Today has been one of the worst days I have ever had as a parent. Just terrible. The funny thing is, people often say, "how do you do that?" Meaning how do I work anywhere from 20-32 hours a week (night and day shifts both) and take care of three kids 4 and under. The answer is: I don't do it well. My house is filthy, my kids are filthy, my dog is filthy. I am pretty sure I could use my dog's toenails to carve a turkey this Thanksgiving because I cannot remember the last time we had a free Saturday to take her to the groomer. There are days I look at everyone and think, "When did they last have a bath? When did MOMMY last have a bath?" I am sure that if you have more than one child in diapers you know this rule, but if one kid poops, they ALL poop. On cue. And right now, with Mal in a cast, I am wiping three small butts. Several times a day. You know how claustrophobic people say they feel like the walls are closing in on them? Well, sometimes I feel like the sh*t is closing in on me. So guys, I am not wonder woman...I am just hanging on by a very thin thread. And probably several Kit Kat wrappers.
So now that you know I am not perfect (I'll definitely never be a shining star on Pinterest), on with my story. The kids have been tired since the weekend. We had too many events, I guess. Saturday, we had dance lessons and my sister's birthday lunch. We didn't get home and in bed until about 8, which is two hours past the point where they turn into serial killers. On Sunday, no one napped (of course not! Why would they?), but we still took them to trunk or treat at their school. Eliza whined, cried, and threw herself on the ground. Mallory stuck her nose up at everyone who spoke to her. Jules had a fantastic time, smiling at everyone and pick-pocketing candy. It was all worth it in the end because they got a ton of chocolate. Mommy needs lots of chocolate. Sunday night, I thought it could not get much worse when Eliza attacked me, tried to bite me, and ripped my new sweater. I am not sure why I would think that.
So far this week, Mallory cried for one hour because I refused to get her McDonald's, Eliza and Juliet are taking turns not sleeping (working in shifts so someone is ALWAYS up). I worked last night until midnight, which is always a dumb idea because that gives me even less sleep and it shows. I am starting to think the zombies on TWD look hotter than I do. This morning started out with Mal and E cuddling and telling each other how much they're in love, so I thought it would be a good day. Wow. I get E in the car and have to hold her down to strap her in. Then she cries the entire ride to school because her shoe fell off and I wouldn't pull over in the pouring rain and put it back on. Also because I wouldn't turn Dora on. Frankly, I am f***ing sick of Dora. If I ever see that b**ch out in the city, or wherever she lives now, that little sh*t better run. Anyway, we get to school and she had finally calmed down. Until we get to her classroom. She climbed me, pulled my pants down (read: crack), cried, chased me...the works. Her teacher is such a lovely lady, and calmly assures me this is normal for her age, eventually she will outgrow this, and she is always so sweet in class. I think in my head, "Yes, and you only have her til 1230."
I got a short reprieve while they were in class for three hours. Juliet slept most of that time and I sat there in silence eating my breakfast. Doing absolutely nothing. The people that clean their house or do anything productive when they don't have their kids around are clearly insane. I needed a break.
When I came back at school to get them, both kids were thrilled to see me. Again I falsely believed the worst was over. Wrong. So wrong. We got to the parking lot, and E refused to hold my hand, which is the first sign of an impending tantrum. Or maybe the first sign of the apocalypse because it feels like the same thing. I ended up having to DRAG her through the parking lot since I couldn't pick her up with Jules on my back, because let's face it--I produce some large children. She tried to bite me several times. Then she refused to get in the car. Most of you know, I am 5 foot tall and I drive a Tahoe. So here I am stuffing this child who is 33 pounds and over half as tall as me into this car I am obviously not meant to be driving. I had to lift her up (Jules still on my back) and violently hurl her screaming fat butt into the car. If you happened to be at Georgetown First United Methodist Church around 1245 today, please do not call CPS on me. In addition to the potential child abuse, my ass crack was escaping my jeans again, and I forgot to wear a bra so my tits were flopping in the wind. I haven't made it to church much in the past few years, but I gonna go ahead and assume they don't like T&A in their parking lot. After I finally flung her into her seat and managed to restrain her, she screamed for 15 more minutes, while I sat in the church parking lot trying so hard not to scream at her, it eventually came out as a few tears. When she finally stopped crying, I decided to order pizza (because that makes me feel better), and we headed home.
On our short drive home, Mallory's observations made up for Eliza's bad mood. She has commentary about everything we pass on the way to our house. In ten minutes, I heard her says things like, "That horse is eating grass. I don't like grass. It has dirt and poop on it. Poop is what comes out of your butt when you sit on the toilet. Poop smells bad, and it's not even a vegetable" and "Poor Jules. I think she wants to go home and eat some Cheerios. She looks quite hungry (she is still talking in an English accent and likes to use the words quite and bit like Peppa Pig does)." Then she begged and pleaded with me to buy her an airplane ticket. To nowhere in particular. She just wants to ride an airplane. I told her we can't afford that right now, and she said, "but they give you water and snacks, and I really like snacks."
By the time we got home, Mallory had cheered me up. I felt like a much better mom. The pizza, Kit Kat, Milky Way, and Snickers might have also played a part (don't judge me-they were fun sized). I didn't even lose my cool when all three kids did their synchronized pooping stunt during lunch, and I had to chase Eliza and sit on her to change her diaper.
I found out today a lady I met years and years ago when she was a teenager just lost her daughter to cancer. Her beautiful daughter was about the same age as Eliza. I never met her daughter, and the lady certainly would not even remember me now, but it has hurt my heart more than I can even express. I cannot imagine what she has gone through this past year and the past few days. I can't imagine how she will go on with her life and take care of her other child. Or herself.
Today was one of the worst parenting days of my life. I lost my temper. I felt sorry for myself. I wondered why I wanted children. I thought I wasn't meant to be a parent. I thought I am doing something wrong. I felt like a failure because the house is dirty and I feed the kids Papa John's instead of cooking. I felt alone. I felt depressed.
Sadly, I forgot the most important things: I am still a parent. I have three gorgeous children, who are sweet 80% of the time (okay, maybe 50%). They can scratch me, bite me, and scream until my ear drums almost burst, but I can still hold them, kiss them, and tell them Mommy loves you and I will still be here even when you're feeling nasty. This lady doesn't have her baby. My sister doesn't have my nephew. I still have all of mine. They are emotional. They can be mean. They are young and confused. But they are absolutely perfect.
If you have a bad parenting day and need someone to talk to, please call me before you lose your temper or beat yourself up. I promise to make you laugh. If you like Kit Kats or pizza, I will even share.
And please send love to precious little Bennett's family.
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