A Surprisingly Sane Blog

I’ve realized that I have been living my life opposite of the rest of the world.

Apparently, my hardwiring didn’t get the memo that I’m supposed to be madly in love with staying home with my kids and being a freaking “domestic goddess”. I’m supposed to think there’s something biblically correct about being pleased to cook, clean, take care of the kids, iron my husband’s panties, and never have a day off. Oh, and I’m supposed to be content with showering every few days, throwing my hair back into a headband, and walking my kid to school in my Scooby Doo pajamas. I’m also supposed to wish my kids would stay little eternally, and think time flies as they grow.

Yeah, not happening.

Lies, all lies. I’m convinced stay-at-home-moms who say that crap or live that way are either 1) full of shit, 2) fooling themselves, 3) brainwashed by some kind of archaic religion or crazy family, 4) nuts. Go ahead, rip me to shreds. I can handle it, and I know a lot of people will disagree with me, so I’m ready for it.

First of all, the last 4-and-a-half-almost-5-years of my life have been the LONGEST years of my life. Parenthood has not been a quick: “Hey! I pooped out a baby! OH NO! IT GREW TEETH! Now it’s walking! Shit, it’s having sex! Off to college! BAM! Now I’m a grandparent” experience. I swear to God I’ve been a mom for 55 years and my kids are only four and two. It’s been a long, treacherous process between the postpartum insanity periods, the breastfeeding, the healing body, potty training, sorting through outgrown clothes, watching them learn to speak and communicate, sleep training, etc.

Parenting. It’s not a quick or easy process, and it takes YEARS for them to grow. Julie’s almost five, and she’s a “big five”, and she’s absolutely teeny. In a lot of ways, she’s still just a toddler. And April… she’s only been around for two years? Really? Because these last two years have undoubtedly been the LONGEST TWO YEARS of my life. No one told me that two years is roughly equivalent to twenty-four years.

Where’s the discrepancy? Why does everyone else complain that the time is moving entirely too quickly, or that it seems like just yesterday that they were carrying a newborn on their chest? I feel like it’s been eons since that happened, and April is STILL a baby to me, needing to nap, throwing tantrums, getting hurt and needing cuddling. She’s still just such a tiny little peep in so many ways.

And as far as being a “domestic goddess” is concerned… um, well, I hate cooking, hate cleaning even more, and I wouldn’t iron my hubby’s undergarments if he was the president of the United States. Or God. Sorry, God, you’re gonna have to clean, iron, and fold your own panties. Blasphemy, I know.

Am I the only one who lives life feeling this way? Who thinks time isn’t just flying by, but notices just how long it takes for my kids to learn and grow? And are there people who really love cooking and cleaning? Like, REALLY love it? I know you gals exist, but I just fail to understand that train of thought. I’m not complaining that time moves slowly, I love that, actually… but why am I the only one who seems to feel that way?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a load of hubby’s undies that need washing before he looks at me with a desperate expression and utters painfully, “Tamra, underwear is a family emergency. I had terrible luck today because I wore the same pair twice in a row.”

But I’m not going to bleach ‘em or fold ‘em. So there.

Current Mood: Cool

Julie is a whiner. A gawd-awful, horrific whiner. The kid in the store that makes you stop and throw shit at the parents because their kid’s whining, which is surely a result of their poor parenting, is just so freaking obnoxious that YOU’RE about to smack the shit out of something.

Trust me, I didn’t get that kid because I let her get away with it. We’re actually really darn good disciplinarians, if I do say so myself. She just IS that kid. To be honest, it makes me want to smack the shit out of her because some days, the only think that comes out of her mouth is constructed in a whine. Correcting her doesn’t work. Not responding doesn’t work. Ignoring or not giving her what she wants doesn’t work. Asking her not to whine doesn’t work. Discussing it doesn’t work.

However, I have recently learned that sending her to her room every. single. time. she. whines. actually DOES work. Miraculous, but it’s going to be a long piece of work breaking this ugly habit of hers.

In the meantime, I’m 95% sure I damaged my vocal chords screaming at her just a little bit ago because I went apeshit when she managed to throw a whining tantrum before I could get her butt upstairs in her room. I’m not usually the mom that yells at her kids, but I’d just HAD IT.

Ow, my throat.

Today, I don’t want to be a mom. Could I have an 8-hour break? Please?

Current Mood: Angry

So far, age two is my favorite. Who the hell dubbed it the “terrible twos”?

I have thoroughly enjoyed age two more than any other with both my kids. Two year olds can run around, feed themselves, entertain themselves, and speak well enough to communicate their needs. Plus, they’re adorable.

Newborns… they’re weird. They’re blobs. They do NOTHING but lay there, grunt, cry, shit, piss, and suck on your tits while you cry because it hurts so freaking bad when your nipples are cracked and bleeding. I’ve never liked newborns, and my own kids were no exception, sadly. They’re like wrinkled old men, except you can pick them up without throwing out your back. They’re cute in an alien sort of way when they start smiling 6-8 weeks after they get pooped out of the baby chute, but they just didn’t feel worth all the work until they finally started giggling a couple months after that. I’m a freak, I know. But I just REALLY don’t like newborns. At all.

Babies… they’re cute, but they have zero independence. A lot of people like that. Me… not so. I don’t like living with this thing constantly clinging to me, and I’m not a fan of living with my head up my kid’s ass constantly. I like to look at them and hold them, but I prefer to give them back.

But two year olds… see, they’re just so freaking amazing. Yes, they throw tantrums, but it’s part of the fact that they’re learning independence. And independence, wow, that’s just such a beautiful thing to a mom who survived two serious bouts of postpartum depression. They’re a small price to pay (and trust me, I pay dearly because April is an EXTREME tantrum thrower) for said child to be able to sleep in a “big kid” bed, know how how to get herself a cup of water via the filter on the fridge, tell me she wants to use the potty or that she has “POOK” in her diaper (yes, “POOK”… shut up, you can stop laughing now, I didn’t teach her that, I swear).

Minus that binky (which we just removed from her mouth this week, I might add), she’s pretty damn cute, isn’t she? And yes, her hair is THAT long, even with a number of haircuts.

Current Mood: Cool

…when you’re out in public, say, Target, and you come face-to-face with a truly unfortunately-looking baby or toddler? And I’m NOT talking about children with disabilities, deformities, etc. I have a soft place in my heart from them, and I never look at them and think- ugh, ugly baby. I’m talking about when you see a baby that looks like it should be cute and all, but when you smile at it and it grins back you think, damn… poor kid.

I know, this sounds really bad. Believe me, I’m one of those people who can find something cute about a freaking serial killer if you face me with him and I have no clue what he does for a living. And it takes some serious WORK to piss me off enough that I look at a person and find them truly ugly.

So as you can imagine, it’s rare that I run into an innocent baby and think Holy shit, poor kid… I mean, it’s just wholly unattractive and just… well, not cute at all. Especially since I’m a firm believer that there’s something cute about every baby, and there I just totally broke that train of thought. Of course, I feel absolutely terrible that I didn’t have a more positive reaction to the thing, and my brain starts scrambling for something about it that I can justify it as being “cute in a baby sort of way”. But alas, sometimes I just can’t.

I’m glad I have cute kids. I mean, I’m sure some people may look at them and think… poor kids… but dammit, at least I see them and think… dang- I’m so proud of my beautiful daughters. It’d suck to look at them and cringe, you know?

And didn’t they make such cute little butterflies for Halloween? Well, I think so, at least!

Current Mood: Cool

I swear my 2-year-old is out to get me.

Current Mood: Alarmed