I almost quit my job as a stay at home mom yesterday. I almost packed my things, left the house key on the counter and walked out the door. I was forfeiting an 18-year ongoing episode of Survivor with 12 more to go. I just couldn’t take it anymore. The brief moments of cuteness and witty comments were just not going to outweigh the hell I was living that day. I needed out, immediately.
First of all, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Literally. At 2:00 AM my little one had a bad dream and came running into my room. He pushed and shoved and squished me over so I was cramped up to my husband. Somehow, my 30 pound child had taken over my entire side of the bed and my husband and I were crammed onto the other side. My head was stuck in between the crack of two pillows. I could have told you things were not a set up for a good day ahead.
I got out of bed and started to brush my teeth, but I was stopped by sounds of my children fighting. My two year old wanted to bring a Superman and a Spiderman action figure downstairs. My five year old started screaming. “DC guys can’t play with Marvel guys! That could never happen!”
“Nooo! I want to play wif dem,” the toddler yelled back.
I spit out my toothpaste and yelled in drawn out words, “Just let him do it! No fighting before Mommy has coffee!” (I thought they knew this rule, but apparently it is something they need to work on.)
We settled the Superhero argument by turning on some Curious George. I made my kids breakfast and discussed our plans for the day. If they were good boys they would get a prize of a Superhero Popsicle at the end of the day. We discussed that being“ good boys” meant listening to mommy and not fighting or using potty talk while we were out.
My five year old had a disagreement. “I have to say ‘butt’ mom. It’s a potty word I just can’t NOT say. It’s in almost every sentence.”
“Yea, we say ‘butt’,” agreed my two year old.
“Fine you can say ‘butt’, but not other potty talk, and only say ‘butt’ if it has to be said and it cannot be referring about that part of your body.” I said in one breath.
I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. (I mean seriously, should I even have to tell them not to talk about poop or pee pee while we are out…or home? And what is so fun about it? But I want people to think we are a normal family so I tell the kids to put on the normal kids facade.)
We went to the doctor first. I am positive that there is something wrong with my five year old. He talks incessantly. Maybe its the pollen. Or the Southern air. Or maybe he has some horrible disease where he is just oblivious to the fact that he is totally on everyone’s nerves. All the kid talks about, besides poop, are movies. He wants to make movies when he grows up and can’t stop planning for them. If I have to hear the plot for “Transformers 26” one more time I might lose my mind. Whats worse I that he can’t focus on anything else.
When we got to the office my kids thought the rug in the middle of the waiting room would be a good place to wrestle. I tried to get them to stop. I asked politely, then I threatened; first with taking away toys then with their lives. They wouldn’t stop. I physically had to remove the two year old from a full nelson grasp on the 5 year old’s head. Thankfully the nurse called us back. She looked at me and said, “You have a lot to deal with, huh?”
“I know,” I said totally humiliated.
The doctor had a chalk board in the office. My kids drew all over the board. They were quiet so I wasn’t paying any attention. Apparently, though they were using their hands to lean on the board and then wipe the hair out of their eyes. They were then leaning on the exam table with their chalky hands leaving imprints everywhere. (The paper was long gone as my two year old “no like the way it sounds and feels”.) When the doctor came in she turned to me and said, “I know I’ve said this to you before but if these kids make it to 18 they will do great things. I’ve never met such creative boys.” (Was she inferring that she wouldn’t be surprised if I killed them? I think so. I’m also pretty sure she was calling them weird.)
As we were leaving the office, my son asked if he could take a sticker. I said, “No, you did not act good.” He started hysterical crying. “I need it mom, its for a set I’m making for ‘The Origins of Iron Man’. This movie is going to show how Tony Stark becomes Iron Man. I need the sticker. WAAAAA!”
I was so annoyed. First of all, he was throwing an embarrassing fit. Second, he is supposed to be the savant movie buff, doesn’t he know that movie already exists? At the same time the little kid started crying because the doctor didn’t look at him and he “threw up one time”. I dragged both kids out of the office and used the biggest meanest threat I could think of. “I’m calling Daddy.”
I had to reach out to my Alliance. I mean this was just not fair. It was two against one all day. My husband was so annoyed that I called. “Why can’t you handle them?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I used to get thirty 12 year olds to listen. These kids are just nuts. Its your genes. After I said it, I thought about it. I knew my husband when we were 8 years old. He was a talkative, spastic lunatic. My children are spitting images of him. The more I thought about how I was dealing with this horrible genetic trait of his the more I got pissed at him. “This is your fault!” I explained almost in tears. I then exclaimed, “I am quitting and leaving. I am going to have a nervous breakdown.”
“Hold on,” he said. “I thought we were a team. What happened to the promise we made that we will never get divorced because no one can be left with the kids. You pinky swore.”
The man was right.
“Look, this house can’t function without you. The older boy is a bit talkative and spazzy but he’s not bad. And he was good when he was two. Look at this 2 year old. He is crazy, he’s is definitely going to be insane when he is 5 years old. I will need help. Besides, you know I gag when I empty the little potty.”
“Oh, and the housing market is bad so we will end up having to take a loss on the house and owe lots of money if we split.”
I was glad I picked this guy for my team. (A good pep talk always makes me feel better.)
“Fine,” I said. “I will try not to get so frustrated, but since I had a bad day can we skip sex? I need something good out of this day.
“Okay,” he agreed.
We renewed our pinky promise vows to never leave each other because the truth is, neither of us could do this alone.
Yesterday the kids won the challenge. But what’s most important, is I made it out alive.