Dear Distinguished Members of the “Mother of the Year Award” Committee,
Let me just do you guys a favor. I am respectfully bowing out of this impossible race and now ask that I no longer be considered for your award. Why? Well. It’s August. And let’s just say I have had a lot of “quality time” with my 5 and 2 year old this summer. So, I am going to admit it right up front to you all.
I am sick of them.
That’s right. This mother is admitting it right out loud. Enough. I am so DONE with my boys right now. They are driving me insane. So go ahead, I’ll let you take a moment to scroll down your lists. Go ahead, do what ya gotta do….
Because I am a MOTHER for cripes sakes. What MOTHER doesn’t want to be with her children? I made the choice to have these two children. I took on the responsibility to raise them, feed them, clothe them and find all their cute, little intricacies adorable, brilliant and endearing.
Folks, they are sooo not endearing to me. Not right now.
They scream. A lot. They scream because they want what the other has. They scream because they got what the other had. They scream when they’re happy. Mad. Excited. Thoughtful. Sleeping (I swear to you).
My house is trashed. Couch pillows are for throwing, stacking and jumping on. One child actually likes to recreate an annoying little TV show called “Wipeout”. And as he hurls himself off of my hardly sturdy “Rooms 2 Go” furniture (that I paid off for an entire year), he, indeed, wipes out and takes everything (pillows, tables, throw blankets, cups, toys, the cat) with him. Random puddles of water can be found seeping into the pergo floors. Crayon on my actual wood dining room table. Cheese sandwich ground into the carpet. Books (theirs and mine) and photo albums strewn about the room, dropped open and promptly walked across. Laundry unfolded and tossed about. Window shades askew. Diapers ripped off and left. Grapes stuck in speakers. Snot smeared on sliding doors. Plants dismembered. Toys, toys, toys… God help me, they’re everywhere, the TOYS. The place is in utter shambles, and I want it back.
And then the expectation that I be some sort of Mary Poppins, whipping up newer and more exciting adventures with just a nod of my head as soon as I hear the sweet little whiney sound of “I’m bored.” A phrase I must hear ten thousand times a day. My ideas are never fun enough, or exciting, or cool. “We did that yesterday.” or “that makes me even MORE boring” or “that’s not something fun.”
Can’t they figure out something to do by themselves? What happened to make-believe? Or coloring? Or quiet little games of Candyland at the dining room table? … No, I am not smoking crack. I swear to you, that’s what I did when I was a kid. Didn’t I?
And the TV has been taken hostage by the Disney Channel. And Noggin. And PBS. You see, my 5 year old has a natural affinity for A/V equipment (damn uncle’s genes rearing their ugly head). As a result, he has figured out how to find the free kids on-demand channels. And record them. And play them back ad nauseum until I rip the entire entertainment system out with my bare hands and stuff the still smoking cable box into my underwear drawer. And then -I’ll admit to it now – I cackle evilly while they throw themselves into heaps on the floor, sobbing. “Oh the humanity, mother took away the television” (at least that’s what I think they said).
See? Torturing my children has become sport. FUN, enjoyable sport.
Let’s talk about food now, ok? “I’m hungry” does not mean I want food. It means “give me something I will actually eat.” Which usually means straight starch foods (pasta, crackers, bread, cardboard) or anything at all withsugar. Which I usually don’t have unless its fruit, and that will do. Which they consume in mass quantities if I don’t stop them and then must deal with crazy bouts of bowel movement issues.
But back to food (because you are still in the mood for that topic now, I am sure).
If I actually cook, I mean REALLY cook and follow a recipe and everything, it is sure to “taste funny”. The eldest will put some in his mouth and then store it in the pocket of his cheek until it liquefies and then, finally, he gags it down, with tears running down his face. (Usually with me behind him, glaring, telling him he will never watch “Wipeout” again.) And the youngest? He straight up takes one look at it, yelps “nope!”, pops out of his seat and thats the last I’ll see of him. (I have NO idea how he is in the 99th percentile for weight. NO idea.)
Did I mention I am raising boys? I’m not sure about the males you have been in contact with but my boys beat the crap outa me. They are just so damn physical. The simple statement of “Look mommy!” usually includes one arm wrapped around my neck and pulling my face down into choke hold while shoving whatever it was into my nose and screaming “SEE! SEE?!!?!!!!” Um, yeah I see alright.
My boys grab ahold of me and jump, swing, pull, spin and twist. A simple snuggle on the bed? WWE… every single time. Diaper changes for my two year old? They require full baseball umpire-like padding.
The crap. Is beaten. Out of me. I am telling you.
I’m just tired. And weary. And OVER trying to match up with whatever expectations you all have for the “Mother of the Year”. Right now, I am not appreciating them. I am not awed by the life I have created. They are at my heels, they are on my case, they are busting my stuff and I need to just scream “ENOUGH!”
You’re convinced now, right? Good. I mean, I bet there are way better contenders out there. I bet NONE of the other moms get sick of their kids. I bet they all do super creative crafts and sing songs together and eat their carrots together happily and all dress alike. I bet I am the only one like this, burnt out, fed up and slugging down a glass of Pinot after a long day.
Good luck with your search. Let me know who you pick. I’ll send her a cheese basket or something.
And maybe a HUGE, chilled bottle of Pinot.
Sincerely and realistically yours,
Morningside (kind of sucks) Mom