The bedtime routine is bullshit.

Let me start this off by saying as I am writing this, my 2yo is upstairs banging on his bedroom door. He was put to bed at least an hour ago. Yes we lock their doors, and if you don’t what the fuck are you even doing? If we didn’t lock their doors at night we would never get any sleep.

I know every parent ever could back me up on this- the nighttime routine sucks. I feel like it is easier to take care of these monsters all day than it is to put them to bed at night. The second you start even thinking about calling it they start the negotiations. The 2yo will tell you “it’s not fair.” Ok first of all you little tyrant- no it isn’t. But I’m bigger than you and would like to feel like I am actually the boss for once so GET YOUR BUTT UPSTAIRS NOW!

I hear him calling my name in that pitiful little voice they use to fuck with you. I will remain strong!

I could run the Boston Marathon faster than I can get these kids asleep. And I don’t even run unless I’m being chased. And even then I weigh my options. The bedtime routine doesn’t end when you finally get them in bed and go flop on the couch to veg out- oh no my precious. That’s only the first half. Now the second half begins, where you wait with anxiety to see how long it takes for them to start banging on doors, or figuring out how to unlock theirs and come downstairs (seriously you little shits- you can pick a lock but you can’t remember to wash your hands after you poop? FFS.)

How do kids never sleep and then never run out of energy? This has to be a genetic mutation. In the words of Samuel L Jackson- JUST GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP!

Fucking Mom Guilt.

Mom guilt is strong right now, guys. I just realized today how bad it’s affecting me. Like we all have mom guilt, but this is ridiculous. I’ve spent the last three months with the kids 24/7, and the Stockholm is so bad I feel anxious about being away from there. There was discussion with a friend about a girls trip for a long weekend- like we haven’t even fucking discussed a date yet and I already feel panicky at the thought of being without them! Is this how a host feels at the prospect of losing it’s parasite? It’s bullshit, is what it is.

I had two days this week where I was working my full time job all day one day, and my business all day the next day. I ended up standing in my office window crying to my husband on the phone about how I felt guilty that my new business was taking me away from the kids. I felt so selfish- like no one made me start my own business. That was all me. It’s not the kid’s fault that I’m busy with multiple things that take me away from hanging out with them. Anyone driving by that window probably thought I was a psychopath.

When did it not become ok for moms to want something for themselves? I have blogged about this before- we can’t show up for our kids unless we show up for ourselves, too. I asked Biggie later that day if he understood why I started my own business. He said “so we can have money to do more fun things,” because he knows I’m saving for a family vacation next year. I told him I’m also doing this for me, because I need something for myself.

I have big dreams for my business. For the things it can let us achieve as a family, but mostly what it can let me achieve for myself. I want to start a Podcast, I want to see this blog keep growing like it has. I want to be a successful entrepreneur. I think Biggie gets it, because he wanted me to get him some of the kid’s products and offered to pay for it out of his piggy bank. I need to dwell on that fact, and realize he is watching and is supporting me in his own little way. It means more to me than he realizes.

And I’m going to take that girls trip. Even if I cry when I leave the boys. Because I need to take care of me to take care of them. What will I do without anyone crawling up my vagina and calling my name a billion times? Not being a snack bitch for a day?! The possibilities are endless!

Supermom.

Yes, crotch goblins, Mommy does have super powers.

I can tell by the sounds of your playing that you’re doing something you aren’t supposed to. I can smell dissent and don’t even try to tell me you weren’t guilty. You are always guilty of something, let’s be serious. I can smell bullshit, don’t try me.

I have the power of sarcasm, which thank the gods you don’t understand yet. It’s what let’s Dading and I survive you creatures. I don’t know what we will do when you start getting it. Probably check ourselves into a mental institution.

I can tell by the looks on your faces that you’re lying to me. Or that you don’t like something even when you say you do. I can see when you’re uncomfortable or nervous (I obviously mean Biggie- Smalls could give a shit and has no sense of self preservation or fear. I’m considering getting him rabies tested because he’s as feral as Spot from The Good Dinosaur).

Here’s what I don’t have, despite you both thinking the opposite:

I do not have the ability to gain you re-entry into my vagina. As much as you both try, you aren’t getting in and even if you could I would absolutely not let you. So back the fuck up off me and give me some room!

Even though I can hear everything you do, I do not have the ability (nay, the desire) to apparate every time you decide you need something. For example, I was just in the bathroom, TOLD Biggie I was going in there, and I still heard him ask if I could put something else on Netflix while I was in there. Toddlers and small children have some genetic mutation where they think if they speak, you will appear. That only works when you’re doing shit you shouldn’t (please refer back to the beginning of this blog post).

I don’t have the ability to stop sleeping. I know, I know, this is a tough one for you guys. Because when you wake up your little brains think we should wake up too. And if we lock your doors at night to keep you fuckers on lockdown, (seriously if you don’t do this I cannot recommend it enough) you think yelling for us until I drop in on your Alexa and unhinge my jaw is the answer. I know you don’t understand cause and effect yet, but if you don’t let us sleep we don’t have the energy to play with you all day. Crazzzyyy, right? Who would have thought. I saw something on the Internet that said “children emulate what they see, which is bullshit because they see me sleep and they do not sleep.” You think Mommy and Daddy turn into zero fun assholes when we’re tired? Check the mirror, savages. Pot calling the kettle.

I know you both think my life will be endangered if I sit down. That’s the only explanation I can come up with for why you never let me do it. Small children must also have a scent gland or something that sends an alarm to their brain “parents are trying to relax- MUTINY!” You have actually conditioned me to pace the house instead of sitting and this is some Pavlov’s dog shit that I am not ok with. Patients are not supposed to run the asylum.

I would try and set some groud rules but after 2 months of quarantine no one listens to a goddamn thing I say, so why bother. “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.” Don’t worry Batman, these kids will never let me survive that long.

Biggie needs the Coco Movie.

My 5 year old is obsessed with death. I had to be assured multiple times by my therapist that this was a developmental normal. He does not grasp the full concept of death, but knows when that penguin gets eaten by the leopard seal on the Netflix documentary, he ain’t coming back.

We have no reference point for what is normal for this age. Biggie will forever be our guinea pig. Everything is a first time with him. And he is too young for a real talk about what death means. Maybe when he’s 30 or something.

We put off watching Coco because we knew it was about death. But fuck it, maybe it would be good for him now. Is anyone else dealing with this? It’s still so strange to hear him say something “got dead,” or asking me what his betta fish looked like when it died.

This developmental age also comes with a side of lying like a little fuck, and giving me major fucking attitude I swear to god little human that I love so much- you’re pushing it. I’m being tested. Am I passing? Who knows?

Can we social distance from our kids?

Holy fuck these kids are feral, y’all. The only time they are quiet is when they are sleeping- AFTER the bedtime routine which takes 3-5 business days and the last shreds of my sanity. Every other waking second of the day they are screaming like Olaf in Frozen 2 and someone please send me a Samantha because I cannot deal. Oh and here’s a fun little fact- our house has an echo (thank you lovely high ceilings). So imagine Olaf with a megaphone- no, more screaming. Yeah, like that. The dog is so over it he had to go to the vet because he’s on a hunger strike and having stomach issues. Yeah, me to bitch. But without the hunger strike I’m working on that COVID 19.

It’s a complete shit show here, guys. I let them play in a freaking dirty rain puddle today because that is the level of IDGAF we have reached at this point. I swear my neighbors can hear us at their house. (I actually asked them, but they can’t hear shit over the screaming going on at their own house.)

My children are ignoring the social distancing recommendations. Olympic Gold Medal ignoring- they are so far up my vagina I’m going to give birth to them again when this is all over. This time I want 12 weeks maternity leave to Fiji- alone.

I may start faking symptoms so I can quarantine myself in my room. If I get a mini fridge I would never have to leave. Actually not a bad idea…..

When quarantine gets ugly.

Today was it, guys. Actually, it started last night. Smalls kept crying in the middle of the night. After the second time I put him in bed with us. Which means I spent the rest of the night and next morning with him perpendicular to me in bed with his hard ass head wedged in my boobs. Lovely.

Biggie came in after daylight because he had an accident. He changed and got into bed with me. Dading had already left for work (I’m working from home, he’s working every other day at the office). When we finally get up Smalls has wet OUR bed. So now I’m washing sheets like we’ve got a headlice epidemic. The dog puked on my new rug. Maybe the kids are making him sick. I can relate.

Cue the usual sibling fighting, Smalls fighting me to go poop on the potty, and then the straw that breaks this mama’s back- Biggie LIED to me.

He tells me his brother got into my pens and is writing on my work boxes. I go upstairs to see toddler scribbles, along with the first two letters of Biggie’s name. If you’re going to lie to me, you little shit, at least cover it up better and don’t tag your graffiti with your own name.

They got sent to their rooms, Biggie lost his shit. Like if anyone is entitled to lose their shit around here it’s me, tyvm. I called Dading crying that I had had enough and needed him to come home.

So yeah. I’m tired y’all. I’m frustrated with kids acting out even when I understand their reasons and wish I could extinguish their boredom. I’m tired of the fighting and the ear shattering screaming that never stops. I’m tired of someone needing something from me every goddamn minute of every day. Did I mention I was tired?

Check on your friends with small children. We may not be doing virtual school, but we are in the toddler trenches and it’s getting ugly down here.

Potty Training, or the case of the second child who is allergic to it.

Biggie was 90% potty trained when we got pregnant with Smalls, at the distinguished age of 2. That kid took to potty training like a pig to mud. Pooping on the potty was his speciality, and he was an over achiever. By the time Smalls was born Biggie had just turned 3 and was totally out of diapers. You jealous? Calm down. Because this isn’t a story with a happy ending.

Smalls never had much interest in the potty. His Tinder profile would read “likes to scream, ignore authority, and loves to shit his pants.” You just finally got around to making your own lunch? Guess what, that foul odor ain’t the trash. You just FINALLY got to sit down on the couch? Guess who shit themselves again. It is making me murdery. And he always tells you he didn’t poop himself. Like the green cloud circling him isn’t a dead giveaway.

You tell him it’s time to go potty and he wants to bring a suitcase full of toys with him. “I bring my monster truck?” Do you want Mommy to have a nervous breakdown?! Get your smelly ass in here, tiny demon with half my genes. Then you put him on the potty and he cries. Like I’m sorry YOU don’t want to be in here? I’m the one who has to wipe you. Cry me a river. Did you really just ask me to wear undies after all this? Wash your hands and get lost.

So Dading taught him to stand up and pee. He likes that, no surprise. He sees his older brother do it, and everything he does it cool so why not. Then he just took it to another level by using candy bribes. You thought this was a game?! And lo and behold, he is on rare occasions pooping in the toilet. And more frequently still blowing out his Pull-Ups.

Why are second children so difficult?! Send wine.

Daylight savings: a war crime.

What genius thought “you know what, parents out there are tired as fuck and already hanging on by a thread. You know what would be great? If we fucked with their clocks.”

Whoever invented daylight savings should be considered a war criminal. I am so fucked up today, have no idea what time it is, and feel like I’ve been hit by a train. Smalls wouldn’t nap, and by dinner time Biggie looked like he’d been on a 3 day bender. They ran around screaming at the top of their lungs today and literally drove me fucking crazy. “Stop screaming” I screamed from the shower as I realized how insane this entire scenario was. No lie, it wasn’t until dinner that I realized no one even had lunch. And I only noticed because they were eating like rabid monkeys, which obviously was super suspicious.

Why? Just why? So it can be bright as fuck when the kids go to bed? So they have more time to play outside before it gets dark? No parent has the energy for MORE playtime at the end of the day. I consider this an act of terrorism.

I know you aren’t supposed to negotiate with terrorists, but I would literally beg and plead and I have no shame. I’m too tired for an emotion like that.

Kids and germs: nature’s PB&J

Unless you live under a rock, corona virus is dominating my Twitter feed. I’m not going to lie- I was getting nervous. I have an asthmatic kid who has put us through the ringer for emergency hospital visits, and things like this usually mean he is more susceptible to getting the funk.

I am not going so far as to stockpile toilet paper, and I certainly wouldn’t waste a bottle of Tito’s if I was a drinker on homemade sanitizer, but I am peeved my Trader Joe’s is out of their very nice hand sanitizer bottles at the register. But let’s talk about the real elephant in the room- kids and germs.

Every time there is some funk going around, the answer everyone spouts is “just wash your hands. Keep your hands away from your face. Cover your mouth when you sneeze.” You just described everything every kid under 8 is allergic to. Biggie spends 90% of his day with his fingers in his mouth, and Smalls takes to goat chewing his clothing like a mom to Target.

Why can’t the CDC ever say things like “if you eat ketchup like crack cocaine and you hate vegetables you have zero chance of contracting this germ” Seriously someone do a study, being 75% ketchup has to ward off something.

It isn’t as simple as just “wash your hands.” If there is a germ within 10 feet of a kid they do everything humanly possible to get at it. And if I had a dollar for every time one of these fuckers sneezed in my face I could finally be that stay at home trophy wife I dream of. Parents are probably more likely to get this stupid virus because our bodies are devastated under the crippling exhaustion of these damn kids.

So yeah, I am concerned about this virus. I did read on the CDC website that kids aren’t more likely to get it, and the symptoms tend to be more mild than adults. And yes, I am hand sanitizing these fuckers left and right. And threatening them in the ass puckering mom tone when I see a hand go in a mouth. I think corona virus is just another way for the universe to try and fuck us parents. I call bullshit.

And now I’m going to go wash my hands, just in case.

What my kids have taught me.

Having kids teaches you a lot about yourself, both good and bad. You see the world through kid colored glasses. Here’s some things my little monkeys have taught me:

Always drive through the rain puddles at turbo speed.

Always enjoy how pretty the sunrises are.

Give someone a hug when they are sad.

Take time to notice something nice about a stranger, and don’t be afraid to tell them.

Bees are so nice because they give us honey.

Take the time to give the puppy belly scratches.

How to be brave.

That there is, in fact, a limit to the amount of questions I can answer before I lose my shit.

To be more accepting of other people, as we try to teach acceptance to them.

That mom friends are necessary for survival.

To sing at top volume, even if you can’t carry a tune in a bucket.

That I yell so much more than I ever wanted to or thought I would.

How to teach boys to potty train. ( I seriously will never get enough credit for this).

What pure, unadulterated pride feels like.

That you can carry 9.5 and 10 pound babies for 9 months in your body and not die, even though you want to and feel like you’re going to.

That peeing when you sneeze is a very real thing now.

They have taught me to push to be the best version of myself, so I can be the best Mama for them. I can’t wait until they are old enough for me to hold all these things over their heads.