organic… as a rule (go ahead and try to convince me I’m wrong. My kid’s ONCOLOGIST told me of the dangers involved. If you don’t have an MD after your name and a vested interest in my kid’s health, you can keep your contrary opinion to yourself). I’m now the exhausted parent that will tell her child to be quiet, just because I have a throbbing headache and her incessant asking of “Why” has raised it to the level of nuclear migraine. Examples of how she asks “why”:
Me: “I need to get my oil changed.”
Me: “Because the engine could be damaged if I don’t keep good clean oil in it. It uses oil to lubricate the moving parts to keep it from overheating”
Sophie: “For what reason?”
Me: “Metal parts that rub against each other over and over eventually get hot because of friction. Lubricating those parts keep the friction down.”
Sophie: “I’m a bit unclear as to that explanation. Could you please reiterate?”
Me: “Friction is caused when molecules rub together. Like you rubbing you hand against the leg of your pants. That’s friction.”
Sophie: “I understand friction. I just don’t understand the reasoning behind it all.”
Me: “Because I need to maintain the truck appropriately if I want to keep it on the road.”
Sophie: “Please tell me more.”
Me: “I’m not sure what more I can tell you.”
Sophie: “For what reason dost thou insist upon such behavior?”
Me: “Because Jesus.”
Yeah… I’m that parent. I’m now responding to “Why” or it’s thousands of iterations by saying one of the many following:
“Because I said so.”
“Because I’m the mom.”
“Because if not, then snow would fall in Hell, Mississippi, and we’d all have to move to Timbuktu.”
~turning radio up~
I’m not going to win any parent of the year thing. In fact, I’m pretty sure there are psychologists and a bunch of wanna-be-psychologist parents (likely the ones that are raising their kids through the use of some method they picked up in a book combined with an all organic diet and regular jujitsu foot massages as a way to teach them patience) that are likely angrily growling at their screens as they read my words. I’m a mom. I have three little evil minions. When I meet people without kids around my age, I look at them and say “If you ever think about having kids… get a dog.” I LOVE my kids, and I’m happy I had them. But I’m tired. I’m hangry. I’m sore in places I didn’t think I had muscles. My house is a wreck. I’m stressed from work, living off of antacids, and haven’t had the time to work out FOR ME in months. Go ahead and judge me. But keep in mind, the payment for judging me is having to clean my house and change all of Vivi’s diapers for a month. And we are trying her on solids for the first time right now. The resulting diapers have been tragic. You’ve been warned.
Parenting is hard. It’s exhausting. It’s a bunch of fun too, but MAN, working full time and trying to keep three kids from eating each other or innocent bystanders can suck the life right out of you. So the next time you see some mom that hasn’t run a brush through her hair, has a shirt on inside out, has one kid on a leash, one on her hip, and one in the cart, don’t judge. I’ve done some seriously hard things before, but nothing compares to the difficulty of raising these kids. Nothing. I will never judge another mom again (unless she’s abusive. No excuses for that crap… and no, spanking is not abuse. Get off your high horse and stop judging good people.)