Confessions of a Real-Life Mom: Entry #2

09/06/2016

Breathe. Sip. Munch. As I type this I’m trying not to drink the entire bottle of Rosé and eat the entire bag of dark chocolate. It’s been one of those days, which I know, you know what I mean. The big kid finally agreed to stay in her bed her room as long as she could take a hostage: our poor cat Chico. He’s always taking one for the team and she’s undoubtedly wrestled him into her bed and under her covers, holding him there until he’s given up and settled in at her feet. He’s a trooper. I love that cat. I’m watching the second kid – the baby – on the monitor. He’s rolling around in his crib, kicking the wall, tossing his blankie. But I won’t be fooled again. He’s already tricked me once into letting him out tonight. He’s skilled in the art of woe.

Today was a gong-show. It started off quite promising, then got progressively worse, then better, then worse, then better, then worse. You see because in parenting, or for me at least, there aren’t only good days and bad days; it’s just not that simple. Instead there are good moments and bad ones. Ones full of joy and frustration all in the same day or hour or minute. And that makes sense. Even if you are the world’s most patient person and your kids are well-behaved (whatever the hell that means) there’s no way that you can only have great days full of sunshine and roses. Rosé maybe, but not roses. Because that would require kids to ALWAYS do whatever you tell them to do and that’s downright impossible. It’s in their nature to question authority and ask why. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s just a normal developmental stage for kids. At least that’s what I tell myself.

Tonight my kids were anything but compliant. I’m hoping their aversion to following orders and always asking why will mean that they’ll become unique adults with superb critical thinking skills and not inflexible assholes. Cross your fingers with me.

So why did today go so wrong? It was a multitude of things. We just lost our dayhome so I was feeling the weight of 24 hours a day 7 days a week alone with both my kids. I mean, I love them more than anything. I’d throw myself in front of a bus to save them, but a day or two a week with just one kid made life feel possible and my lists feel accomplishable – this may not be a word but dammit I’m using it.  After a relatively great morning we rushed off to Baby Barre Class at Xtend Barre. Truth be told neither of my kids are babies anymore; they’re 16 months and 54 months. Kidding! She’s 4 1/2. But the classes are kid-friendly – which are hard to find.

After almost arriving on time I tried to lasso my youngest onto my back and into the Ergo, but he fought me hard. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be easy. I tried my hardest to stay focused during the warm-up. I started to feel a false sense of security as my little guy giggled at his big sister goofing around with one of the Pilates mats. Then suddenly he remembered he was stuck on my back and proceeded to shriek until I freed him. He was content for a minute until he realized he needed his own set of dumbbells. So I gave him a set of 1 lb weights, hoping that would do the trick. While his sister was spinning and dancing around he proceeded to throw the dumbbells on the floor repeatedly, as if it was some kind of game. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse he decided to test the strength of the mirrors by smashing the weights into them over and over again. I watched in horror as my children ransacked the place. Fearing decades of bad luck for him and a big bill for broken mirrors, I ripped calmly removed the weights from his hands. Game over. He proceeded to scream as if I’d stolen his most prized possession. That was it. I couldn’t do it. I put away our equipment faster than Astro Boy on his way to save Earth and ushered the kids out of class, out the door and into the car where I tried not to lose my ever-loving mind.

And then the day went on. There were awesome moments, like when my son slept and my daughter and I had a bubble bath and listened to Adele and ate chocolate.  And then he woke up and she came to from her Paw Patrol trance and became angry, because apparently screen-time equals mean-time. And she started taking her brother’s toys and bossing him around. And then we had dinner and she was helpful, bringing her plate to the sink and playing nicely with her brother while I washed the dishes. And then it came time for bed and the two – most definitely in cahoots – took turns keeping me from my wine. The little guy cried “cracker” “cracker” over and over and eventually turned his crocodile tears into real tears. And then of course that brought out the big sister, and on it went.

I could go on, but I hear the hostage, scratching and meowing at the door. His captor must finally be asleep. Alas, I made it. We are going to attempt barre class again tomorrow and a trip to Costco. Wish me luck.