For the past week, my back has taken the title of Mayor of Nopeville. I haven’t kept it a secret that I suffer from chronic pain, but for the most part, I’ve been able to manage it. Every now and then, though, my body gets a wild hair up its ass and decides to take me down via my upper back and I take up nearly permanent residence on the couch.
It’s like a Vegas Occupancy. It doesn’t matter if I wanna be there or not, I signed a damn contract and I have to see it through ’til the end. I keep telling my back that I’m not Britney Spears- no one wants to come see me sitting here writhing my old ass around in pain, but it just won’t listen. I’m KIDDING, Britney lovers. Simmer!
A full week of my ass planted. This isn’t like a cold, or one of those nasty boogery illnesses where you SHOULD be able to rest all day for a week, but have to get up to take care of the kids. When my back goes out, it goes out. There’s no moving. There’s no dragging myself around for the greater good. I’ve been stuck.
Being stuck has lead to some realizations. As someone who’s on the move almost all the time (I can’t say all the time because that would be a big fat lie, I’m not THAT busy)- I suppose there’s a lot I don’t notice. I’m guessing this is something that happens to all of us. Shit gets away from us. Little things. Little, annoying things. When we are finally able to slow down and take a look around (or in my case, forced to)- we learn. Not just about our families, but about ourselves- and it’s NOT just that I could absolutely rule the world with my ass firmly planted in this living room.
I learned that my kids complain about literally everything. Everything. Especially when the other one does it. Where they sit on the couch, the tv is too loud, the tv is too quiet, the tv is on the wrong channel, that one’s bothering me, that one mocked me, he said I couldn’t do this, he called me a bad name, he’s tattling on me! I learned that all my throw pillows have holes in them because Holden chews on them. HE CHEWS ON THEM. I’m surprised he’s not shitting sweaters after ingesting so much fabric. Parker is never quiet. Not even for a second. If he’s not talking, he’s clicking. If he’s not clicking, he’s humming. If he’s not humming, he’s farting. I told him to be quiet just so I could hear myself think and he actually told me he didn’t know how. He also announces his SBD’s, which makes them not technically SBDs, which I repeatedly informed him of, but he still insists. Despite what they say, they actually CAN get their own drinks and snacks and don’t need my help. Oh, but wait, I must be magical because we apparently “never” have anything to eat or drink until I get up and point to the bajillion things we have to eat and drink. Somehow, over the past week, they managed to survive because they didn’t starve even though I couldn’t get up. Perhaps they developed magical abilities, too. Or maybe they just stopped being stupid. They watch the same episodes of TV over and over and over again, and it’s not even good TV. Parker says “yo”. How I never picked up on this, I don’t know, but it isn’t okay unless it’s followed by another “yo” and he has a string attached to his finger. I’m pretty sure when the kids go upstairs the gravity is different because they constantly sound like they’re coming THROUGH the ceiling. My husband has even less patience than I do. I didn’t think it was possible, but I’m patting myself on the back. Actually, I’m not, because my back hurts- but in my mind, I’m patting myself on the back.
My house is a total wreck because apparently I’m the only one who picks up after everyone even though I definitely raised them better (including my husband) and I’m definitely the only one who flushes the damn toilet, and while I know this just sounds like a long list of complaints, those aren’t the only things I learned.
I also learned that, when it comes down to it, my kids can and will take care of me. They don’t take advantage of my pain, and are willing to go and get me anything I might need. Hell, they even parented ME at some points- telling me to sit back down, and not to bend or reach for things because they were concerned I’d hurt myself.
They might argue constantly, suck at picking up after themselves, eat me out of house and home (literally, again, the pillows) but they actually, legitimately care. They are good humans. They have compassion, and understanding- and those are so much more important qualities to have (in my opinion) than keeping Legos out of my living room.
All the people that poo-pooed the fact that I curse around them, think I’m damaging them by calling them on their assholish tendencies, think I’m rotting their brains by letting them watch TV can all suck it, because at the end of the day, they’re good people. Maybe not organized people, or quiet people- but they’re GOOD people.
You know what else I learned? My DREAM as a kid was to stay home and watch TV all day long, and with my back, I totally would have let my kids do just that- but they prefer books, and Legos, and making up really weird “movies”, and honestly, I’m not sure how I went so right. One day, I’ll get them to flush the damn toilet, but today, I’m gonna relax, and baby my stupid back, and feel okay about this whole parenting thing.
The “Are You Ready to Have Kids?” Checklist of Doom goo.gl/fb/DTPJ1A
Half-Assed Jingler Syndrome goo.gl/fb/McWfBy
@ItsEvieClaire Booze and tears
@Gofashiondeals All of that and more. Good times. Gooooood times