Thursday, March 7, 2013

The Motherhood Conspiracy

I'm not going to lie.  Sometimes motherhood sucks big time.

I only have two kids, so really, I shouldn't whine.  But these are the facts, people.  Whether you have one or ten, you will have days of parenting that feel eternal.  For example:

Normally my boys get up, dress themselves, get their breakfast and poke and tease each other all morning.  It's a great routine.  It's the other not-normal times that worry me.  Lately, my youngest son has gotten into the habit of dragging his feet in the morning.  Doesn't want to do anything and if he does do something, it's ass dragging slow.  It was on one particular morning that I think I hit my limit on how many times I asked him to get his pants, shoes and coat on.  Not to mention putting his lunch in his back pack.  This boy has sass.  In fact, both my boys do.  Yet, Mr. Youngest also has the zingers of death that in the heat of the moment, I have no snappy reply to.  It was on this morning that I was close to losing it.  Just before I start to yell, I go really quiet and get very patient.  My boys know me well enough that this means trouble is brewing and they'd better straighten up.  I quietly asked my son to hurry up or so help me...

He didn't speed it up.  Nope.  He turns to me (not doing anything I asked him to) and says:  I don't need to be yelled at.

I didn't yell.

He says: Yes, but you're going to and you don't get paid to yell so you shouldn't have to yell at me.

My older son did the collective gasp and muttered, "Dude, don't mess with the woman who makes your eggs" as he ran by to get out of the kill zone.

I lost my cool, but I didn't start yelling.  No, I unleashed my inner snark.  I faced off with my younger son and said... "Bucko, mom's don't get paid squat.  So in other words, I do this thankless job for free.  Folks keep on telling me that it'll pay off and one day you kids will come back and thank me, but the way I see it... that is a long way off.  Besides, even if I did get paid, there isn't enough money in the world to cover the crap I put up with."

So, I admit, it wasn't the best way to handle things, but it sunk in and he put his shoes on --no complaint.  Once the smoke cleared, my older son came back with the dog who promptly put her head down and ralfed on the floor at my feet.  Ahh... nothing quite like dog vomit in the a.m.

My older son then patted me on the back and said, "you're right, you aren't paid near enough."

No, I don't.  But it gets better.  The next day I decided that while I have a moment free waiting on my editor to slash my manuscript (very lovingly, I might add.  She's much to nice), I should get some projects done.  I had fabric and a pattern for a mixer cover for, oh geez, months now.  I figured I'd better get off my butt and sew it.

I am NOT one of those women who love to sew.  I hate it.  If it's not a straight line, I WILL screw it up.  A mixer cover is not straight line sewing.  The pattern swore it was as easy as pie, but pie is one of those other things I frequently screw up, so, needless to say, it wasn't going well.  No matter how HARD I tried, and retried and re-sewed it, the cover came out crooked.  I gave up around dinner time where I started some homemade bread.

In my mixer.

That promptly started to smoke.

And get super hot.

Then died.

Oh yeah, baby.  I spent ALL day making a cover for a mixer that I burnt out after ten minutes of mixing.  A butt load of swearing ensued.  Then, while my back was turned, the rolls in the over burned, the asparagus went to mush on the stove and I'm hopping around like an idiot fanning my mixer like an indian wafting out smoke signals.  Over dinner I grumbled about the rock hard bread I made, the blackened rolls and my overall ineptitude.  Then I hear my youngest son say:

Mom, you really shouldn't say bad things about yourself.

My older son adds:  Yeah mom, it's bad for you.

Mr. Youngest nods emphatically:  Totally bad for your self ah-stinks.

Now, I know he meant to say self esteem, but I was feeling a little too blubbery inside to laugh at the slip up.  What a kid.  Seriously, as much as that little knuckle-head drives me batty, I still hug him and sqoodge his cheeks.

So, tomorrow, I am going to nurture my Self Ah-Stinks.  I am going to put away my sewing machine and get out a good book or watch a movie.  In case you were curious, this is the cover I made for my dead mixer.  The mixer may not work, but it'll look cute on my counter!

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