There are days that I love. I wake up with birds singing sweetly to me, my daughter is cooing quietly in her crib, I'm able to drink a cup of coffee before I get the kids up, Chase is an angel and a great listener, and my dogs clean my house for me.
Then, there are days that are the opposite. I wake up to both kids crying. The baby is starving and Chase is crying because he's wet the bed, for the third time this week. I have to run, get him changed, and hand him a pop tart to keep him occupied while I calm down Skylar and get her fed. The dogs won't stop barking and, oh, look at that. There's poop at the bottom of the stairs. Lovely. I have to drink my coffee cold, because let's face it. Cold coffee is better than no coffee. Chase beats up on his sister all day, neither kid will take a nap, and Doritos are for lunch.
It's always, and I mean always on those bad, horrible, please end now days that people feel the need to tell me that my kids are out of control. They tell me that my kids need to settle down and I need to control them better. They tell me that my kids are being just plain awful children.
And people wonder why there are news stories about moms punching people out...
The saddest part about this? It's usually family that tells me these things. They get frustrated because Chase is whining constantly. "Chase stop that whining!" They will scream at him.
Hey! No! You don't get to get mad after five minutes of it. I've listened to it for about 6 hours now. You shut up.
"Chase, stop running and jumping. The house isn't a playground."
Um. WHAT THE HELL?! Are you serious? Because you need a serious reality check. It's 13 degrees out. Where is his playground? That's right. Under a foot of snow. You clamp your mouth up and deal with it for 30 before bed.
"Skylar needs a diaper change!"
I bang my head against the counter. I'm doing the dishes, haven't used the bathroom myself since about 8:30 am, and you are sitting next to the diaper bag. DO IT YOURSELF STUPID HEAD!
After the kids are in bed, the house is quiet, and I'm downing vodka like it's water, they choose then to tell me that Chase was too rambunctious tonight. What was his issue?
I'm aware he was a handful. I'm aware he was screaming half the night. I'm aware he threw his dinner to the dogs and dumped juice all over himself. I'm aware he was getting into stuff he shouldn't be. I'm aware he was a holy terror.
I'm also aware that you had to hear it for two hours at most, compared to my 11 hours of it. I'm also aware that I'm cooking dinner for a family of six, and have NEVER heard a thank you for doing it so you wouldn't have to when you came home from work. I'm aware that poop is icky and smells horrible, but I've done it four times already. You can clean it once today. I'm aware that you were so ready to have the kids go to bed so you could watch Friends. But you know what? I do it at least 11 hours 5 days a week. Plus weekends, so... yeah.
I'm aware of it all. But you can shut up now. Thanks.
Then, there are days that are the opposite. I wake up to both kids crying. The baby is starving and Chase is crying because he's wet the bed, for the third time this week. I have to run, get him changed, and hand him a pop tart to keep him occupied while I calm down Skylar and get her fed. The dogs won't stop barking and, oh, look at that. There's poop at the bottom of the stairs. Lovely. I have to drink my coffee cold, because let's face it. Cold coffee is better than no coffee. Chase beats up on his sister all day, neither kid will take a nap, and Doritos are for lunch.
It's always, and I mean always on those bad, horrible, please end now days that people feel the need to tell me that my kids are out of control. They tell me that my kids need to settle down and I need to control them better. They tell me that my kids are being just plain awful children.
And people wonder why there are news stories about moms punching people out...
The saddest part about this? It's usually family that tells me these things. They get frustrated because Chase is whining constantly. "Chase stop that whining!" They will scream at him.
Hey! No! You don't get to get mad after five minutes of it. I've listened to it for about 6 hours now. You shut up.
"Chase, stop running and jumping. The house isn't a playground."
Um. WHAT THE HELL?! Are you serious? Because you need a serious reality check. It's 13 degrees out. Where is his playground? That's right. Under a foot of snow. You clamp your mouth up and deal with it for 30 before bed.
"Skylar needs a diaper change!"
I bang my head against the counter. I'm doing the dishes, haven't used the bathroom myself since about 8:30 am, and you are sitting next to the diaper bag. DO IT YOURSELF STUPID HEAD!
After the kids are in bed, the house is quiet, and I'm downing vodka like it's water, they choose then to tell me that Chase was too rambunctious tonight. What was his issue?
I'm aware he was a handful. I'm aware he was screaming half the night. I'm aware he threw his dinner to the dogs and dumped juice all over himself. I'm aware he was getting into stuff he shouldn't be. I'm aware he was a holy terror.
I'm also aware that you had to hear it for two hours at most, compared to my 11 hours of it. I'm also aware that I'm cooking dinner for a family of six, and have NEVER heard a thank you for doing it so you wouldn't have to when you came home from work. I'm aware that poop is icky and smells horrible, but I've done it four times already. You can clean it once today. I'm aware that you were so ready to have the kids go to bed so you could watch Friends. But you know what? I do it at least 11 hours 5 days a week. Plus weekends, so... yeah.
I'm aware of it all. But you can shut up now. Thanks.
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