Every night is a battle in this house. My family doesn’t argue over bed times, though there is the occasional argument over tooth-brushing and the choice in bed time stories. The real battle begins once the two littlest family members are safely tucked in their beds. It’s the battle between me and my stupid eyelids. I dare even call it EPIC, because it’s every single night, and while I fight hard, the battle only seems to get tougher, and I’m on the losing side.
I kiss the kids goodnight, walk downstairs, pop the TV on and get comfortable – excited and ready for programs I actually want to watch and can do so without interruption. No slap fights, no tattling, no whines, screams, or babbling about random bullshit that has nothing do with anything but can’t POSSIBLY wait until a commercial. I look forward to this time. It gets me through the shenanigans of the day! But, that’s where the trouble begins.
It would appear that the moment my ass hits the couch, my eyelids want to close. That is ALL they want, and I am nearly helpless against them. I can’t even get an hour into one of my favorite shows before I find my eyelids beginning to droop and I’m snapping my head back into upright position. That’s not the worst part, though. The worst part is that all of this happens with a spectator: my husband. I see the side-glances, and hear the deep-sighs. “Do you want me to stop it(the tv)?” My eyes spring open. “NO! I’M AWAKE!” and the battle begins again, complete with sighs, and side glances.
“Are you really that tired?”
Yes, the man who falls a sleep on the couch while the sun is still up every weekend wants to question why I’m dozing off once it’s actually down and dark out.
AM I really that tired? Well, let’s see…
Those precious children that just went to bed without a fight? Well, I grew those little shits from top to bottom- no I wasn’t there LITERALLY attaching their limbs, don’t be ridiculous, but I grew them. I dealt with their incessant hiccups and elbows and karate chops in my uterus and then I propelled them from my vag( NEED I REMIND YOU- THAT ISN’T EASY) and ever since, I have spent all day every day chasing those shits around. Even when they’re asleep, I’m still on-call. That on top with the feeding and the bathing and the caring and the listening and the scolding and the loving and the worrying and all the things that come with life and being an adult and parenthood and responsibility. YEAH, I’M TIRED. WHY ARE YOU SURPRISED??
I’m not a spring chicken. The fact that I even used the term “spring chicken” should prove that I am not one, and I don’t even know what the fuck a spring chicken is but what I’m saying is that I’M OLD, AND I’M TIRED, AND STOP LOOKING AT ME FUNNY WHEN I DOZE OFF, ‘CAUSE YOUR ASS IS OLD, TOO!
I used to like snow. That changed once I wasn’t a child anymore, and snow on the ground meant I’d nearly die trying to get to work because work refused to close even when everything else did. This hatred only festered over the year and by the time my oldest child began school, me and snow were mortal enemies. Even if I DIDN’T hate snow, I’d still hate snow days. I love my kids, but being trapped inside with them due to a giant white blob of bullshit covering the ground is maddening, and after nearly two weeks of NO school due to snow, we’re all losing our damn minds. Especially me. This is what went through my head today.
Tell me I’m not alone!
Snow is basically mother nature’s diarrhea. Mother nature needs a damn diaper. Or a butt plug.
If mother nature bought a butt plug, I bet it would be green.
Okay, we get it. Mother Nature has a big penis. It can stop fucking us with this weather now!
This kid NEEDS to go back to school. EDUCATION IS IMPORTANT!
Why did I have kids again? Maybe I should sell this one online. First one with a snowplow or snow tires gets’em! CLEARANCE! 5,000% OFF! JUST TAKE THEM! OR TAKE ME!
Convinced there is a chemical in snow that makes kids act even a-holier than their usual level of a-hole.
If I had to pick a favorite child right now, it would be the dog.
How many times do I have to say no??
I give up.
I now understand why Elsa kept telling Anna to go the hell away. Even the magical Ice Queen herself got sick and damn tired of snow. Tired of snow’s shit AND told Anna she couldn’t marry a man she just met. Good head on her shoulder’s, that one.
Wait a minute, even OLAF wanted it to be summer. Mother Nature needs to get her shit together.
Crap. Now I have “Let it Go” stuck in my head again. SON OF A BISCUIT IT’S LIKE A DISEASE!
I wish Mother Nature were a person so I could punch her straight in the uterus. Then again, if Mother Nature were a person, she’d probably be in Hawaii, and not snowed in here with me. Bitch.
Oh, look at that! It’s nap time! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH YEAH RIGHT.
Maybe if I close my eyes and wish REALLY hard, I’ll open them, and the snow will be gone. Or maybe I’ll magically grow a penis. Those two things have equal chances of happening.
What’s for dinner? SEASONAL DEPRESSION!
Sounds like the kids are exploding the upstairs…. but…. they’re the hell away from me, so I don’t even care. I CAN BUY NEW THINGS BUT I CANNOT BUY NEW SANITY!
This is it. This is officially the day that will never end. Or I’ll wake up tomorrow and it will be today again like some twisted version of Groundhog’s Day, and it’s ALL THE GROUNDHOG’S FAULT BECAUSE HE SAID THERE WERE SIX MORE WEEKS OF WINTER. I HATE SHADOWS!
Is it bed time yet?
How about now?
If I never see snow again, it’ll be too soon.
Something profound happened to me while watching the Oscars last night.
No, it wasn’t Lady Gaga’s mind-blowing tribute to Dame Julie Andrews and The Sound of Music. Or Neil Patrick Harris in his tighty-whities. It was an acceptance speech, and probably not any of the ones you’re thinking.
Yes, there were AMAZING speeches by people who can put things into words in a way that will touch a lot of people who need to hear them. There were causes, and political statements, and tears of happiness as they finally got a chance to say what so many are thinking. Encouragement, love, thank yous, and an awesome message to “stay weird”, but none of those are the one that brought me to tears.
It was right after Big Hero 6 was announced as the winner of the Oscar for Best Animated Film. Of course, as a Disney freak, I was ELATED. I figured the acceptance speech would be one of those cut and dry ones- thank you so and so, love you so and so, so much hard work, thank you to the Academy- you know how it typically goes.
There were two men on stage, and one thanked his parents- but he went on to thank them for taking him seriously as a child, instead of just brushing him off, because when he was little, he told them he wanted to be a Disney animator. He thanked them for their support of his dream from the very beginning- and at that moment, I smacked Thomas.
You know, that uncontrollable side-smack when you hear something that shocks you SO much that it’s the only thing you can do to get someone’s attention?
At that moment, watching this animator’s speech, I saw Holden in 20-30 years.
He has LOVED drawing for a long time, but a few months ago, at just 7 years old, he announced very confidently that he wants to be an animator for Disney when he grows up.
I know that when we’re young, we can be SO sure of what we want to do. At one point I wanted to be a veterinarian, some kids want to be doctors, fire-fighters, or any number of other things, and as the years pass, that changes. Mine sure did. I found my passion for creative arts VERY young (not at all long after the short-lived vet stage).
First, it was music. I was completely committed and absolutely passionate and there was nothing else I wanted to do other than to write, play, and sing music- and that was a hard thing for my parents to understand, because to them, for a long time, it was an unattainable goal. They knew the odds were slim, and they worried for my future. It was SO frustrating to not be taken seriously.
I now remember how monumental it was for me, the day my parents finally accepted and supported the fact that I was working toward a career in the music business. I wanted to be, for lack of a better term, a rock star.
It may not have happened for me, but I am not angry. I’m not bitter or upset, or wishing I could go back and do it differently, because I got to try, and I had support in doing so. And because I got the chance to try and fortunately/unfortunately didn’t “make it”, it lead me to my TRUE passion: writing. I may never have realized that, had I not given music my all. I might have spent my entire adult life regretting not at least trying, instead of discovering what I was meant to do.
When children are little, they can only reach so far. To go beyond their own grasp takes your help. So help them stay grounded with your feet, but lift them up so they can reach for the stars.
I worry, just like my parents worried about me. It’s not going to be easy, and maybe he’ll never achieve his dream- but he’ll get to try with our support the whole way- and THAT…. that makes all the difference in the world.
To my OBGYN-
All this time I’ve been scratching my head and wondering, WHERE did these kids get their attitudes from? Certainly not from me! The fighting and the screaming and the attitude. I’ve done everything I can to try to raise them right; with respect, and manners, and yet still- they are these …. creatures. These evil little creatures. How could I have spawned things that resemble Gremlins after midnight more than humans? WHY are they so mean?
For so many nights, I found myself lying awake in bed after yet another hellacious day of back sass and brattery wondering- how could I have failed THIS hard as a parent? Who are these beings inhabiting my house? Has there been a case of mistaken identity? Invasion of the body snatchers? Spongebob brainwashing? WHERE DID I GO WRONG?!?
Yes, you read that right- it’s all your fault!
Doc, I know what you’re thinking- what could you have POSSIBLY done to make me believe that the awful that emanates from my children is a product of you, but trust me. It’s totally your fault. It’s crystal clear to me now!
How could it be? When you did not impregnate me, nor grow my children on your insides? When you didn’t help raise them, and for the most part, never even allowed them into the office because kids are disgusting little germ factories and no one wants a preggo getting sick? How could you have tarnished my little angels when the only time you ever even touched them was when they were propelled from my vagina and a handful more times in their first days of life? How could you have POSSIBLY had ANY kind of influence over them whatsoever?
I’ll tell you!
Do you recall, doc, as I was trying to force a baby out of my birth canal, what you said to me each time? WELL??? DO YOU??? Allow me to refresh your memory:
“PUSH! PUSH LIKE YOU’RE TAKING A POOP!”
So I did. And I gave birth to two little shits. Thanks a lot.
Today is another scorcher and the love bugs are still out in force. The elliptical trainer is still smirking at me and the pool is looking better and better. Unfortunately, I have errands after work and must accomplish my daily fitness goal on my lunch break, so I have 45 minutes, tops. What to do, what to do? I still want to mix up my exercise routine as much for the benefits of muscle confusion as for the benefit of not getting bored with whole cotton pickin’ idea of exercise and diving head first into a bag of Fritos. I could go to the pool, but at this time of day the likelihood of being able swim laps without bowling over small children is slim to none. Then I remember something I have seen on my cable TV guide but have never actually explored (mostly out of fear, I assure you). Thanks to Comcast, I have free access to on demand exercise and fitness programs. Working from home means that I no longer have an excuse not to partake of this cornucopia of free workouts. So, dear readers, with great trepidation, I turned on the TV and started perusing the options available to me.
A plethora of virtual aerobics instructors, not unlike the me of twenty years ago, were all beckoning me to go ahead and get fit with them! Gawd! Was I ever that perky and annoying? Why didn’t someone take me out back then – someone with a high powered rifle equipped with a laser scope, perched high above the YMCA, taking a bead on me as I walked out the door? Because I am pretty sure that some of my students must been just as annoyed with me back then as I was with one of today’s TV aerobics instructors, folks. I did one and a half classes on my lunch break and wanted to kill the second aerobics instructor with my bare hands before I was done.
The first half hour class was fine. It was a fast paced, low impact class. For those of you that don’t know me that well, I am only allowed to perform low impact workouts due to not one, but two back surgeries that left my spine fused in three places and enough metal in my back build a small rocket missile (which I would gladly have used on instructor number two today). High impact exercise is strictly forbidden my my orthopedic surgeon. Also by my knees, which have very little cartilage left in them after ten years of teaching step aerobics. Ironic, isn’t it? But I digress.
Instructor number one took me though a good workout that got my heart pumping and the sweat flowing. I could have repeated half of that class, but didn’t know if I could fast forward though the warm up part, since I was already plenty warmed up. So I picked a cardio sculpting class for selection number two. I was only going to be able to do fifteen minutes before my lunch break was up, so I figured I could handle fifteen minutes of almost anything. Boy was I mistaken! Within five minutes my thighs were burning, my knees were wailing in pain and this little chica was doing plyometrics, for cryin’ out loud! Plyometrics = high impact. Oh, she demonstrated the low impact moves, with a very condescending tone and a smirk on her face that was reminiscent of the smirk my elliptical trainer gives me. I really didn’t like her attitude, or her ripped abs. She could bounce all day long without her knees grinding in bone-on-bone agony or feeling her jiggly parts going airborne. She didn’t have any jiggly parts, the perky little witch. Just as I was telling her in no uncertain terms just exactly where she could stick those dumbbells, it struck me. That really was me twenty years ago! Too fit and too perky. It’s truly a wonder that I am still alive and had not been mowed down in the YMCA parking lot. To all of my former students, I offer my most profound apologies.
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