In Other Words, It Snowed On Saturday

Today at crossfit, Coach asked me:  "What was your favorite thing about this weekend?"

I hesitated because I'm often dubious of these types of questions because, you know... what's your angle, here?  How do you plan to use this information against me during the WOD to make me cry?  How many burpees are you going to throw at me for that margarita?

Honestly, given the way my weekend rolled out, I thought it was a trick question.  Because the weekend?  The weekend was rough.  Like Pull-Out-My-Eyelashes-One-by-One rough.  My favorite thing about the weekend?  I dunno... that I survived it?

But you say that, and people think you're joking.  Or being sarcastic.  They don't realize that saying it out loud is just another form of coping and processing what could only be described as a shit show.  And you know what?  We should be celebrating that survival!  Not sitting back as parents and feeling bad that the only thing to brag about the weekend is that everyone made it out alive.

But, we don't.  Because some scars... they're just too fresh.  The wounds too deep to just get over with high fives, a joke, or a glass of wine shot of tequila with your husband.  

And that's why God invented blogging.  

 So, yea.. we're alive and hey!!  For the first time in months my kitchen and living room floors are cleaned.  I mean, I still wouldn't consider eating off them because it's highly likely that the dog has already dragged her butt on them because that's just what she does whenever she sees a clean floor.  But to the naked eye?  LOOKS DAMN GOOD.

And, of course, the only way the cleaning of the floors was able to happen was because Sunday, I put on my Mean Mommy hat, made both girls play downstairs with their toys (the AUDACITY!) and put the dog outside for two hours so that I could properly muck out the barn.  Because, yes... when I dumped that bucket of mop water, I found hay, oats and a substance that's either pre-chewed hot dog in the corner of the kitchen... or turkey poop.

I thank the Lord for that Sunday and my complete and utter worshiping of the clean floors.  Because Saturday?  Saturday was a lesson in getting my ass handed to me by the tiny humans that I feed and clothe and love with all of my heart.  Don't believe that two grown, educated adults can be brought to their knees by 3-footers who don't know how to spell cat, yet?  Here are a couple of examples of the typical asshatish stunts they pulled all day:

1)  Nostalgia Can Go Ahead And Suck It

After purchasing The Little Mermaid soundtrack, I attempted to relive some of my childhood memories and put it in the CD player for some quality Disney time with the girls.  At which point they both started screaming that they couldn't see it.  Because - and this is not their fault - they don't know the difference between a CD and a DVD.  (Side note: I blame myself, but at the same time, I also give myself a high-five that they are so technologically disadvantaged.  They still live in a 3D world and know what grass and dirt feel like. Point Mommy.) I didn't try to explain the difference, but I did lay it out  that this was just songs.  JUST. SONGS. 

And THAT went over like a fart in church. 

When they finally calmed down enough to "understand" that it was just songs, I had to repeatedly stop the CD because they would not stop asking who was singing.
  

"MOMMY!!! Is this the mermaid?"  

"MOMMY!!! Is this the witch?"  

"MOMMY!!! Is this the crab?"

"MOMMY!!! Why are they singing that??" 

"MOMMY!!! Is this the THING THAT'S GOING TO MELT YOUR BRAIN?"

And the answer to that one is: "Yes, okay?  It is!!  It's melting my brain as we speak.  JUST LISTEN TO THE SONGS!!!!"

   

For those of you who are thinking of having kids... seriously, just close your eyes and try to picture how this whole thing went down.  Think about how a 36-year-old woman who will never back down from a fight if she knows she is right... who can, if challenged, walk the ridgepole of a roof a la Anne Shirley... who has jumped off 70-foot cliffs into the ocean into shark infested water because YOLO (before YOLO was a thing).... who once hit 60 mph going down a hill on her road bike (and who, it is increasingly clear, is a bit of a thrill seeker)... who has a successful career and is not cowed by much in her work life... Go ahead and think about what it takes for THAT woman to end  up pulling into the driveway, jumping out of the car and punching the bricks on the house to give her a good reason to scream and cry.  THAT woman is broken for that one moment.  

Her kids were able to accomplish that break in less than 30 minutes.  No one and nothing else has even come close to that feat. But her kids, they drive her bucking fanana's sometimes.  And it's just so hard to love someone so much, but also be incredibly annoyed by them.  It's a disconnect that will drive you absolutely BATTY.

And if you read that and didn't hurry to get yourself some more birth control, it's clear that you, too, are a serious thrill seeker.  And don't mind losing your ever-loving mind. I don't blame you for thinking that it can't be that bad and it's likely more of an outlier, rather than A Day In The Life of every mother, everywhere.  Go ahead and tell yourself that. If I hadn't gone through that bit of madness, I would have no idea how maddening something like that would be.  

After pulling into the driveway with the girls crying because of the Curse of The Disney, Benny had to come out to the car and run interference as The Bird had dropped her fries twice and after I helped her pick them off the wet driveway once and she dropped the whole box AGAIN?  I. Was. Done.  And I needed to hit some more bricks.  This time, with my face.

2)  Shoe Time
The Bean needed new shoes so last week I went to a consignment shop and found two super-cute pairs of size 8 shoes.  I picked size 8 because it seemed about right.  I mean, her toe was literally sticking out of the size 7 I'd had her in all summer.  So, size 8 should work.  Plus, she's only 2... how big can her feet be?  She was pretty excited about the purchase when I brought them home, but I noticed that putting the shoes on was difficult. Of course, try to explain that new shoes might be too small to an opinionated 2-year-old and watch her face melt off.  So, on Saturday, I took both girls to Target and decided we'd just check her sizing there.  When she came back as a size 10.5, I punched myself in the face for being that mom that doesn't track on her youngest child's sizing the way she did with her oldest.  Of course, we needed to purchase her a new pair of shoes right then and there because... I FELT HORRIBLE.  But would The Bird stand for it?  Would The Bird remember that last week, she got two new pairs of shoes that actually fit her so she didn't need another pair of shoes just because The Bean was getting one?  

The short answer is HELL. NO.   The long answer is that I was punching myself in the face for walking into that one like a freakin' rookie.   After which, it's entirely possible that I texted a girlfriend that I was raising a generation of self-entitled a#$holes.  

3) My Daughter, Ladies and Gentlemen

Because Saturday also happened to be Benny's birthday and we were going on a much-needed date, my sis came over to babysit.  After we left, The Bird threw some food on the floor and when she was told to pick it up, she smugly said:  "No... that's what Mommy does."  

EXCUSE ME??  Last week, The Bird was being... well, a 4-year-old... and decided to purposely tilt her pelvis up while peeing on the potty and shoot pee all over the floor.  The bathtub.  And Mommy.   The Bird ended up cleaning up her mess and also ended up with quite the talking to.  And guess who decided to copy her sister 30 seconds later because it seemed like the right thing to do?  Holy geez, I don't have enough toes to stay on all of them all the time.  Something's gotta give here.

Bottom line:  I've had both girls clean up their spills for the last few months. So, I want to know what in the hell THAT comment was all about.  Because there's a serious disconnect and mama's not down with that. 

But did I mention any of this to Coach?  Nope.  Because he was holding his little baby boy and was happy and genuinely wanted to know about the good parts of my weekend.  I could have said that my favorite part of the weekend was 7:30 each night when the kids went to bed, but that seems overly harsh to a somewhat new parent.  And, you know... I tend to complain. A lot.  Even when I'm happy.  I could have mentioned the 25 minutes of clean floors I had before lunch on Sunday.  That made me very happy.  I could have mentioned that I told The Bird that the secret to having super long hair like Rapunzel is that your hair doesn't grow when you suck your thumb... and seriously, that might be the thumb-sucking lie that actually works. 

But instead, I went with: 

"We went to Movie Grille and saw a terrible movie.  But they brought us beer and wine and we had recliners.  It was awesome."

So, all in all?  It was a good weekend.