Womb and Bored

Womb and Bored

Thursday, September 10, 2015

I forgot the teddy bear...



Today, I was walking into daycare with my three children and I looked down to see my two oldest carrying teddy bears.  All the sudden I got this feeling in the pit of my stomach... Holy shit, it's teddy bear day, and I forgot my baby's teddy bear.  I did my walk of shame to the classroom feeling much like I used to in middle school...disorganized, unprepared, and incredibly awkward.  I made sure that my child would have something to cuddle with.  The teacher reassured me...  But, somehow I still couldn't shake the feeling that I was the worst mother ever.

That's when I got a text from my best friend, also a mother of three, and it read...

"Hey, lost all my make up.  If you think about it, can you toss in a little bit of mascara or something for me.  I look great this morning."

True story.

Can I tell you what a relief it was to read those words?

The idea that I'm not the only mess out there was incredibly refreshing and exactly what I needed to hear.

Because, truth is, I'm a beautiful disaster.  I can rock the shit out of a face of make-up and  I look put together, but yesterday, when I was leaving my house for work, I actually stuck to my doorknob.  There was some unidentified substance covering it, and my hand literally had to be pried.

I'm sure it was peanut butter, or jelly, or snot.  Whatever it was, it was disgusting.  So, I tweeted a picture of it and showed it to all my followers.

Okay...I didn't tweet it.  I don't tweet, and I definitely don't have followers.  But, what if I did tweet it?    Maybe it would be the reassurance some other mom needed.  Because, frankly, we are all kinda a beautiful mess.  But people choose the stories they choose to tell.  And, I think we need to be more honest about those stories.

What if we lived in a world where moms were honest.  Where our tweets and status updates weren't about the snow angels we created during our Christmas in July extravaganza complete with hot cocoa straight from Swiss Miss's tit?

What if they sounded more like this...

Today, I didn't shower.  Tomorrow isn't looking so good either.  I might change my underwear.


Today, I was hungover, and I let my child play Wii for two straight hours.  Suck it, world!


I can't adult today.  No way can I adult.


I don't want to join your fucking book club.  If I get a minute to read, it will be pure fucking smut, and you aren't invited.


I think it's great you breastfed.  I didn't.  My child lived.


I drove around the neighborhood...5 times...just to avoid going home because I just wasn't ready to be mom.


Would these status updates have the same impact on other moms as the "I lost my makeup" text?

I love my kids.  I do.   There is nothing I want more than to feel like I'm doing an excellent job.  But, sometimes I fall short.  We all do.  But I am conscientious about what story I tell to the world.  I am like this for two reasons:

1.  I want my good times to be good times because they're good times, and not because they paint a pretty picture of my life.

2.  I don't ever want a mom to question herself.  I think all moms who are trying their best are pretty kick ass.

I think we need to be better about being honest with each other.  Yes, I forgot the teddy bear, but you bet your sweet ass, I gave that baby as much love as I possibly could as soon as I saw her.  Was it tweet worthy?  Probably not.  But what is really?  When is the last time your status was updated with something truthful...with something that made others understand that being ordinary is sometimes extraordinary?

Moms...I challenge you.  Tweet about your disasters.  Tweet about your misses.  Tweet about your forgotten teddy bears.  I assure you, it will up your audience.








Monday, September 7, 2015

It's the journey...



If there is one thing I miss about not having kids, (besides being able to fat around on the couch after a night of intense drinking and shenanigans), it's the ability to leave the house.

It doesn't matter where we are going or what we are doing, when it's time to leave the house, it takes for-fucking-ever.


I'm not a timely person anyway.  In fact, I'm always late as it is.  So, you can imagine what it's like now when I'm dealing with the herding of the most brainless cats on the planet.  It's more like drunk brainless cats.  It's more like drunk brainless cats with no legs.  Yes, I think that's it.


You ALL know what I'm talking about.


There are things that will inevitably happen when you are trying to leave.  It doesn't matter if it's a place of their choosing or yours.  This shit will happen...true story.


You will lose one.

There is no doubt, if you have more than one child you are trying to wrangle into the car, you will lose one.  And, most of the time it's not the one you want to lose.  You'll be forced to go back into the house and look for the lost child.  You will finally find said child, you will get back to the car, buckle that child in and realize you are now missing another child.  It's like whack-a-mole for assholes.

There will be an occurrence of IBS.

It doesn't matter if your child shits like clockwork, the second he/she gets into the carseat, he/she will be prairie-dogging it, and will need unbuckled to run back in to take care of it.  That child will go in for three seconds and come back out only to tell you that he didn't really have to go, but he thought he did.  So...the next time, you won't let him go, and it will bite you in the ass.  Well, technically his ass.

There will be at least one lost shoe.

Seriously.  Do the shoes go hang out with my socks and earrings?  Because no matter what happens, there is always one missing.  Like, how the fuck does that happen?  Did my child walk around with one shoe on for a while?  Where could this thing be, and how did I not notice Shoeless Joe Jackson hobbling around?  How long did he hobble around?  Did someone break in and steal it?  If so, couldn't they have taken the child and left the shoe?

You will have to check the straightener/curling iron/iron.

While this isn't directly your child's fault.  It kinda is.  Because before those children, you were sharp as a fucking tack, and now your braincells are hovering in the single digits, and what is left has been sopped up by vodka.  Those brain-sucking drunk cats you are herding are clearly responsible for your extra trip up the stairs.  

There will be a fight over something stupid.

There just will.  Like who gets the seat by the window.  It's a fucking car.  There are windows everywhere.  Or who will get buckled in first.  Or who gets which bag of goldfish crackers.  Even if you made bags for each of the kids, one of them will have more, or their bag will be bigger, or they will have a broken goldfish.  Those little orange bastards make it almost impossible for children to get along.

And, inevitably, you will have forgotten whatever you were supposed to bring.


I wish that the above list was an exaggeration of real events...however, unfortunately I think I'm probably forgetting some things.  Perhaps they've been blocked from my memory on purpose as God's mercy for raising these two-legged creatures.


By the time I get in my car, I am so incredibly exhausted.  And I know I will show up somewhere and someone, possibly someone without kids or someone who forgot what it's like to have them, will ask me what took me so long or why I look so worn out.  I want to videotape the 30 minutes prior to leaving and force them to sit through it (with unequal bags of broken goldfish) so they can truly understand that it's not about the destination, but rather the long, fucked up journey I had to take to get to said destination.  And then they will celebrate me.  And give me a crown.  Or at least a beer.


Going anywhere is a chore.  


It's no wonder I have become such a homebody.

So, the next time you hear someone say they just love being home with their family.  Or you see the Facebook post reading, "Home Sweet Home", and you think how lucky that family is to have their shit in a pile.  Just think.   That amazing picture perfect family was probably scared to leave the one-shoed child they lost in the bathroom.



Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Sometimes My Kids are...


Assholes.

It's true.


Individually, they are incredibly kind, lovely, happy, cooperative.  But when they get together, it's all kinds of ugly.


Tonight, one of my four-year-olds cried incessantly because he wanted to make sure he had a toy that his brother did not.  Like, not a specific toy.  He wanted to make sure he had something, anything, that his brother did not have.  What an asshole.


My daughter cried for 20 minutes because she wanted the straw out of her brother's cup.  She had her own straw.  It was the exact same.  But, she wanted the straw that was specific to the cup that her brother was holding.  She kicked, screamed, yelled, and howled about the fucking straw.  What an asshole.


I know, deep down, I am responsible for the sibling rivalry.  And, even if I'm not, the assholes I am raising will find a way to blame me.


However...this really makes me wonder...why is it that kids tend to fall apart the second you bring another child into this world?


Attention?  Not in my case, I  ignore them all equally.


Stress?  I mean, what do these kids have to be stressed about?  They don't even wipe their own asses.


I have to think it has to do with the idea of identity.  They want to be individuals, to be their own people, and they don't know how to communicate that without being, well, assholes.


So, I've been trying to read up on what to do.  I'm not really a problem-solver, but I do love a good research project.  The advice out there, though well-intentioned, makes me believe that I'm going to be living a life of vodka in my cereal.


Here's a snippet of said advice:


1.  Children closer in age tend to compete more.

Great!  Let me jump in my handy-dandy time machine and get rid of one.  Which one should I choose?  The one who is throwing a full-on temper tantrum because his free fucking cookie from the grocery store doesn't have a blue M&M on it, or the one singing, "Mine has a blue M&M"?  No, really, which one?

Which leads to the next piece of advice that's out there...


2.  Don't play favorites.

Really?  Because of course I have a favorite.  My favorite is the one not acting like an asshole.  Which tends to change from minute to minute.

3.  Anticipate Problems.

Yes.  I can TOTALLY predict when one of my heathens is going to go apeshit over something small and insignificant.  Children are so predictable.  Like that time, my four-year-old laid down on the ground of the dollar store because his brother got a more expensive toy.  It's the fucking dollar store.  Everything costs the fucking same...a dollar.  I totally saw that one coming.  How do you anticipate that shit?

4.  Don't make comparisons.

Come on.  It is hard not to compare.  And most of the time, I'm not comparing my children to each other, because, really, they all fall on the same side of the nut tree.  But, when you are in a store, and you see the kids sitting nicely in the cart while your ankle-biters are trying to shove each other out.  It's hard not to compare.

5.  Encourage good behavior.

Is there really a parent out there encouraging bad behavior?  I mean, seriously, is there a mom out there saying, "Come on, Jack, hit Sally again because you're jealous that she got to sit in the carseat on the right and you were forced to sit in the carseat on the left which happens to be the same carseat, just on the left fucking side."  No.  Nobody does that.

I'm sure there is other advice out there regarding the care and keeping of assholes.  However, all of it seems to point in the same direction.  And that is, we, as parents, are screwed.  Until these kiddos develop rational thought processes, and some never do, we will be stuck playing referee.  In the meantime, here are my five pieces of advice.


1.  Cherish their fighting, one day you will miss hearing it.

2.  Take time with them individually...they're much nicer that way.
3.  Do compare them, but find kids that are worse than yours.  
4.  Remember that most people only post their highlight reel on Facebook, their kids are assholes too.
5.  Always take the side of the one you think will let you live with him/her one day.

It's true, they're assholes.  But, aren't we lucky to be the ones they feel safe enough to fall apart with?