I am not her.
Not even close.
I do not get up before anyone. Unless, the times when I wake up to nurse the baby counts. If not, then the baby and I are usually the last ones to wake up in the morning.
Cereal and milk. You pour it yourself. And not only do you pour it yourself, you clean it up yourself. Bowls rinses and put in the sink.
|Not an accurate depiction of my kitchen. Promise.|
Who am I kidding? The bowls sit on the table until lunch.
My kids sometimes do all their lessons in pajamas and I only remember to ask them at lunch, "Did you brush your teeth yet, today? Yes? Good!" And the fact that they did and I didn't have to tell them, is a HUGE accomplishment in my eyes.
I'm not that amazing. Sometimes, the days go incredibly great and I end it with a content smile and feel that everyone should know I made it through the day and was a FANTASTIC mom the entire time. Then, other days (like today) it goes something like this:
"Lucy, sit on your bottom, please. Please? Sit on your bottom. Lucy! Your bottom! Sit on it. Seriously, child! That's NOT your bottom! Do you not understand? Lucy Danielle!!!! SIT ON YOUR BOTTOM!"
Sits on her bottom.
Two seconds later...
"Lucy, sit on your bottom, please. On your bottom. SIT ON IT! Lucy, we don't need to sing opera while doing our school work. Lucy...can you hear me? Are listening to me? Stop singing, please. Lucy! SIT ON YOUR BOTTOM! LUCY! STOP SINGING!!"
Stops singing. Sits on her bottom.
Fives seconds later...
"Mommy, I have to go potty."
I growl. "Hurry. Up. Please."
Twenty minutes later...
Lucy walks in with a smile on her face. "Like my bangs? I cut them myself."
OH MY GOODNESS!!
"Lucy, you are...like...four years behind. You were supposed to experiment with cutting your own hair when you were a toddler."
"What?" She says, matter-of-factly, "They're not in my eyes anymore." And I know that her statement is actually meant to say: Mommy, it ain't my fault you're a slacker and haven't gotten me a haircut.
Somehow, by the grace of God, we get through the day's lessons. I clean up the cereal bowls and replace them with sandwiches for lunch. Afterwards, I tell Teddy he has to go poop.
Yes. I have to tell my five year-old son to do this. If I do not, he will simply go his entire life NOT pooping.
So, he gets a pen and notepad and heads to the toilet. I don't argue about this. Whatever passes the time...because that boy takes FOREVER!!!!
Five minutes later, I go to check on him. I find him on the toilet with his hands twisted up in the front of his shirt. "Mommy, I dropped my pen in the toilet. It's okay, though, 'cause I used my hands to get it out and I'm drying it off now."
Again...OH MY GOODNESS!!
"Teddy! We DO NOT put our hands in the toilet!!!"
I'll pause a moment to tell you, yes, I know I'm yelling. A lot. In fact, I'm screaming inside my own head the very moment I'm screaming in real like, screaming at myself not to scream. But...sometimes, a woman's brain and emotions do not want to be friends with a good mommy's brain and emotions. Sometimes, you just can't get a hold of one tiny shred of common sense and self-control.
Back to the story...
Teddy begins to cry because I tell him toilets are filled with germs (I don't mention that they're cleaner than the kitchen sink because that's not important right now). I snatch up a towel and use it to pilfer the pen and throw it away. When I come back to the bathroom, Teddy is still crying with both hands shoved in his mouth. "Teddy!!!! DON'T PUT YOUR HANDS IN YOUR MOUTH!!!"
He cries more.
I think I cry a little, too.
In the chaos, I notice there is a bit of poop already in his underwear. I throw them away. I don't feel like soaking them today. I clean the boy up and get him in the shower, scrubbing his hands. When he gets out, he sits on a towel and cries that it's cold. I tell him to get dressed and he won't be cold. He yells that he IS drying off. I tell him he isn't, he's just sitting on a towel.
After five minutes of arguing over if he would like to get dressed or go to bed early, he finally decides that getting dressed is the better idea. Fully clothed and looking clean, he walks by me and says (as if he's telling me that it's sunny outside), "Hey mommy! I don't think you got all the poop off my bottom. There's poop on that towel where I was sitting." And just keeps on walking.
So what did I do next? I cleaned the boy up...SOME MORE...and escaped to granny's house. I had to bring the kids, too. I mean, the sensible mommy in my head screamed at me not to leave them behind. I came out here, I sat in the sunroom (where a very scary centipede just crawled across the floor and I attacked with my flip flop...DIE YOU NASTY LITTLE THING!!!) and my grandpa made me a cup of coffee. The kids are running free outside, trying not to blow away in the wind. I've text my husband and asked if there was a permanent full moon this week (he said there was not).
Since there is no logical reason why my kids sometimes revert back to toddlerdom, or why coffee is not removing the sleepiness from my eyes, I will now just sit....and breathe...and remember that there's always hope for tomorrow. Right?