Three too many

Most Mondays begin the same. Difficulty waking up, a slightly dissappointed feeling that the weekend is over, shouting directives at the kids after asking nicely for the first hundred times, trying to convince my husband that a 10 minute shower can get you just as clean as a 20 minute shower, and forgetting and remembering what needs to be done in order to get us all out the door as needed. It can be overwhelming especially when you feel that you often times do it alone.

When I got married I knew what I was in for, actually how can one ever know? No, let's say, I knew who it was that I married and that more than likely his behaviors weren't going to change because he's seen me naked a lot. As a matter of fact, I have this theory that the more a man sees you naked, the less compliant he becomes. It's as if he starts to feel like he's TOO much of a man. Is that possible? What the hell does that even mean? Well, this blog isn't about semantics, so, moving on. I knew that his strengths lie in his physical abilities and his emotional stability. When push comes to shove he's a real go-getter. When things get tough he's a ROCK! But when everything is running smoothly and there are only menial tasks to attend to, well, let's just say, all that responsibility rests on me. Now some may think this is just fine because he works, he brings home the bacon. Ok, I'm a firm believer in women and men having different roles. I have a very traditional view in that respect, but that isn't to say that I agree that women should behave like June Cleaver and men get to be Al Bundy with a beer and a warm hand guarding their "junk".

There were days
and there were days
and there were days I know
when all we ever wanted
was to learn and love and grow
Once we grew into our shoes
we told them where to go
walked halfway around the world
on promise of the glow
stood upon a mountain top
walked barefoot in the snow
gave the best we had to give
how much we'll never know we'll never know

The following is a conversation with my four year old daughter this afternoon.

Ember: Mommy, there a lake ober dare dat we can go ice skating on.

Me: Honey, I'm not sure that would be safe. We just had a lot of warm days last week. I'm not positive it could hold me right now.

Ember: It could hol' me momma. My bum bum is itty bitty. Your bum is WAAAAY TOO HUUUUUGE!!!

Me: Uh-Uh, my bumbum isn't THAT huge.

Ember: Yes it is, Mommy! I seen you when you go potty and pull down your pants. Your bum bum is big.

Out of the mouth of babes...

I've turned my back on laundry and cleaning. I've turned my back on entertaining my children. I face you, cruel world, naked and hopeful. Ok, keep dreaming because you'll never see me naked. But I AM hopeful. I'd like this to become a place that I can share and bare my soul. I realize that this opens me up to a great deal of criticism, but if you've met my mother you'll know I'm already use to that. Love you, Mom! I need a place to go when there's no where else. I need to know in my moments of insanity that there are others like me. As you may have guessed, I already know those things. But much to Kelly's dismay (my husband) and perhaps, yours, I need a great deal of reaffirmation. I'm beginning to let go of some of that but it's an uphill battle.

I find that raising toddlers is the most difficult thing I've EVER done. Babies, they're no problem for me. I'm good at lazing around the house in a bath robe with very little sleep. I've partied enough to remember what it feels like to not get enough sleep. No, it's the toddler stage that really makes my butthole pucker. It's the constant mess and meltdowns. It's the running, jumping, climbing, trash spelunking, nipple pinching, thigh biting, hair pulling, teeth sprouting, little midgets that make me revert to my most infantile behavior. I cry, I meltdown, and well, I set an awful example! This isn't to say that some, even most days, I'm not an incredible mother. I've spent every waking moment with my kids from birth until four (not saying that's what makes a good mother), I've put on plays, done fingerplays, dressed up, held parties for Raggedy Ann, healed wounds for Mr. Monkey, cured illness, hugged, fed, cried for, cried with and cried because I love my children. But some days, and OH, are they bad days, I'm the most angry and mean person there is. But...I'm also forgiving.