I was informed by my 12 year old daughter last night, after reading a few select blog posts of mine to her, that I do not mention her enough, and when I do, it’s usually mean. So, look for a few special shout-outs to Tween C in the coming posts, because she’s a pretty moody special kid, and so I want to make her shut up happy.
Today was my baby girl’s first day of pre-k. She was so cute, with her little glasses and mary-janes. I hope her teacher is ready for her, because she rarely closes her mouth. And when she’s talking, you become acutely aware that she’s living in some imaginary world that you can only see once she describes it to you in minute detail, which she happily does.
I’ve been waiting for this day for 4 years, when I’d finally be finished paying someone to keep my kids for me to work, so that I could afford to pay them. I’ve never wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, I just don’t have the gene that some of you guys are born with. I’ve got to get out of the house, and I don’t have the patience to take care of kids all day long. But now that they are all in school, and (God FORBID) I will not be having any MORE kids, I think sometimes how nice it would be if I had the money to be a SAHM. I would like to be able to send them off to school in the morning, sip some coffee, clean up the aftermath of the morning, and REST. Then, I would go and have lunch with one of my other independently wealthy friends, gossip over coffee, and head to the grocery store or book store or nail salon or the mall. I’d be home when each child arrived home, ask them individually how their day was, and fix them a snack. I’d help with homework, and not have to yell or rush them along because we’d have so much time to get it all done. And then I’d heat up the meal that I’d had all afternoon to prepare, with the fresh vegetables from the farmer’s market, the hormone-free meat from the meat market and the freshly- baked homemade rolls, just like my grandmother used to make. I’d read the little ones a story before bedtime, and tuck them all in after we said our prayers.
But, alas (I love that word), that’s just not the way things can be. So, instead, I spend my mornings running around like a chicken sans a head, yelling and barking out orders because no one moves fast enough to get all the things done. I get everyone else ready, and end up leaving the house with only one eye in makeup, forgetting my lunch in the fridge, and late for work. I realize after arriving at work that I forgot to send [a) a check for lunch b) a snack for 20 kids c) a signed permission slip d) note to the teacher] to school with one or more of my children. I forget mid-way through my busy day at work that my children exist, so therefore I can’t recall that I’m supposed to call one of them to remind him or her to go get another one. I stop by a grocery store on my way home because I’ve, once again, forgotten that we humans require the regular intake of food in order to survive. I get home at nearly 6 p.m., fighting a losing battle to have dinner cooked, ingested, and the kids all cleaned behind their ears and in bed by 8:00. Last year bedtime was 8:30, but so far this year, I’ve had to beat and/or threaten to kill one or more of them by 8:00 p.m. at the latest, so I just send them to bed so that everyone survives another day. Once they are all in bed, I finish a load of clothes and start a new one, since we haven’t quite stocked up to 5 sets of uniforms per kid yet, feed the dog, clean the kitchen, and collapse on the couch to watch some trashy tv show on the DVR, which I fall asleep before is finished. When my alarm clock goes off at 5:45 the next morning, I awake for a moment and think, “Oh, wow, it’s time for coffee…ho, hum……..” which quickly turns into “OH. SHIT. I. HIT. SNOOZE. THREE. TIMES. ALREADY. E’S. GONNA. MISS. THE. BUS. IF. I. DON’T. GET. MY. ASS. UP. RIGHT. NOW. CRAP. CRAP. CRAP!!!”
And, so, as the world turns, so are the days of my life, and I should be admitted to a general mental hospital.