Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Mother of the Year

Well, here we are.  I feel like I found an old friend who has been missing in my life for awhile.  A friend that keeps me on task.  One who lets me pour out my feelings when I need to vent.  A friend who has all the answers and gives me varying opinions on different issues.  After almost a year without, I have a new laptop.

I was feeling down in the dumps.  I felt like I was missing an appendage; Like I had my leg or arm amputated. The kids would do something funny or I would come up with some profound thought on parenting, and by the time I would make my way upstairs to write it down, I would end up forgetting it or get pulled in a different direction.  I would find a load of laundry to do or realize that the dog had gone through the garbage in the bathroom and I'd have to pick up the mess.  When I did make it to the computer, within three second of sitting down both kids would be jumping on my bed or wrestling each other or harassing the cat.

I had made a proclamation last year on my birthday that I would publish a book which meant taking all my blogs and compiling them, editing them and either self publishing or sending it to publishers and/or agents.  Never happened.  I also proclaimed that I would start writing another book and I got about two chapters completed before I was off on another tangent somewhere else.

I felt like I failed at being 35. 

My 36th birthday rolled around and felt like I had to offer up a mea culpa for not following through on my goals.  Instead I just chalked it up to lack of technological convenience with a dose of life that got in my way. 

So, here I am.  Back at my kitchen table without any beverages around to fry my motherboard, and I feel like I'm home again.  My friend has returned and Colin has only tried to hit my spacebar three times since I sat down to write this.

I would be remiss if I didn't offer up some good stories to get me back in the swing of things.  As luck would have it, Colin was on fire yesterday providing me with a variety of blog fodder. 

He started the day screaming and crying before he even opened his eyes that he wanted the Lightning McQueen and Mater spaceships.  I could only figure he was dreaming about buyers remorse since he got Lightning McQueen and Mater airplanes a few days ago.  It took from 6:15 a.m.-7:00 a.m. to talk him off the ledge and calm him down.

We got Maddie off to school and as I was getting some stuff done around the house he informed me that he was going to get his ears pierced.  Not sure where that came from, but I assured him that he would not be getting his ears pierced at the age of 4.  We left the house to run some errands and I looked in the rearview mirror to see him trying to stick his head out the window.  He explained that he was a dog and wanted to feel the breeze on his face.

We returned home in time for Maddie to get off the bus and then played outside with some of the neighbors.  I realized quickly that this is going to be a long summer trying to get anything accomplished because I will spend half my time arguing with the kids to come inside.

We are putting our house on the market and as a result I have a lot of cleaning, painting and packing to do.  I tried to clean out Colin's closet yesterday and within 5 minutes, both kids were in the 8x10 room "helping me."  I told them not to touch anything, so they started beating the crap out of each other.  I had to clarify what I meant by "anything," which meant each other as well.

I promised if they would just give me a few more minutes I would take them back outside.  Colin got sick of waiting for me and went outside on his own.  I made sure he was just in the backyard, which luckily is fenced in, and then finished what I was doing.  I came downstairs a few minutes later to start dinner before we went outside and was able to watch him through the kitchen window while he played with some trucks.  I was a little worried about him being out there by himself, but figured the dog was with him so he would be fine.  It wouldn't be the first time I used our dog as a babysitter.  Just kidding.  No, seriously don't call DCFS on me.  Only in Peter Pan could the family use Nana the sheepdog as their primary caregiver.

Apparently between Daisy and I we didn't do that great of a job watching Colin because before I knew it, he was at the back door knocking.  I opened the door to find him standing there with his pants down around his ankles.  I asked if he had peed in the yard and he said, "yes."  Then I thought enough to clarify and ask if he peed in the grass or his pants while in the backyard.  Unfortunately, the answer was his pants.  By the way, I can't imagine where he learned that he could relieve himself in the yard ; ) 

Did I mention that not only was he standing there showing off his family jewels, but he was also wearing his pajamas?  He likes to jammie up in the afternoon and didn't bother changing before he went in the yard.  At least he had shoes and socks on.  It occurred to me that our lawn service was due to come mow our grass, and could only imagine if they walked into our backyard to witness our real life hillbilly haven.

Once I got dinner on, I took the kids outside to play with the neighbors before Colin had to go to karate.  A half hour later, I was so busy arguing with the kids to get in the car, I didn't realize Colin had brought out two trucks and that our back gate was open.  Tom mentioned that when he got home he found Colin's trucks on the front stoop (thanks to our neighbors) and the gate wide open.  I admitted that it could be due to the fact that I let Colin outside on is own without supervision and that the worst of it was him dropping trow not leaving toys out or the gate open.  He chose to just walk away from the conversation.  I'm hoping it was because he realized that the only way I could get anything done to prepare the house to sell, for a warm meal to be waiting for him when he got home from work and to ensure our kids were playing outside was to let some things slide.
 
Needless to say, I continue my solid campaign for Mother of the Year, but at least now I can write all this shit down.

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