When I was younger I had this glorified version of being a mom and staying home with my kids that included a white Range Rover, freshly baked cookies, cute art projects, casually cool mom outfits, and snuggle time. It was a really cute life. It was super clean and I was glowing with energy and my kids were eating hummus and listening to me.
Well, here I am. I do stay at home, kind of. I work for my dad one day a week and do some weird stuff from home some other days. I started working for him five days a week and then got pregnant and then had Rex and then got pregnant again and now have Rockface and the five days have quickly dwindled to one somehow even though the workload has stayed the same. So basically, sorry Dad.
Anyway, I still have these lolipop dreams every Sunday night where I think of the wonderful, fun-filled, stress-free Monday I will have with the boys. I think about how lucky I am to have this time with them and I wonder what the hell I am ever stressed about anyway. I mean, come on. So I decide that tomorrow--YES! TOMORROW! It will be the day where I look energized and cute and I give my kids my full, undivided attention and we spend the day doing cute things and being happy. Oh, yeah. This is going to the best Monday ever! Because I am the luckiest Mom and my kids are great and we are fun and relaxed and life is awesome! Do you feel me?!
Monday morning arrives.
Within seven seconds of opening my eyes I feel like I have been dropped naked onto Route 128 South, facing North, at rush hour. I've already lost the first battle as there is no chance of a shower. I grab a pair of leggings and sniff the crotch to make sure they are wearable (Oh, fuck you. You've been there) Grab the dry shampoo and a little Moonlight Path body spray and who the hell says I'm not a hot mom?! #middlefingeremoji
(I actually read once that I should get up an hour before the kids to have some time to myself to unwind. Maybe do a couple yoga poses or read the newspaper to get ready for the day. If you ever catch me in warrior two at 4:30am in my own house, or reading the newspaper at any time of day, please punch me in the dick and put me to bed. No amount of zen could prep me for these mofos anyway.)
Who wants pancakes for breakfast?! You know, the HOME MADE ONES, GUYS! Like, add water and cook. Which is actually still an upgrade from sticking the frozen ones on a paper plate in my microwave which is my typical baller move. I give it the ol' college try but fuck it's my first time manning this griddle that we got as a wedding gift and this is actually not as easy as it looks. They are burnt and oddly shaped. Rocky eats a few, throws a lot, and somehow covers himself in syrup. Which is really easy to clean up, btw. Rex continues his hunger strike accompanied with a lot of crying and telling me that "these pancakes are bad and not good at all." Off to a fantastic start.
A couple other morning highlights included Rex throwing a full blown tantrum because his foot doesn't fit in his old shoes, Rex wanting to practice his "tackling" on me while Rocky gets himself stuck in the Lazy Susan, and Rocky putting his finger straight into Rex's shitty butthole while Rex is bent over asking me to wipe him.
After putting Rocky down for his nap I gave myself a quick pep talk. The day still had a lot of promise and this was the perfect time to have some one-on-one fun with Rex. "Rex! Guess what I got for us?! CANDY LAND!" I mean get a fucking life, Samm. It went exactly how you would imagine. I actually wasn't even allowed to have a game piece, and he just wanted to jump from plumpy the plum monster to the candycane bridge and then was over it. Bent most of the cards, told me I didn't know how to play, and then grabbed some trucks and used the game board as a parking lot.
Rocky woke up and we all went to Petco because it's way closer than the zoo and I'm fancy. Some grouchy employee yelled at Rex for running in the aisles and suddenly the ferrets and rats were much less entertaining. Then he saw marshalls from the parking lot as we got back into the car and he cried because I wouldn't buy him a toy. So I grabbed a weird cup thing of sour patch kids that my mom had given him and opened it to soften the blow of our #marshallslessmonday. After a few minutes of quiet I spotted him in the rearview licking each kid and putting them on his leg all sticky and gross. "Nope. All done. Gimme that." I reached my hand into the backseat and grabbed the cup, then I quickly turned around and yanked it out of his death grip. He freaked. And as I grabbed it, it kind of flung back at me and I fucking shit you not---all the sour sugar that had accumulated at the bottom of the cup came flying out and into my fucking eyes. I was blind. For like three seconds I was actually driving around blinded by sour sugar. WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK IS MY LIFE.
So then yada yada yada a couple more hours, Matt gets home, we all play, kids go to bed, I have a drink, and I thank the universe that I survived another day.
I'm gunna try not to psych myself up for the perfect day anymore. Whatever, being in charge of the happiness and entertainment of two toddlers for a full day is stressful and hard and messy and crazy. I will never not look tired, I will usually smell a little funky, and I will most likely always be bracing myself for the next impending meltdown. But at least I still have both my eyes and the kids went to bed happy-ish. That's a win. And really, who needs a Range Rover anyway?