I’ve come a long way in the 6 years since I became a mom. I no longer have to be milked 6 times a day, change diapers, or offer a bottle with one hand while attempting to eat dinner with the other. I can finish a meal while it’s still hot and even sleep past 7 on the weekends. Now that my kids are 4 and 6, a lot of little freedoms have gradually returned to my life. Still, there’s plenty I simply cannot do with my two young sons. Like...
1. Finish a sentence with my husband. We’re not trying to talk through the intricacies of general relativity. Just attempting to share a basic status report for the day. But it never fails. Before I can get the words “Elementary School Open House” out of my mouth, I’ve been interrupted with breaking news like “I don’t like this cheese!” Or “I’m ready for dessert”. Adult dinner conversation might as well be conducted on a Nokia flip phone from the bottom floor of a JC Penney in 2004 for as often as it’s broken up before we can finish a fucking thought.
2. Listen to the news. If anything important has happened, it's gonna have to wait til the kids go to bed. I can rarely get through the on-demand 5-minute NPR newscast before someone can't find their something or wants to know why dinner is taking SO LONG.
3. Talk on the phone. They'll be peacefully watching TV when I back away slowly to make a phone call, but as soon as they realize I'm talking to someone other than them, holy shit. All hell breaks loose.
4. Respond to a text or email. See previous entries related to news, phone calls, and adult conversation. Same deal, different medium. Apparently, my kids' goal is to sever all ties between me and the outside world.
5. Enjoy my favorite songs in the car. It's hard to really get your jam on when the radio is competing with an ongoing inquiry from the backseat. "When can we GO? Look at that airplane! What does THAT sign say? But I don’t WANT to go to the grocery store! Are we home yet?" Not to mention, the ear splitting refrain of "MOMMY! STOP SINGING!" really kills to mood, too.
6. Assume they remember what NOT to do. Could be "play soccer in the house". "Run in the kitchen". "Launch your underwear like a slingshot". Or "spread your naked butt cheeks to the person behind you on the stairs". Even if I've JUST. SAID. NOT TO. They're gonna do it.
7. Issue a routine directive without immediate back-talk or a barrage of discontent. “But WHYYYY????” Because it’s time and because I fucking said so should be reason enough. But whether it's "put on your shoes", "clean up your cars", or "time to go pick up your brother", I might as well be saying "murder that puppy", "set your toys on fire" and "go lie in the street" for the emotional protest it incites.
8. Have no interest in who wins, who’s first, or whose turn it is. There is no cash prize for winning at Trouble. No medal of honor for making it to the bottom of the stairs first. And there is simply NO space on my mental to-do list for giving a shit about whose hair I combed first yesterday. Oh my god. WHY. DOES. IT. MATTER? It absolutely doesn't. But I still end up having to manage the outcome for whichever one is pissed about it.
9. Shop for new underwear. Not “date night” lingerie or complicated shapewear. Just straight up underpants to supplement the current collection that’s looking less “hot” and more “homeless”. Sounds simple enough--until I get there and realize every Target shopper in 3 counties has already pawed through this bin and hidden every pair of my size in random sections like it’s a fucking Easter Egg Hunt. Luckily, there’s nothing more glamorous than sitting cross-legged on the Target floor sifting through a pile of panties while your two sons heckle you from the bed of the nearby shopping cart.
10. Give an explanation that isn't immediately questioned. I recently spent an entire afternoon repeatedly explaining why we can’t leave crayons in a hot car. Because they’ll melt. Why? Because they’re made of wax and hot wax melts. But why? Because extreme heat generated by the Greenhouse Effect within the enclosed confines of the vehicle will initiate a physical change that alters the structural integrity of the crayon. What? BECAUSE THEY'LL FUCKING MELT, OK?
11. Finish answering a question before I'm interrupted with another one. Assuming we don’t fall into the Why Wormhole previously described, the other likely outcome of trying to answer a question is realizing they were just thinking out loud and didn’t really give a shit about whatever they just asked me. So nevermind that last explanation. Cuz here comes another question. They can seriously do this all day.
12. Avoid getting schooled with information that is patently incorrect. Sometimes, they skip the step of asking me a question and jump straight to their own asinine explanation that’s simply not true. Even though I'm quite positive that monkeys are not, in fact, baby gorillas, there's not a damn thing I can do to convince my four year old.
13. Complete the 8 minute drive from school to home without threatening every consequence I can think of. That 3:30 to 5:30 window is a rough time for my crew. I’m tired. They’re tired. Everybody’s hungry and a hair-trigger away from emotionally unloading on the next person who looks, talks, or farts in the wrong direction. And the ride home from school is like the ceremonial kick-off of Sour Hour. I should probably just ride down the road with my hazards on for the number of times I literally pull the fuck over so that someone can get their shit together. Call it a “time out en route”. Better that than rear-end the school bus in front of me trying to beat my kid’s ass from the driver’s seat.
14. NOT concern myself with the location of everyone's Fidget Spinner. Or any one of 400 die-cast vehicles from the Cars Movie that might have gone missing at the moment. Although I’ve tried again and again. No amount of not caring or not knowing will ever make them stop asking me where their shit is.
15. Exit the car without lugging shit that’s not mine. As we roll into the driveway, I start making announcements about how to disembark like I’m the pre-recorded voice-over that plays as you get off a ride at an amusement park. "Please remain seated until we’ve come to a full and complete stop. Remember to take any personal articles with you as you exit the vehicle and deposit all trash in the appropriate receptacle." To no fucking avail though, apparently--based on the snack wrappers I end up digging out of cup holders and the forgotten backpacks I scramble to retrieve from the floorboard while my kids wait impatiently at the door, whining about why it’s taking me so long.
16. Forget the fucking goggles. As a mom, I've learned that the first rule of Swim Club is bring the damn goggles. I mean. Do what you want. Just understand there will be long lasting hell to pay if you neglect to provide satisfactory goggles for every pool patron under 10.
17. Avoid losing vital brain storage to useless trivia about Pokémon. We have just uncovered the tip of this obsessive iceberg in my house and have only collected a total of nine cards. But in a way I can't wait to have more. Only because an influx of new information would break the monotony of listening to my son rattle off the specs of the few cards we do have. Did you know Charmander can evolve into Charmeleon? Fucking fascinating. Fortunately but unfortunately, we’ve supplemented our thirst for Pokémon knowledge with the excruciating cartoon from 1998. Thank you, Netflix. No really. Thank YOU.
One thing I can always seem to do with my kids at any age is vent and curse and forget about how tough it really used to be. I know that Me-from-four-years-ago (who hasn’t slept or been to the bathroom by herself in months) is holding up a giant middle finger to all my #schoolagekidproblems. The truth is, this age is cake compared to those infant-toddler days and i’m grateful for every ounce of freedom their growing independence gives back to me. They're bigger and louder, but easier overall--so I really can’t complain. But don’t worry. I still will.
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