I've said it a thousand times, and I'll say it again: It's a really good thing I don't drink. Because I would be getting duh-ruh-unk every. single. night. These boys. I can't even....
OHMNAAGAEWRGAAAAAAafnwoeioinhg0293ht=2q3gt-q12u=`1`~~~~!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
They wake up early. They don't take naps anymore. They spend their day running around in circles and jumping from couch to couch to parent to table to couch, only stopping to eat, pee, or fight with each other. When we finally put them to bed, they immediately bolt out of it to run around their room in circles and slam themselves into the walls and/or each other.
I do not get a break from them unless I turn on the TV. I let them watch a show before "nap" time, in hopes that it will calm them down (it doesn't). Sometimes I let them watch a quick show if I need to get dinner ready and they're being particularly clingy or destructive. Sometimes I let them watch a quick show if I need to take a shower. Sometimes I let them watch a quick show and tell them that I'm going to take a shower, but really just go and sit in my room. Alone. To breathe and hear nothing and say nothing and do nothing. And I love that I can get a few minutes of peace, but I also hate it because it's probably rotting their brains. I try to limit their TV time to a total of an hour a day, but some days I just want to turn on Nick Jr. and let Dora the Explorer take over for a while. She's got way more patience than I do, anyway.
And speaking of the whole patience thing? Psh. Please. I spend every single second of every single day telling myself to chill out, counting to ten, taking deep breaths, speaking in a calm voice, and trying to set a good example for my children of how to act. But inside, I am completely losing it. Seriously, cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Totes cray. And occassionally (ok, frequently), I snap. And then I feel horrible, promise myself that I'll work harder to be patient, and the whole process starts all over again. And when I finally feel like I can breathe, like I can find a few microseconds of sanity and feel like I'm not completely suffocating and miserably failing hard as a parent, then along comes a full moon and someone feeds the Gremlins after midnight and I'm back to feeling like I have absolutely no control of my life or my children or myself. This stuff is way hard, yo.
I have my moments. My "Awww, I so LUV being a mommy soooooooooo much!!" moments. And they truly do make it worth all of the absolute crap I have to put up with. They don't necessarily make it easier... but they do make it worth it. I think (and hope) that when your kids are grown and gone, those sweet moments are what you remember. They've GOT to be, or older people in public places wouldn't flock to my toddlers like they were handing out cash and car keys. No. If those older people could really remember every single thing their children did to them at that horrific age of three, those people would be running for their lives and throwing furniture and banana peels behind them to keep the snot-nosed, sticky-handed monsters far, far away from their clean and child-free lives. I so look forward to the day when I can walk carefree through Target, browsing at my leisure and feeling practically invisible without my double side-show act keeping me at the very center of attention. But until then, I may as well sell tickets to my captive audience. If people are going to stare, I may as well get something out of it (besides a migraine).
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