Thursdays give me a stomach ache.
Really.
It's late start day in our school district, so you would THINK we could sleep in. But then, you've never met my two youngest children. They sleep at the most inopportune of times, and then wake up at the azz crack of dawn on the days when I am absolutely desperate for just a sliver of rest. Go figure.
So anyway, I wake up at 7am (instead of the much preferred 8:15 I was hoping for) and immediately start turning over the toy box in their room. Over and over and over and over again.
No, really.
Every time they emptied it, I would hear them singing the clean up song together, which was (I have to admit) very cute. However, UNWANTED at 7am. So anyway, they would load the box back up with toys, and then proceed to dump it out all over again. Followed by the clean up song. And so on and so forth. You get the picture.
This went on a mere....oh, I'd say....57 times. How was I able to ignore it the whole time? Well....go have four kids and try to nurture a burgeoning career at the same time. You'll become adept at ignoring noise, too. I guarantee it.
Anyway....so then we all got up, and I spent the next 45 minutes trying to feed four children, all of whom wanted something completely different for breakfast. This ultimately turned into a fight, which somehow ended with my 4 year old throwing himself on the floor saying, "I'm not getting married, because I killed the dragon head!"
How does this relate?
Nobody knows. He's a freak.
Really.
So anyway, I finally slam a box of frozen waffles and a box of cheerios onto the table and growl at them all: "Pick one." Some chose to go hungry. No worries. Lunch was much more successful. Full bellies all around.
So anyway, I took my oldest child, who is in middle school if you can believe it, along with his friend to school while he glowered at me from the backseat because I wouldn't let him choose the music we were going to listen to in the car. This is a very mean mommy card to pull, but so help me, if I am going to be stuck in a friggin' mini van for the bulk of my thursday, I am certainly not going to listen to the Black Eyed Peas on repeat. Okay? Okay. Now that we've got that out of the way...
So then I have to get back home and get my 9 year old daughter ready for school which involves combing her very defiant and "not properly rinsed after last nights shower" HAIR. This turns into a 20 minute long tear fest in which I am accused of ripping my daughters folicals out purely for sport. (Oh no....she's on to me...) And of course, we make the carpool wait for her, yet again. Heaven knows how many times I plead with that child not to make them wait, its rude, don't do it.....but does she listen?
No.
So then I tried to get some writing done while the two youngest watched Tangled. Well, this turned into 2 solid hours of questions about Maximus the horse and what he eats for dinner, and how much does he weigh, and why does Flynn Rider have a mush-mash (facial hair), and why can't we eat downstairs, and when does santa come again, and so on.....
Nothing gets written.
Then it is time for lunch, which, as I've mentioned, is a successful venture. However, shortly after lunch, I have to jet my 4 year old to his preschool where (have I mentioned this before??) ALL of the other moms drop their kids off in clean cars, with fixed hair, and makeup, and cute clothes, etc. They smile kindly at me, mainly because they think we are homeless and there on some sort of a scholarship program, as I (yet again) have driven all the way to the preschool before realizing that I am still in my pajamas.
Woops.
I wish I could say this hasn't happened before. But no. I've done it a few times. Not realized that I have not yet showered or gotten dressed until I was sittng in the Target parking lot. I friggin' hate that. Then, to add insult to injury, I open up the van door (because I am so cool that I drive a mini van. Oh, hell yes.) and empty pop cans and school papers and dolls and toys and abandoned socks and half eaten cookies (which I grab and save. Don't judge me.) all fall onto the pavement.
I am such a loser.
So anyway, I bring child number 4 home for naptime, and his ASD/SPD decides to kick things up a notch, and I spent the next 74 minutes trying to point the fan in his room in the exact correct position in order for him to rest comfortably. Have I mentioned yet there is only a 90 minute window for him to nap before I have to wake him up, to go pick up all the other kids again? Yeah. Oh, and if he doesn't get enough rest, his symptoms get worse and our evening is borderline intolerable.
Really.
So we load back up at 2:30, and my youngest is sobbing and screaming something about Lightening McQueen that I can't understand, and I am about ready to cry, because I am STILL in my pajamas and I need an advil REALLY BAD. And we head off to do the carpool rounds for the next hour. When we get home, I am borderline homicidal because I drove some of my daughters friends home and the noise level in the car was so shrill I am pretty sure my eardrum has officially started to bleed. And my four year old is now sobbing (along with the 2 and a half year old) because I forgot to bring his Darth Vader toy with me when I picked him up, and my eleven year old has decided that I humiliated him by picking him (and his friend) up still in my pajamas, and apparently he won't ever be able to forgive me. Not ever. Never.
We finally arrive at home, and just as the garage door is shutting and I am starting to feel like I am on the home stretch, I hear a blood curdling scream from my daughter, who has spotted the worst curve ball I could have been thrown on my already craptastic day.
The dog got out.
So picture this.......there I am,
three children sobbing on my front yard while my son pouts because I dared exit the minivan in my PAJAMA'S, which yes, I am
still wearing. Nevermind the fact that I am running my fat azz up and down the block to catch HIS dog. It only matters that I am committing social murder, as some of his neighborhood friends choose that exact moment to ride by on their bikes. This would probably be a good time to mention that I took off the dogs collar this morning arouns 5am, so that she wouldn't make noise and wake up the boys......WHO WOKE UP EARLY.
So catching the damn dog is almost impossible. Have I failed to mention that our dog is part lab, part greyhound? No, I'm not kidding. I wish I were. But alas, I'm not, and I chased the dog for about 30 minutes until an unsuspecting neighbor opened their car door and my moronic dog jumped in, ready for a ride.
So..........
By this time, I have officially lost it. I've started crying myself, and told my children that I am shooting the dog in the backyard, in leiu of family time tonight, and that they'd better kiss her furry butt goodbye. I know, probably not my shining moment as a mother, but I have since apologized to both the children and the dog, who is really to stupid to even understand why mommy wanted to package her up and send her to Paraguay. Needless to say, I pack everyone into the house, and give everyone loves and kisses and snacks and we do homework and chores, and it is a relatively uneventful hour or so....
And just when I am feeling like maybe I am not such a bad mom after all. I mean, sure I wore my pajamas all day, and I wouldn't pretend to be a short order cook at breakfast time, and I couldn't figure out how to get my little one to sleep comfortably and now he'll be overtired tonight, and I STILL don't know what in the name of all things holy I am going to cook for dinner.....
But...
I love each of my kids and would lay down my life for them. I combed each of their hair and made sure they all had clean clothes to wear to school, even if I didn't do the same for myself. My childrens tummies were all full (eventually) and they are all growing and learning. I am publishing my first book this summer and showing them all that you can achieve your dreams AND have a family. That's gotta count for something, right??
So I gather them all up and pull them all close to my body for a big, fat group hug. And we're all laughing and joking and squeezing each other and loving each other....
Warm, fuzzy, happy, la la la....
And then...
My nine year old announces, "Mom. Your legs are freakishly hairy."
And......................the moment is gone.
Really.
Thursdays. I freakin' hate them.
Brooke Moss.
