2014, I am your Mom of the Year, and I have cinched this title by the 6th day of the year. Impressive, no?
Let's face it, I do not have time for blogging, which is clearly why I started a blog. I'm a funny gal (I laugh at my own jokes, it counts) and when I'm in the shower, I just crack myself up. Unfortunately a laptop does not easily carry into the shower without major consequences for both the electronics and, I hear, my nervous system, so I have been advised to avoid that. So, by the time I am out of the shower, trying to dress three little people, get myself ready for work, us all out the door in time, work a full day, pick them up from daycare, get home, do dinner, do their bedtime, all I want is my bedtime. I'm no longer funny sarcastic, I'm usually just mean sarcastic. Or sometimes just mean. Ask the hubs. (Hi Hunny! Love you bunches!)
So, I figured I'd better update the world on how the past few days I've done my duty in upholding my title as Mom of the Century so that there were no doubts. It all started yesterday; hubs left around 9am for a business trip in which he'd be gone until Wednesday morning (three days kids. I can not tell you that any more times. If you ask again, I might have to say Daddy is visiting Santa, telling him you're driving Mommy crazy and that he's already writing that on his list for next year. I mean, I'm not saying I did that, just saying I might...), leaving me solo parenting all day Sunday in a southern state that doesn't get much snow, in which it snowed and the weather stations were calling for record breaking low temps and wind chills the likes of which we hadn't seen since I was a Yankee (I'm allowed to say it, it isn't offensive. I lived there. I claim it with pride when someone mentions it. When someone born south of the Mason Dixon line says it, it is meant to be offensive. It is strange. I feel like if I were to go to Alabama and just stand there and yell, "SOUTHERNER!" that should somehow also be offensive? Not so much. Weird.). So Sunday, we undecorated the Christmas tree (January 6th is early when you have 3 little people ages 5 and under, so shut up) and started putting away Christmas decorations. I went out to our office which is attached to our garage and heard a noise, so looked around and saw a small bird with a leaf stuck on it's leg. I try to get close and it hops/flits away, so I find a shovel thinking maybe it will let me get close enough that it'll hop on that if it won't let me touch it. I spend 15 to 20 minutes outside in my freezing cold (really, about 9 degrees at this point) garage chasing this stupid bird around while I hear my kids inside, tearing apart my house. This evil bird-devil then suddenly decides it is healed and FLIES AT MY HEAD. It actually, literally, really, truly flew into my forehead before making some sort of psycho U-turn and flying out the garage door, which was my hope and intention now 25 minutes ago. I attempt to regain my...something. I walk back inside and my kids sort of resemble the psycho bird-devil so I round them up, get them to sit and turn on a movie so the TV can babysit for awhile while I check to make sure I don't have feathers in my hair (I didn't). Then the questions start. "Why you have a dot on your head?" "Why you not happy?" "Why you laughing?" "Why you crying?" Oh, nothing kids. Mommy is just losing it.
So, overnight the high was 0 and the low was something like -15. This is not normal for this area, so I'm super concerned, double checking the kids, putting layers of blankets on them before I go to bed, etc. Around 3am, J wakes up and yells that he has to go potty (yay for middle of the night potty training!) and I catch a glimpse of E...with no clothes on except a pull up. WHAT?!?!
Today, I woke up with the intention of getting everyone ready, driving the 5 minutes to daycare, dropping the littles off then coming back home to work from home the rest of the day. I ventured outside and couldn't open my car door. The other side that the sun hadn't yet seen was covered in ice probably 1/2 inch thick. I tried the ice scraper and it just made some really loud noises and produced no effect, so gave up and went back inside to the joys of My Little Ponies and Thomas & Friends. Except I had to work. We sat down and had a talk about how Mommy had to do some work today so while they got to stay home, I HAD. TO. WORK. so they had to behave and be somewhat independent. I might as well have said, "Here kids. This is a book on nuclear fission. I expect you to teach Mommy about it by the end of the day." Wasn't gonna happen. My first glimpse of this was when my coworker called and within the first 30 seconds of the phone call, she got, "GET BACK IN THE LIVING ROOM" yelled in her ear. I tried so hard to pick some projects that would keep them busy and entertained for long enough that I could accomplish one piece of one project, but it was like they got together in secret and took bets on who could get me to take my anxiety medication first.
We managed to get through the day; the twins of course chose to take 2 hours in their rooms to redecorate and NOT sleep during nap time, and at dinner I think I've finally reached a point where I can relax. Which is a load of crap. My job is such that if the weather is bad, I need to be making phone calls and sending emails and checking in on folks to make sure clients and staff are taken care of, classes and teachers are either a go or not and that everyone knows what the plan is, etc. We base that off of what the public schools do, and of course the public schools announced right around dinner, so there went my peaceful dinner. Solo parenting, may I remind you. So, again, picnic in front of the TV while I make my calls, then dinner is over, cleaned up, I'm finishing the last of my calls when the kids start fighting. In between calls I settle them, get back to work because I'm almost done, and here it is. My shining moment. My Magnum Opus. I am on the phone, and J & C start fighting again. I am snapping my fingers at them, giving them looks that could kill, covering the phone, trying to focus on what the person on the other end is saying while trying to keep my kids from killing one another as well. I walk away for a minute to say goodbye and here comes C, running in, smiling a goofy smile with something in her hand and blood running out of her mouth. Oh. My. SERIOUSLY?!?!. Not only has my first baby lost her first tooth *sob*(thank God it was already very loose and ready to come out) but she lost it because she and her brother were wrestling and he knocked it out! We go through cleaning it up, making a big deal, taking her picture and sending it to grandparents, letting her skype with Dad so he can get all excited, talking about the Tooth Fairy (at 5, she's already asking questions that sound like skepticism to me...yikes), she puts it in a pouch that I proceed to lose 3 times this evening before it makes it's way to her pillow. I have visions of the Tooth Fairy tripping over a toy that Santa brought and having to spend a bit too much time with the Sandman in a hospital induced coma. Also, she wakes up and shifts when I walk in there to cover or check on her...when we did that stupid Elf on the Shelf, he hid in her room only twice because she always wakes up. I'm supposed to move her head to grab a little chunk of mouth that fell out (or in her case was punched out) without waking her, THEN put some form of money or reward in place of this stabby mouth fossil? (Don't get me started on the parents that put double digits in their kid's tooth fairy pillows. Jerks ruin it for the rest of us.) Yea, this is going to go well. I have a plan however, like I almost always did with Doodle (the elf) and Santa and any other magical, mystical, secretive creature...oh the lies. It may start with something like, "I thought I heard a noise, so I came to check and I saw something glittery flying in the air..." And yes, I realize this is why I'm Mom of the Year, 2014 and should just quit while I'm ahead.
