If I had a diary, today’s entry would go something like this…
For starters, on the back end of the worst winter I have ever experienced in my entire life, I woke up to 3 inches of fresh wet snow slop. It’s the middle of April. F*@K YOU Mother Nature!” My van doesn’t have four-wheel drive and I hate you.
Then, my oldest daughter got pissed at me when I told her that I packed her snow pants in her backpack. “Why Mom? What if I’m the only one wearing snow pants?” My response, “Well, then you’ll be the only smart kid in school I guess.” I then go on to explain that she doesn’t have to wear them and that I simply packed them just in case she decides that it might be a good idea. “But why Mom?” She was so irritated with me. “Because I am a mom and that’s what moms do. They force their kids to wear protective clothing in an obvious effort to portray that their children are complete losers to their peers. Why else would I do it?”
And then, my son screamed for 53 minutes straight this afternoon during “nap time.” A blood curdling, “MOM!” One word…over and over and over again at the top of his 3 year old lungs for 53 f*@king minutes. He wasn’t crying, just yelling…at me. Who is capable of doing that? His throat had to have hurt after twenty minutes. There is no way I could scream that long or that loud without having a few throat lozenges in my back pocket as allies, and even then it’s debatable. He is super human.
I needed him to nap today. He was a little shit from the time he woke up this morning. At one point he told me that he wanted to stand in the corner, to which I replied, “Why Buddy? You don’t have to stand in the corner, unless you want to I guess.” Without losing eye contact with me, he picked up his ginormous fire truck and launched it across the room with a blatant “f*#k you” expression on his face. “Well now you have to stand in the corner. Congratulations.” And so he did…like I just rewarded him or something. Seriously. WTF? I clearly should not be a mom, given the fact that my son begs me for a timeout and then lashes out like some delinquent if I don’t give him one. “You win. Stand in the fucking corner all day for all I care. Go nuts.”
And then, my oldest child (mentioned above) came home from school. I saw her walking home from the bus stop, skipping and laughing to herself as all children her age should do. Upon immediate entry into the house, she decides to channel her best “Debbie Downer” impression. I could tell she was trying to make herself cry. Of course I bite and ask her what’s wrong (We do this every day.).
“My yogurt had a hole in it Mom and it spilled all over my lunch bag. I had to spend at least ten minutes cleaning it up and then barely had enough time to eat anything.” She is looking at me like it’s my fault, which of course it is not, but I decide to let this one go.
Of course I can empathize with the yogurt thing. “That’s too bad honey. I’m sorry that you didn’t get to eat your whole lunch today. I’ll make you a snack.” She is acting like she is about ready to take her last breath. I think about delving into a lecture about the starving children in Africa, but quickly realize that this will get me nowhere and proceed to cut her up an apple.
And then this pathetic announcement comes, “AND you forgot to pack me a spoon AND a napkin today Mom!”
Oh my God. I suck. There is no hope for me. I forgot a spoon AND a napkin, both of which are provided in the lunchroom, but still. How could I miss this? I am an absolute failure and need to be put down immediately.
The icing on the cake is that I asked my husband to read a rough draft of a blog entry about my middle child’s obsession with my boobs. It’s funny, and relatable, and I AM going to post it. Yet my husband is concerned that the mere suggestion that my daughter begs to touch my boobs on a daily basis will lead to some “drip” out there interpreting the situation as inappropriate and worthy of a call to social services. Bring it on drip and social service lady. Maybe I’ll get a break and she can cop a feel on you.
Everyone is on my shit list today. And here’s a fun fact. My daughter came home with wet snow pants stuffed in her backpack today. Guess it wasn’t such a dumbass idea after all.
I’m so glad this shit stays between you and me.