This post is a little sappy. But not ’til the end. You can skip that part if you want.

I have about 10 half-written yet-to-be-published posts currently sitting in my drafts box that I like to belive are witty & clever and normally what I would write about.  But right now, I am moved to write about something different. 

On Saturday, I got a pedicure: (hooray for the losing Adrianna’s baby weight!) and then I spent the afternoon/evening with my bestie.  We mostly did random stuff like I made her a German chocolate cake (from scratch) and sang “Baby Got Back” at the top of our lungs.  We laughed so hard we nearly pissed our pants at some old stuff that we found in nursing school and then drove around town and drooled over the beautiful houses in the parts of town that we can’t afford to live in. 

Because of all the fun I had on Saturday, a little voice kept telling me to brace myself for the mayhem that Sunday had in store for me.

I really should listen to those little voices a little better.

Sunday morning started off innocently enough.  Adrianna woke up at  I swear, if she doesn’t start sleeping just a little later in the day, I’m going to start slipping her one of Greg’s sleeping pills.

But, not the whole thing.  Just about a quarter of one.  What kind of a mother do you think I am?!

Anyway, Greg was so sweet and offered to get up with her and (gasp!) take her to the grocery store with him.  Because we did need a few things and I did want to keep sleeping, I agreed.  I swear, the second he pulled out of the driveway, Brock’s door creaked open.  As he bounded in our room, he blurted out three things nearly at the same time. 1) He needed to go pee. 2) He wanted some milk. 3) He was ready to watch Dora.  Since I knew that I just needed to surrender to the day, as he was going pee, I stumbled into the kitchen, poured him a sippy cup of milk and turned on the TV as he scrambled to beat me back into bed.  Things were going well until I realized that the spill-stopper had gotten loose from his lid and there was a lovely puddle of ice-cold soy milk in my bed.

Now, I’m wide awake.

It’s 5:55 on Saturday morning.

Momma’s not happy.

The rest of the morning went okay.  The kids played while Greg and I putzed around the house.  In reality, he watched ESPN and I did the dishes, but marriage is about compromise, right?  Right?

Around 10am (just for the record, I’ve now been awake for 4.5 hours), one of our friends calls and is ready for Greg to come over and help him move a bunch of their big furniture out of their apartment and into their new (almost completely built!) house!  Greg left and it was no big deal.  Until Adrianna woke up from her morning nap.

*side note: I tried to explain to her that she wouldn’t be such a crank-tank and, therefore, wouldn’t need a morning nap if she didn’t insist on rising before the sun on a mother-f$%^ing Saturday.  She pointed her finger and yelled at me.  She raises a valid point.

I swear, those two kids are going to be the death of me.  It’s a million times worse now since Adrianna is walking running.  One of them gets me distracted while the other completely unloads the toy box in under 10 seconds.  I’m really glad that we have decided to wait quite a while before taking out my IUD and trying for baby tres.  Otherwise?  Momma would be totally screwed (ha!).

After Greg comes home from moving furniture, I make him a late lunch/early dinner (it was 4-ish so we are basically a couple of 70-year-olds that like to eat early).  Then he gets a call from his best friend who invites him to go fishing.  “You should go!”  I tell him.  “The kids and I will be fine!  They should be ready to eat dinner soon, I will give them a bath and they will go to bed.  Have fun!”

This is where I make the fatal flaw.

They heard me and my fate was sealed.

The rest of our evening was filled with tears (from all three of us), tickle fights that went too far, pleas to watch TV, pleas to go out and see Jude, refusal to take a bath (from Brock, not Adrianna but I was not about to leave him unsupervised), refusal to eat anything but chicken nuggets for dinner (which, in some cruel twist, we were out of), refusal to go to bed after I tucked him in for the 42nd time that night.  You get the picture.

After I finally got them both in bed (not asleep, just in bed) and as I was settling in on the couch with a book, I read a quote that resonated with me, “If you are a parent and are worried at all about if you are doing a good job, then you are.” 

Oddly enough, it wasn’t a self-help book or even a parenting book.  Just a great book that I couldn’t wait to get lost in.  After I read that quote, I started to cry a little.  I love my children more than anything else in this world but the trade-off for our close relationship is, they know exactly where my buttons are and just how hard to push them in order to maintain the balance between me losing my mind and them keeping their lives.  I fall asleep torn between just letting them be kids (and not yelling at them quite so much) and having a house that has some semblance of order.  It is so easy to yell and be mad at the kids when they misbehave.  But they are people.  They are tiny people learning and growing and the things that I do right now, will determine how they will be as adults.  It will determine how they will discipline their children.  If there is something I lack more than anything, besides well, most everything really, but the thing I lack the most is patience.  I need to learn to step away from a situation for two minutes while I collect my thoughts.  I need to learn that I can only “win” if, at the end of the day, we can all hug and laugh and mean it when we say, “I love you”.  I know that I love my children so much that it hurts and I want them to know it too.

And, this morning, while I was browsing through my Google Reader I came across this gem from The Pioneer Woman.  She tells me exactly what I need to hear on this Monday morning: “Those early stages of motherhood.  If you’re going through it right now, please cherish it and clutch it closely to your heart.  Savor it.  Swim around in it.  Because tomorrow, your baby will be 5’11”.”

I’m so glad that she wrote that post just for me 😉

And, my goal (besides win the lottery and lose a bunch of weight) is to be more patient of my tiny children.  The tables will be turned one day, and I really really don’t want to live in a nursing home.

Tomorrow, things around here will be back to normal.  Pinkie swear.


2 thoughts on “This post is a little sappy. But not ’til the end. You can skip that part if you want.

  1. That is exactly why your Dad and I were so nice to you both growing up and what is the thanks we are going to get??? I ask you, where is this damn nice nursing home you are going to put us in. Your Daddy says they all smell like piss and you know he can smell a flee fart~
    Your mom.

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