Yesterday Turtle put two of her dolls in her grocery cart and said, "I have twins, Mommy!" I looked over and smiled. Then she said, "Be the lady, Mommy." I knew exactly what she meant without further explanation. I walked up to her cart and in a high pitched voice said, "Oh, are they twins??" "Yes," she said, smiling proudly. "Well," I continued in my high-pitched lady voice, "they sure are beautiful. You're so lucky!" She nodded and pushed her cart away.
While it's cute and brilliant that Turtle has turned my frequent interaction with female shoppers into the "Be the Lady" game, what I can't get over is how I knew instantantly what she meant when she asked me to be the lady, even though it was the very first time she'd ever asked it of me. I didn't think, I didn't ask her to repeat herself, I didn't wonder if she meant the cashier. I just went directly into the role play. It was like we had a moment of recognition, when two minds were equal in the shared knowledge of our mutual experience. It was like communicating with someone with whom you have such a deep history that barely a word has to be spoken in order for you to both know everything that is in the other person's mind. It was a glimpse into the inside jokes, the secrets, and the drama that will one day be part of my relationship with this child, and it was amazing.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Random Thoughts about Today
I wish that the girls’ teacher would have told me that they spent some time in church today. Then I would have been more prepared during the drive home when Turtle asked, “Where is God Mommy, where is God?” I’m satisfied with the answer I gave, but still. One likes to have a little time to think about these things.
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I am freakishly protective of the girls’ naptime. I have always been a slave to the nap schedule, completely contorting all activities around it. It’s not just because I think adequate sleep is the single most important factor affecting their development, or that I am convinced that the compliments I get about their good public behavior is because they are always well-rested. It’s not even because I need that break. It’s because of the hellfire unleashed on me when they don’t get that nap.
Today I couldn’t get them to go to sleep during naptime. The hour that followed that unsuccessful rest period was filled with screaming, crying, two kids literally hanging onto my knees screaming, “Momma Hold! Momma Hold!” while I tried to make dinner, constant throwing of themselves on the ground, and finally, a plate of food thrown off the dinner table so forcefully that I had to wipe avocado off the wall.
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There is occasionally a window of calm after the hellfire on a “no nap” day. Today, a mere 20 minutes after the avocado incident, there were the girls, giving each other “boots” (boosts) up the slide on the Little Tikes Castle Climber in the living room. “I give sissy boots Momma, I give sissy boots!” said Turtle, pushing on Monkey's bottom as Monkey climbed up the slide. Then Monkey slid back down, said, “Sissy’s turn” and then gave Turtle a “boot” up the slide. They repeated this for awhile, falling on top of each other quite a bit and laughing like crazy. It made me laugh so hard that I almost forgot about the avocado.
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In the course of about 45 minutes this evening, Monkey and Turtle: gave each other boosts up the slide; put on their wings, found their flower wands, their purses, their babies and loaded it all into their grocery carts to go to HEB; pretended to be the neighbor’s newborn baby; talked at length on their phones to God, telling Him everything that was going on in the living room; pretended I was Baby Jesus; and put on insect tattoos.
-----------
I wonder how Monkey managed to pull off her pants and her diaper during her “nap” time today, and how long did she play bare-bottomed in her crib before I finally declared nap over and went and got her? What kind of picture of God is forming in their little brains? How soon before I regret teaching them how to give each other boosts? These are the random questions that fill my brain, blocking out current events, people's birthdays, and everything I learned in law school . . . .
------------
I am freakishly protective of the girls’ naptime. I have always been a slave to the nap schedule, completely contorting all activities around it. It’s not just because I think adequate sleep is the single most important factor affecting their development, or that I am convinced that the compliments I get about their good public behavior is because they are always well-rested. It’s not even because I need that break. It’s because of the hellfire unleashed on me when they don’t get that nap.
Today I couldn’t get them to go to sleep during naptime. The hour that followed that unsuccessful rest period was filled with screaming, crying, two kids literally hanging onto my knees screaming, “Momma Hold! Momma Hold!” while I tried to make dinner, constant throwing of themselves on the ground, and finally, a plate of food thrown off the dinner table so forcefully that I had to wipe avocado off the wall.
-------------
There is occasionally a window of calm after the hellfire on a “no nap” day. Today, a mere 20 minutes after the avocado incident, there were the girls, giving each other “boots” (boosts) up the slide on the Little Tikes Castle Climber in the living room. “I give sissy boots Momma, I give sissy boots!” said Turtle, pushing on Monkey's bottom as Monkey climbed up the slide. Then Monkey slid back down, said, “Sissy’s turn” and then gave Turtle a “boot” up the slide. They repeated this for awhile, falling on top of each other quite a bit and laughing like crazy. It made me laugh so hard that I almost forgot about the avocado.
------------
In the course of about 45 minutes this evening, Monkey and Turtle: gave each other boosts up the slide; put on their wings, found their flower wands, their purses, their babies and loaded it all into their grocery carts to go to HEB; pretended to be the neighbor’s newborn baby; talked at length on their phones to God, telling Him everything that was going on in the living room; pretended I was Baby Jesus; and put on insect tattoos.
-----------
I wonder how Monkey managed to pull off her pants and her diaper during her “nap” time today, and how long did she play bare-bottomed in her crib before I finally declared nap over and went and got her? What kind of picture of God is forming in their little brains? How soon before I regret teaching them how to give each other boosts? These are the random questions that fill my brain, blocking out current events, people's birthdays, and everything I learned in law school . . . .
Friday, January 22, 2010
What I Taught Today
Twin Momma: Knock, Knock
Monkey: Who dere?
Twin Momma: Boo
Monkey: Boo Who?
Twin Momma: Awww, don't cry Monkey!!
Monkey and Turtle: Giggling at the most hilarious joke they have ever heard.
Monkey: "Sissy's turn!"
Twin Momma: Knock, Knock
Turtle: Who dere?
Twin Momma: Boo
Turtle: Boo Who?
Twin Momma: Awww, don't cry Turtle!!
Monkey and Turtle: Giggling, even harder, at the hilarity they are witnessing.
Turtle: "Sissy's turn!"
Repeat x 20
Monkey: Who dere?
Twin Momma: Boo
Monkey: Boo Who?
Twin Momma: Awww, don't cry Monkey!!
Monkey and Turtle: Giggling at the most hilarious joke they have ever heard.
Monkey: "Sissy's turn!"
Twin Momma: Knock, Knock
Turtle: Who dere?
Twin Momma: Boo
Turtle: Boo Who?
Twin Momma: Awww, don't cry Turtle!!
Monkey and Turtle: Giggling, even harder, at the hilarity they are witnessing.
Turtle: "Sissy's turn!"
Repeat x 20
Thursday, January 14, 2010
La-Ha
A few months ago I took Turtle and Monkey to Mayfield Park to see the peacocks that live and roam freely on the park grounds. There is a cottage in the middle of the park; the girls climbed onto the steps leading up to the cottage and started, almost simultaneously, saying “La-Ha.” They were giggling and walking along the length of the step, saying “La-Ha.” It took me awhile to figure out what they were saying:
“Are you playing a game?” I asked.
“Yeah. La-Ha.”
I kept repeating, “La-Ha? Are you saying La-Ha?”
They were. The next time we went, the same thing happened. Then just this week we went to visit a preschool that had peacocks on its grounds. As soon as we got home, they went out onto the front steps and started playing “La-Ha.” This game has something to do with peacocks and steps, but that is about all I can tell you.
The girls, Turtle in particular, constantly make up games. There’s “keymaster” and “monkey” and “sacka” and bunch of others. I couldn’t possibly explain these games except to tell you they involve a series of actions the girls make you repeat over and over (and over) and said actions are more directly related to the name of the game than the mysterious “La-Ha.”
This past Sunday they invented a new game, one I enjoy despite its name – “screaming.” It involves the girls running around the house, screaming. One will follow the other and then they switch, and they just scream. This game should not to be confused with “chase,” which, of course, is a totally different game and requires participation of a parent. And that was the beauty of “screaming” – no parents. They just ran around having a ball while Twin Daddy and I luxuriously poured ourselves glasses of water and stood around the kitchen, basking in the glorious screaming that meant we were free to chat amongst ourselves for as long as the game lasted.
Later that same day I actually read a magazine article while they played in the living room. Granted, it was a short article in ParentWise:Austin, but still. It was like they were older children from one day to the next.
On the subject of the speed at which these children are developing, I have to say I am generally astounded about every 7 minutes by the things that come out of their mouths. I have taken to saying, “Hmmmm, okay,” a lot. I've given up recording it all but I can touch on a couple of things. Turtle likes to pretend a lot. She often calls herself “puppy” and calls Mr. Lovey her “bone.” When she’s pretending she’s a puppy, she will correct you if you call her by her real name, and she says things like, “Where’s my bone, mommy?” when she can’t find Mr. Lovey. Last week, we started a new music class with their favorite teacher, Abby, and when we got home she (and then Monkey, who often follows whatever Turtle is doing) insisted on being called Abby for the rest of the day.
While Monkey usually follows Turtle’s lead on games and pretending, she has her own interesting imagination as well. She has taken to calling Turtle, “my baby brother.” Turtle responds by calling Monkey, “my sissy brother.” Then, my favorite story this month: Monkey was chatting up a storm in the back seat on the way to dinner last Saturday night, then she suddenly pointed at Turtle and said, “That’s my cousin, Baby Jesus.”
I could try to explain the circuitous connections and theories I have about how in the world the girl came up with such a statement, but I think it’s a lot more fun if we all just say, “hmmm, ok” and play along.
“Are you playing a game?” I asked.
“Yeah. La-Ha.”
I kept repeating, “La-Ha? Are you saying La-Ha?”
They were. The next time we went, the same thing happened. Then just this week we went to visit a preschool that had peacocks on its grounds. As soon as we got home, they went out onto the front steps and started playing “La-Ha.” This game has something to do with peacocks and steps, but that is about all I can tell you.
The girls, Turtle in particular, constantly make up games. There’s “keymaster” and “monkey” and “sacka” and bunch of others. I couldn’t possibly explain these games except to tell you they involve a series of actions the girls make you repeat over and over (and over) and said actions are more directly related to the name of the game than the mysterious “La-Ha.”
This past Sunday they invented a new game, one I enjoy despite its name – “screaming.” It involves the girls running around the house, screaming. One will follow the other and then they switch, and they just scream. This game should not to be confused with “chase,” which, of course, is a totally different game and requires participation of a parent. And that was the beauty of “screaming” – no parents. They just ran around having a ball while Twin Daddy and I luxuriously poured ourselves glasses of water and stood around the kitchen, basking in the glorious screaming that meant we were free to chat amongst ourselves for as long as the game lasted.
Later that same day I actually read a magazine article while they played in the living room. Granted, it was a short article in ParentWise:Austin, but still. It was like they were older children from one day to the next.
On the subject of the speed at which these children are developing, I have to say I am generally astounded about every 7 minutes by the things that come out of their mouths. I have taken to saying, “Hmmmm, okay,” a lot. I've given up recording it all but I can touch on a couple of things. Turtle likes to pretend a lot. She often calls herself “puppy” and calls Mr. Lovey her “bone.” When she’s pretending she’s a puppy, she will correct you if you call her by her real name, and she says things like, “Where’s my bone, mommy?” when she can’t find Mr. Lovey. Last week, we started a new music class with their favorite teacher, Abby, and when we got home she (and then Monkey, who often follows whatever Turtle is doing) insisted on being called Abby for the rest of the day.
While Monkey usually follows Turtle’s lead on games and pretending, she has her own interesting imagination as well. She has taken to calling Turtle, “my baby brother.” Turtle responds by calling Monkey, “my sissy brother.” Then, my favorite story this month: Monkey was chatting up a storm in the back seat on the way to dinner last Saturday night, then she suddenly pointed at Turtle and said, “That’s my cousin, Baby Jesus.”
I could try to explain the circuitous connections and theories I have about how in the world the girl came up with such a statement, but I think it’s a lot more fun if we all just say, “hmmm, ok” and play along.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Happy New Year!
I’m feeling pressured to write a profound end-of-year/end-of-decade post, filled with poignant remembrances and ambitious resolutions. I may go in that direction, but, just in case, let's pretend I'm not trying to write anything special. Ok, whew, pressure is off.
I do kind of have a feeling of excitement about 2010, though. I plan to re-enter society. I’m not sure when or how, or whether it means becoming employed or just engaging is some other sort of regular adult activity. But I can feel it building inside me. That itchy feeling I get after I’ve worked at one job a couple of years, and I start thinking about what else might be around the corner, or what I can add to my life to keep it interesting.
There’s a pretty simple explanation for this – the kids are older. They can say things like, “I’m hungry, I’m cold, I have a poopy diaper, I’m tired, I want my Lovey,” and so on. They tell me what they want to eat and what they want to drink. They can climb up and down stairs without holding my hand. They can sit alone and “read” a pile of books for 20 minutes while I get some housework done. They can sit in big chairs at the bank and doodle on a notepad while I take care of business. They enjoy going to "school" and being cared for by other adults.
In short, we are all ready for the next stage, whatever that may mean. I’m trying not to over think it, which would be new for me. In fact, I will now share my one profound, ambitious resolution for 2010 and beyond: I resolve to let myself be who I am.
Pretty heady stuff, huh? Here’s some more. I’m going to relax inside my body, and follow my interests, and not judge every thought that pops into my head. I’m going to stop “should”-ing myself to death. I’m going to let all the dark stuff from my past flutter out of me so that I am just me, rather than a conglomeration of painful experiences I’m trying to squish. I’m going to allow myself to grow into the person who is already there.
It may look like I am an over-planning, controlling, hyper, Type-A freak-out because that’s “who I am.” But that’s not really me at all. It’s just who I become when I go to that place where I don’t trust my judgment or instincts, or when I’m feeling shame or sadness about my past and where I came from. I go to those places a lot, several times a day in fact, and I use all that crazy Type-A energy to either distract me from my deep pain or to control my environment so I can convince myself that no mistake will ever be made on my watch, ever again for the rest of my life.
It takes a lot of nervous energy to keep up this kind of charade, which probably explains why I can eat obscene amounts of chocolate and ice cream on a daily basis without gaining weight. So I guess while I’m doing all this relaxing within myself, I’ll have to make a secondary resolution to cut back on the chocolate (the ice cream is not negotiable).
I hope you will think about what you can do to give yourself a break this year, and to simply be who you are. And I hope you enjoy lots of ice cream, too.
I do kind of have a feeling of excitement about 2010, though. I plan to re-enter society. I’m not sure when or how, or whether it means becoming employed or just engaging is some other sort of regular adult activity. But I can feel it building inside me. That itchy feeling I get after I’ve worked at one job a couple of years, and I start thinking about what else might be around the corner, or what I can add to my life to keep it interesting.
There’s a pretty simple explanation for this – the kids are older. They can say things like, “I’m hungry, I’m cold, I have a poopy diaper, I’m tired, I want my Lovey,” and so on. They tell me what they want to eat and what they want to drink. They can climb up and down stairs without holding my hand. They can sit alone and “read” a pile of books for 20 minutes while I get some housework done. They can sit in big chairs at the bank and doodle on a notepad while I take care of business. They enjoy going to "school" and being cared for by other adults.
In short, we are all ready for the next stage, whatever that may mean. I’m trying not to over think it, which would be new for me. In fact, I will now share my one profound, ambitious resolution for 2010 and beyond: I resolve to let myself be who I am.
Pretty heady stuff, huh? Here’s some more. I’m going to relax inside my body, and follow my interests, and not judge every thought that pops into my head. I’m going to stop “should”-ing myself to death. I’m going to let all the dark stuff from my past flutter out of me so that I am just me, rather than a conglomeration of painful experiences I’m trying to squish. I’m going to allow myself to grow into the person who is already there.
It may look like I am an over-planning, controlling, hyper, Type-A freak-out because that’s “who I am.” But that’s not really me at all. It’s just who I become when I go to that place where I don’t trust my judgment or instincts, or when I’m feeling shame or sadness about my past and where I came from. I go to those places a lot, several times a day in fact, and I use all that crazy Type-A energy to either distract me from my deep pain or to control my environment so I can convince myself that no mistake will ever be made on my watch, ever again for the rest of my life.
It takes a lot of nervous energy to keep up this kind of charade, which probably explains why I can eat obscene amounts of chocolate and ice cream on a daily basis without gaining weight. So I guess while I’m doing all this relaxing within myself, I’ll have to make a secondary resolution to cut back on the chocolate (the ice cream is not negotiable).
I hope you will think about what you can do to give yourself a break this year, and to simply be who you are. And I hope you enjoy lots of ice cream, too.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
O Christmas Tree!
Last Saturday morning, we went out to the Papa Noel stand on Loop 360 and got ourselves a perfectly proportioned and perfectly-sized Christmas tree. I’m not exaggerating about its perfection. The A/C guy who came to the house yesterday said, “That is a perfect Christmas tree – I’ve never seen one so perfect.” So anyway, the girls had a nice enough time picking out their perfect Christmas tree and then telling the giant plywood Santa next to the stand that they wanted lollipops for Christmas. But they really get a kick out of having a tree inside the house.
They were able to put on lots of the ornaments themselves and, despite Turtle’s initial reaction when Twin Daddy brought it in the house, (crying, “I don’t like my Christmas tree Daddy!”) the girls love the tree. When they get up in the morning, the first thing Monkey does is go to the tree and say, “Hi Christmas Tree, I had a good sleep!” On her way to her room for Time Out, she says “Bye Christmas Tree, I go to Time Out now!” They both love to stand and point and talk about the ornaments up high, and to pull off the unbreakable ornaments decorating the bottom half of the tree. They each have their favorites that they carry around, talk to, eat with, put in their grocery cart, and take on car rides.
Turtle’s favorite is a little stuffed elf that my mother made sometime in the early 1980s. She made one for me, one for my sister, and one for all of our cousins; each is embroidered with the recipient's name. It is not fancy; the pattern was a simple two sided cartoonish cut-out that she stuffed with polyester fill and sewed closed. The stitching to close it up is imprecise and visible. You can see the pen outline of my name, where her embroidery didn’t quite follow the marks she made. It looks exactly like something I would make, with my impatience for sitting still and my lack of fine motor skills. I have always treasured that little elf and its imperfections, and to see Turtle cuddling with something that her Grandma Lupe made is overwhelming. I try very hard not to cry every time she picks it up, but I’m pretty unsuccessful.
I think it’s ok for the girls see me cry – I do it a lot so there’s no point in hiding it. I know they will grow to understand that the random fits of crying happen because there never will be enough sloppy little elves on our perfect Christmas tree.
They were able to put on lots of the ornaments themselves and, despite Turtle’s initial reaction when Twin Daddy brought it in the house, (crying, “I don’t like my Christmas tree Daddy!”) the girls love the tree. When they get up in the morning, the first thing Monkey does is go to the tree and say, “Hi Christmas Tree, I had a good sleep!” On her way to her room for Time Out, she says “Bye Christmas Tree, I go to Time Out now!” They both love to stand and point and talk about the ornaments up high, and to pull off the unbreakable ornaments decorating the bottom half of the tree. They each have their favorites that they carry around, talk to, eat with, put in their grocery cart, and take on car rides.
Turtle’s favorite is a little stuffed elf that my mother made sometime in the early 1980s. She made one for me, one for my sister, and one for all of our cousins; each is embroidered with the recipient's name. It is not fancy; the pattern was a simple two sided cartoonish cut-out that she stuffed with polyester fill and sewed closed. The stitching to close it up is imprecise and visible. You can see the pen outline of my name, where her embroidery didn’t quite follow the marks she made. It looks exactly like something I would make, with my impatience for sitting still and my lack of fine motor skills. I have always treasured that little elf and its imperfections, and to see Turtle cuddling with something that her Grandma Lupe made is overwhelming. I try very hard not to cry every time she picks it up, but I’m pretty unsuccessful.
I think it’s ok for the girls see me cry – I do it a lot so there’s no point in hiding it. I know they will grow to understand that the random fits of crying happen because there never will be enough sloppy little elves on our perfect Christmas tree.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Flawed Mommy
I donated the girls’ last year’s winter coats to Coats for Kids this morning. When the guy behind the counter at Jack Brown Cleaners just whisked them out of my hand and stuffed them into a box without so much as a thank you, I was a little taken aback. These were my babies’ first real winter coats, carefully chosen for their water resistance, hood, length and perfect weight for an Austin winter. And *poof* they were gone, just like that. The other customer didn’t even cast me an admiring glance for my good deed. I left the store feeling bad for not offering the coats to a family in need in my Mother’s of Multiples club – someone with two little darlings who would appreciate a coordinated pair of perfect winter coats. Then I really started to analyze myself and realized that I probably wouldn’t be satisfied unless I personally put the coats on some beautiful needy children, basked in their thrill over their “new” coats, and then humbly accepted a tearful thank you from the overwhelmed mother.
Once I figured out that I was looking for an “Extreme Home Makeover” moment for myself, I got over it. It was a good reminder of how often I think I’m doing something for others when I’m really doing it for myself. It happens so much that I get embarrased just thinking about it. I'm guessing that about 90% of what I have purchased for the girls is my own wish fulfillment. I’ve taken the drastic measure of limiting myself to buying them exactly one Christmas present. Twin Daddy will get the rest, as he is much better at getting them age-appropriate things they actually enjoy, as opposed to what will impress other moms when they come over for a play date.
Since we are on the subject of things I do that look like they are for others but are really for myself, I’ll just put the next one out there: becoming a stay-at-home mom. I totally did it for myself, way, way, way more than I did it for the girls. But here’s the part that it soooo funny! The “easiest and most fun job I’ve ever had,” the job that made me feel like I was “on vacation from work,” is chewing me up and spitting me out. (I think I’m going through a temporary burn-out phase, so don’t freak out, just stay with me.) I swear if I have to cook one more meal, I’m going to lose my mind. I say this to myself before every single meal and I still have my wits about me, so perhaps I’m being a little dramatic. This morning Turtle sat down to the exact same breakfast we have almost every single weekday: a boiled egg and a waffle with cream cheese. She took one bite and said, “I LOVE it Mommy!” She loves it. So I berate myself for being the type of person who can get burned out from making the simplest meal imaginable for the world’s most appreciative child. But guess what else? I am tired of making lunches for “school.” Are you getting this? I make lunch exactly two days a week for Mother’s Day Out, and have done so for three months. And I’m tired of it already. I try not to think about the next 16 school years.
I walked into the perfectly neat playroom this morning after I dropped the girls off at school, and immediately became filled with rage. RAGE! I walked right back out and wondered when I had lost my mind. One day I’m showing off my new aprons and the next thing you know I’m averting my eyes from the playroom of my dreams so as to not be reminded of – what? That I have everything I ever wanted in my life?
Ok, so before you go calling CPS to stake out my house, just keep in mind that I am simply expressing, publicly and (hopefully) humorously, what I believe every mother feels at some point in her toddlers’ lives. Since I believe my experience is fairly common, I have created a mathematical equation to explain it. Feel free to pass this along to any other mother who is wondering where all her warm and fuzzy feelings went:
(((Diapers X 25 months) + (Cooking X 16 months) + (Incessant Whining X 4 months) + (Unreasonable Demands X 2 months)) X 2) + zero outside personal interests = Burn out
I always wondered why a mother would be willing to feed her daughter a peanut butter sandwich for dinner, after she’d just had one for lunch, just because the kid demanded it. Or give her other daughter waffles with honey to accompany her red beans and rice, just because the kid screamed for it. Now that I am her, I know what was wrong with her. She was tired.
Once I figured out that I was looking for an “Extreme Home Makeover” moment for myself, I got over it. It was a good reminder of how often I think I’m doing something for others when I’m really doing it for myself. It happens so much that I get embarrased just thinking about it. I'm guessing that about 90% of what I have purchased for the girls is my own wish fulfillment. I’ve taken the drastic measure of limiting myself to buying them exactly one Christmas present. Twin Daddy will get the rest, as he is much better at getting them age-appropriate things they actually enjoy, as opposed to what will impress other moms when they come over for a play date.
Since we are on the subject of things I do that look like they are for others but are really for myself, I’ll just put the next one out there: becoming a stay-at-home mom. I totally did it for myself, way, way, way more than I did it for the girls. But here’s the part that it soooo funny! The “easiest and most fun job I’ve ever had,” the job that made me feel like I was “on vacation from work,” is chewing me up and spitting me out. (I think I’m going through a temporary burn-out phase, so don’t freak out, just stay with me.) I swear if I have to cook one more meal, I’m going to lose my mind. I say this to myself before every single meal and I still have my wits about me, so perhaps I’m being a little dramatic. This morning Turtle sat down to the exact same breakfast we have almost every single weekday: a boiled egg and a waffle with cream cheese. She took one bite and said, “I LOVE it Mommy!” She loves it. So I berate myself for being the type of person who can get burned out from making the simplest meal imaginable for the world’s most appreciative child. But guess what else? I am tired of making lunches for “school.” Are you getting this? I make lunch exactly two days a week for Mother’s Day Out, and have done so for three months. And I’m tired of it already. I try not to think about the next 16 school years.
I walked into the perfectly neat playroom this morning after I dropped the girls off at school, and immediately became filled with rage. RAGE! I walked right back out and wondered when I had lost my mind. One day I’m showing off my new aprons and the next thing you know I’m averting my eyes from the playroom of my dreams so as to not be reminded of – what? That I have everything I ever wanted in my life?
Ok, so before you go calling CPS to stake out my house, just keep in mind that I am simply expressing, publicly and (hopefully) humorously, what I believe every mother feels at some point in her toddlers’ lives. Since I believe my experience is fairly common, I have created a mathematical equation to explain it. Feel free to pass this along to any other mother who is wondering where all her warm and fuzzy feelings went:
(((Diapers X 25 months) + (Cooking X 16 months) + (Incessant Whining X 4 months) + (Unreasonable Demands X 2 months)) X 2) + zero outside personal interests = Burn out
I always wondered why a mother would be willing to feed her daughter a peanut butter sandwich for dinner, after she’d just had one for lunch, just because the kid demanded it. Or give her other daughter waffles with honey to accompany her red beans and rice, just because the kid screamed for it. Now that I am her, I know what was wrong with her. She was tired.
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