Being a Mom

Once upon a time, I thought being a mom would be a piece of cake. That belief was BEFORE I was a parent. I was one of those people who had preconceived notions of how it was to be done. I was judgey of those in the throes that appeared to be struggling. I would of course be perfect because my little love nuggets would be perfect. 

Karma is a bitch. 

Enter children. Sigh, parenthood. Fun to make, & considerably less fun to raise. 

We spend the first two years encouraging our children to walk and talk and then for all the years to follow: to sit down and shut up. 

It is a thankless job this parenting gig.

Nobody wants what is for dinner, unless it is the small leftovers that are on your plate and your plate alone. Then the food they hated last night looks delicious and they beg and scavenge like vultures because they loathe what is in front of them tonight.  

Never. Ending. Laundry. Balls of socks, inside-out jeans, shirts INSIDE sweatshirts, belts in pants...and then when it is finally washed they have outgrown it. I may be a poor laundress but these kids grow overnight. I swear. 

Speaking of swearing, child #1 was corrected and punished for using words such as dummy and stupid. By child #4, my main concern is that she is using the words correctly (which she does, I am an excellent role model) and not in front of teachers...I keep excellent mom-friends who wouldn't notice. 

Dishes. Piled ON TOP of the empty dishwasher. STACKED in the sink.  

The inability to return things to their rightful spot, but the ability to remove it from the said spot. 

Eg: kitchen scissors are always in the kitchen when they need them. When I need them, they may be in the bathroom, under a couch cushion, on a dresser, or in the sand box. At least I know where to look. 

Domestic blindness. Not being able to find what they need. Of course never making a serious effort to locate the item, but search is unnecessary when all they need to do is whine, give-up, throw a fit and basically dare me to find it. 

Since we are on the topic of a misplaced item: Footwear in the morning. Shoes have a spot when they are not on one's feet. At least in a perfect world. But every morning, after I have given a 10 minute warning for departure time, a shoe is missing. The victim of the missing shoe is so beside themself that they have not packed their backpack, grabbed their lunch, nor put on their coat within the allotted timeframe. Why would they do anything else when a shoe is missing!? More often than not the sad little shoe is hiding under the coat that is not on the shoeless party. This is only after I have given myself a headache from yelling. (Don't judge me). 

Bedtime. It shouldn't come as a surprise, afterall they have had a bedtime EVERY night since they were born, yet every night I must remind, coax, threaten, and beg. Don't get me wrong, I love my children, but I have a limit. I have mentally prepared myself for 'x' number of wakeful child hours. If a child falls outside of those hours, outsiders will question my love for these children. 

But then they sleep. The grubby, perpetually hungry, needy, thankless, little beasts catch z's and they are perfect. My little love nuggets are perfect. I must be doing something right. 

Stay happy & healthy 

Jo:Moma