Tags

, ,

I just read another mother’s blog that was very funny.  She is self-deprecating, resentful at times, but adoring mother when the kids are asleep, story-teller.  I’ll have to visit it again.  It’s called renegademothering.com.

Today wasn’t a particularly enjoyable end to a long weekend of nothing except visiting with my brother.  I had high hopes for something fun to do, and all we did was end up at Toy-r-us for way too long due to Michael’s indecision followed by a dash through the McDonalds drive-thru.  I started the day taking a hellish 5.5 mile walk with a dear friend of mine, so when that was over, I thought surely there was nowhere for this day to go but up.  When I got home, the boys were bathed which was a pleasant surprise, but dad was running low on patience for Mikey’s infinite and inane stream of consciousness.  We were going to go to the zoo.  Then we decided on the park where we can feed the ducks, but Mr. “Stream of conscious” thought Toy-r-us was the most pressing errand.  I’d like to know here this kid gets his money.   It even got to the point where he was telling me that he wanted to go with Daddy only, and that Pierce and I should stay home.  (After what seemed like an eternity deciding on the best “cheap” toy, I think I’ll obey his wishes next time.  I thought we’d never get out of there!) 

When we got home they were going to nap.  Mikey watched a few cartoons in my bed, and then was supposed to try to sleep, especially with the swollen gland in his neck and a snotty nose.  I’d already put Pierce in his crib where he began to lose his mind shortly after I left the room.  Since this is the pattern these days, I let it go until he was practically exploding 15 minutes later.  Dad gave in…  Turns out, this time he was actually exploding.  He had filled his pants with enough to impress a grown man.  After a diaper change, he turns up on my lap on the sofa, where he proceeds to gasp at random intervals in an effort to recover from the sobbing.  Once he is sufficiently calmed, he’s ready to play. 

Meanwhile, Mikey is showing up about every 30 minutes telling me “I don’t want to nap, I just want to rest.  Can I watch another show?”  I’m trying to snooze a little on the sofa, since there is nothing else to do.  Then Greg turns on a video game.  That’s when I left the room…  I crawled into my bed with both the boys, and thought I would get more rest in there.  Yeah…No…  Michael can’t sit still.  He’s doing some sort of acrobatics between Dad’s nightstand and the bed.  Finally, I’m so pi$$ed at all of them, that I get up, put my shoes on and leave.  If I’m not going to get any peace, I might as well return some items and repair the screen door—the aluminum kick plate at the bottom is destroyed, so I was just going to screen that are since I couldn’t find a replacement plate.  Done!  Still want to run away…

I forced myself to go out in the back yard with the boys and blow bubbles.  It actually helped my mood a little—for a bit…

Just a few minutes ago, Mikey comes out and tells me he has a snotty nose and that he needs to blow it.  I send him to get a tissue, so I can help him.  I’m holding the tissue, and I need rubber arms because with every blow, he backs further and further out of my reach.  It drives me crazy, so dad tells him to go get another tissue and he’ll help.  Michael’s response is, “No, I want mommy to do it!”  Why?  Really?  He already will only let me read a book to him at bedtime—never Daddy.  He got messed up on a video game the other day and asked Greg for help, to which he was encouraged to”Go ask Mommy for her help.”  This time he replied with “Mommy doesn’t know how, she’s a girl.”  (Truthfully, he’s right.  I don’t like video games, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to figure out how to set him up with one—he’ll be bugging 24 hours a day to play.) But, honestly—did he not see me fix the screen door?  Sexist!  He’s very gender specific when requesting help with various tasks, and there is no changing his mind.  He’s caught me looking at the TV when “Sports Center” was on and told me that girls aren’t supposed to watch sports; they’re suppose to watch decorating shows.  Guess I’ve sort of created that monster…

Anyway, will this day ever end?

 

Advertisements