Life and Times of a Desperate Mother

Here I sit, again, with a boulder of parental duty, around my neck.  As the kids get older, I keep expecting things to get easier.  I expect that I can tell Amber to clean her room and 15 minutes later, I will walk in to find a room cleaned the way I would have done it.  I expect that since Sam is my second that I would have learned to have patience when he tries out big boy things, like taking off his own shoes or putting away his toys.  And each time,  I get more and more angry at myself for not realizing that these are still children that did not understand time constraints, adult responsibilities or the fact that I just don’t like sitting around for 3 hours waiting on them to get their stuff together to leave the house.  The worse part of it all is that I expected that by the time Amber was school age, that she could actually take in information, retain it and then follow through.  I can now say that I am truly sorry for all the times my mom had to tell me specific instructions a million times and I still never got it right.  I just WASN’T LISTENING.  Payback is a bitch and a cranky one at that.

The past 3 days have been a whirlwind.  Amber finished school and then graduated.  Oh didn’t you know she was a genius and we are sending her off into the world? (insert eyeroll here)  I have to say I truly appreciate the fun memories that her school works very hard to create for us and the kids, but sometimes I just can’t be bothered.  Maybe it is just me, seeing as how I am not even sure where my college diploma is and don’t even ask where my high school diploma might be (Doesn’t the government have to keep track of such things?), but I don’t understand why there has to be such a production for kids graduating Kindergarten.  Sure it was cute to watch them accept their fake diplomas (we received their real ones a day earlier) through a cardboard whale, or to watch all the boys fidget in their navy blue suits and the girls twirl in their white dresses, or listen to them sing off key to the tune of New York, New York (it was substitute with First Grade, First Grade). However, it wasn’t at all fun to drive through the monsoon that decided to descend upon our city that day.  Not only did I have to drive through river after river, which use to be road, but I had to do it in the dead of night.  For anyone who wonders why I have a SUV, I would tell you as I pass all the little, gas saving vehicles stalled in the flood waters.  It was a mess and if it was a better day I wouldn’t have been so on edge. 

It was hell just trying to get Amber to the school theater without getting her dress smudged with anything.  My god, who thought of frilly white dresses for the girls?  Wouldn’t they have looked just as nice in black, stain hiding dresses?   Maybe not, but I wouldn’t have sat in my chair the whole night praying to just get through the ordeal before Amber decided that she needed to crawl on the floor for whatever very important reason.  I guess it was too much to ask for them to start on time, seeing as I had a 2 year old asked to stay up pass his bedtime and to just SIT STILL FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!  The evil eye from the grandmother type in front of us, when Sam decided to shimmy under the chairs to the front of the row, didn’t help my sanity AT ALL.  All would be well, for a time, when the production started, where I had to sit through 33 kids walking to get their diplomas (Oh God, kill me, NOW!), and Sam would discover that his ”patience” was rewarded with COOKIES.  Cookies, that were all his, and then circling the gym about a million and one times.  Hey, I counted it as exercise for the day. 

We had promised Amber dinner at her favorite restaurant, which wouldn’t be fulfilled until today, after Daddy made one important stop.  A stop that would send us the 40 miles back near our house and then another who knows how many miles to try and get to Applebee’s through, you guessed it, a monsoon.  Not only did I drive through floods, but a mass exodus of frogs that I am sure are squished into my front bumper and the treads of my tires.  As I drove the dark highway trying to avoid slipping into the swamp, millions upon millions of frogs hopped to their death.  I felt my hell had become some Frogger reality game and I, the vehicle, was winning at an alarming rate.  We made it across the river (Really, the actual Mississippi River), where my mom was suppose to meet us, and pulled into the restaurant parking lot around 9pm.  At this point, I turned to see two sleeping kids and an empty restaurant and decided that there was no way in hell that I would subject myself to this ordeal any longer.  I called my mom and told her to abort mission Late Night Graduation Dinner and we drove home.  The night ends with us fighting small humans that insist they were not tired and, DAMMIT WHERE THE HELL WAS THEIR GOURMET APPLEBEE’S MAC AND CHEESE!  *sigh*

You would think that life would settle down seeing as I didn’t have to wake at 530am the next morning and usher tired children for an hour and 15 minute ride to school (that is round trip).  Oh how wrong you would be.  George and I had to go to the bank, you know that exciting place where kids love to go, and sign some loan papers.  Good lord, this whole financing business thing will definitely kill me.  I rushed around getting ready, while children lanquished on the sofa watching SpongeBob, and trying to get George to leave the house, ALREADY.  The kids and I arrived first, of course, and waited.  Then the fun began, when the loan papers were not quite right.  I ran after the children, who are so bored they find reading the phone book interesting, and George sits there playing on his phone.  I tried to shoot him daggars with my eyes, but I was too busy, you know, CHASING AFTER KIDS.  Oh, I forgot to tell you, we had the pleasure of being the very first loan for a new employee.  Oh yippee, can I get my thorazine drip, now?  And yes, I got the hairy eyeball from several very important banking type professionals.  So maybe I wasn’t too concern when I, finally, realized why Sam was so enthralled with the printer.  It didn’t bother me none, that he was turning it off and on, because our loan papers had, finally, been printed.  The evil pleasures of mother’s revenge.  We would return, today, for more torture, because (guess what) the loan papers that we signed were wrong and we have to sign them, AGAIN.  *sigh*

After the fiasco at the bank, it was time to do some grocery shopping.  I wondered if I should have put it off until today, but seeing as I hate grocery shopping on Saturdays and we are booked for a birthday party on Sunday, Friday was going to have to be the day.  Then George drops his little important information that he is sure he told me, but never did, on me.  “Oh could you be home by 3pm?  I am having some equipment delivered.”  Oh sure, no problem.  You know, because everyone knows that little kids are so time efficient when running errands.  We eat lunch and then it is off to grocery shop at racing speeds.  I would find that it is not so easy to shop, quickly, with a 6 year old trying to decide on the perfect present for her little friend.  I would miss the equipment delivering, because look someone is trying to be efficient and dropped it off early.  I swear no one has respect for time, anymore.  Sheesh!

Then there was a mad dash to put away groceries and get everyone ready for the big surprise swimming party one of the moms had put together for the kids in Amber’s class.  Again, I appreciate all the effort put forth on these things, but sometimes I just can’t muster up the graditude when I have been playing beat the clock since Thursday morning.  Everything will come to a screeching halt when I realized that I forgot to buy swim diapers for Sam.  Good Lord, I would have to make yet another trip to Target.  Really, can’t we just have the hub’s paycheck deposited directly at the store so I don’t have the hassle of swiping my debit card each time I am there.  And of course, everything is running smoothly, because Sam was so accomdating after only napping in the Target cart in our earlier trip.  Seriously, can’t we just live at the Target and call it a day?  Then the gem of all crapastic days, Rush Hour Traffic.  My head had not only exploded by now, but my brains have settled in my shoes. 

The party was fun and Amber’s drama didn’t disappoint.  I tried to make small talk with the other mother’s, but sometimes one must really save their small drowning boy as not to look bad.  There would be much pleading to eat something, NOW, so you don’t starve and I don’t have to feed you when we get home.  Then there was much drama when it was time to leave, because it was only 8pm, MOM, and sure it is okay to swim at night even if the country club was closing.  I packed the dripping kids into the car, waved good bye to the many half conversations I had and drove home hoping that I didn’t fall asleep at the wheel.  At home there were baths to be taken, because ewww gross to send my kids to bed with pee-pee water still on their skins, and much arguing over a piece of cake that was sent home with us.  Amber would wonder why can’t she just eat it, now.  So what if it is pushing 9pm and she can barely keep her eyes open?  My reason, because I am tired of you two and just need a little peace, before the men in white coats come and drag me off to the loony bin.

Today, didn’t disappoint, either.  George left in the morning for a 8 hour business trip.  He seemed a bit insulted when I suggested that he didn’t want us to come, because he can sit in his car all alone and not be bothered by the demands of the Little People.  Oh well, I had very important business to take care of , myself.  There was the trip to the bank to pick up those damn, neverending loan papers, clean the house and not kill the kids.  Everything seemed to be okay.  I was wandering around upstairs trying to find the source of the dog urine smell and the kids were eating breakfast downstairs.  It is when we switched places, everything fell apart.  I had sent Amber to clean her room and get dressed.  It was a little too quiet, but I had to get the cleaning done so we would make it to the bank.  Then the question that would switch me into total and complete Mom Rage was asked, “Mom, where is the nail polish remover?”  “Huh, what?  What do you need that for?”  Then I saw it, the open bottle of nail polish and a splash of color across Amber’s hand and foot.  She had tried to polish her own nails, because whom am I to tell her to wait for pretty toenails.  That was the color that broke my color wheel.  The one in my head that has a hamster running in it.  I snatched the nail polish from her hand and scream a lot of incoherent stuff at her.  Somehow, not only did Amber know I was mad, but the dog, cat and Sam knew it too.  No matter where I walked they scurried out of my way.  I sent Sam to his room to save him from getting into trouble and enduring my wrath.  I told Amber that I couldn’t look at her and that I suggest she remain in her room, as well.  This was the top of my shit cake and I wasn’t going to eat it willingly. 

So here I sit, having many things to do, but not wanting to a damn thing.  Oh they will probably get done and the kids will probably not see the light of day until tomorrow when their father is here to save them from the kid eating Pitbull that lives next door.  I will not feel the least bit guilty for having my son in his crib for a “nap”, when clearly he is not going to sleep, or letting Amber watch Tv until her eyes bug out and roll under the sofa to keep a watch on the dust bunnies.  Because sometimes we mothers are simply on survival mode and all that we can do, is truly all we can do.