I ripped this off from a friend’s FB page. A) I NEED IT and my birthday is in 13 days. MAKE IT SO. B) Don’t sue me. Because…something about blood from a stone. K?
I have decided to start a series called: Be Glad I’m Not Your Mom. I considered callng it “Be Glad I’m not You’re Mom” just to make Emily’s head explode, but the thought of someone thinking I don’t know the difference between your and you’re was too much to bear.
(Before I go on, I should note that this post is categorized under Being a Mom, I can’t sleep, and Jenny is a jerk. Wait, do I even need to WRITE the post now? Jonah is still asleep. I should just go back to bed. Ugghhh.)
I get up at 6:30 to help Bobby get the kids ready for school. Many of you get up much, much earlier than this. I could rephrase that to say, “I suck much more than most of you.” Truth be told, I am not that great at being a grown-up. I think I peaked at 18. Yes, the summer after graduation. I could sleep in, I was good at everything, my brain cells had not been plundered by childbirth, etc. etc. And even if I didn’t get the chance to sleep in, I could still SLEEP.
Have I ever mentioned that ? Oh, only 4,000 times in the last seven years? Just making sure.
I don’t sleep well. However, every morning at 6:30 I am having the best sleep of my life when it is time to wake up.
Which makes me the worst early-morning mom EVER. Because A) I don’t know how to program the coffee pot to make coffee the night before and I NEED COFFEE before anyone Hey Mom‘s me. And then there’s B) The kitchen is so small that if I get in Bobby’s way and try to make coffee while he’s getting the kids’ breakfast it causes severe marital problems so I wait for my coffee until he’s done and even then he makes it which is really nice and very good because I am also not real capable of operating the coffee maker until after I’ve had my coffee. PROBLEMATIC.
But while I wait 15 minutes or so for coffee, Joshua and Sophie hey mom me about, hmm, well, I don’t know 700-900 times approximately (each) and I just want to scream STOPTALKINGSTOPTALKINGSTOPTALKING! Especially if what follows the hey mom includes anything about &#!@% POKEMON or TINKERBELL AND THE GREAT FAIRY RESCUE.
No Joshua, I don’t know where (insert unpronounceable Pokemon name here) is. No, I DON’T know why your Pokeball (SERIOUSLY? POKEBALL?!?!) is on Jonah’s table, but I think it MIGHT BE BECAUSE you have a TWO-YEAR-OLD BROTHER AND YOU LEAVE YOUR CRAP WHERE HE CAN GET IT.
Dear Sophie, I cannot listen to you recount the scene where Tink makes Lizzie fly (the one I’ve seen 683 times, BEE TEE DUBS) because you are supposed to be putting on your pants and when you TALK FOR 10 MINUTES while putting on your pants IT TAKES YOU 10 MINUTES TO PUT ON YOUR PANTS!!!!!!!!!! So shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!
(Perhaps even worse than the talking is the pre-coffee hand-eye coordination required to do Sophie’s hair. No. Never mind. That’s actually not worse. The talking is worse.)
If I’m lucky I get a few sips of coffee in before I have to get all drill-sergeant on Sophie and regiment her every single step in order to get her out the door on time. Girl. Needs. Direction.
If Joshua is lucky, I get a few sips of coffee in before he gets his OCD on and asks me if I’ve signed his agenda which he brings home every night, which he watched me sign the day before. He still has to ask me every. single. morning. even though I breathe fire at him for nagging me and asking a question he already knows the answer to every. single. morning. Because, I LOVE TO BE NAGGED, especially BEFORE I’VE HAD MY COFFEE.
When 7:20 comes and they’re out the door, I’m typically warming up my partially-drunk, lukewarm cup and praying that I actually get an entire mug into my belly before Jonah wakes up. Because I’m trying to not psychologically damage him until he’s at least five years old. (One out three ain’t bad, right? Oh wait…)
My poor children. I’m all they’ve got. Aren’t you glad I’m not YOUR mom?
Are you Susie Sunshine in the morning (if so, I just hissed at you) or Moody Martha? I think I’m more of a Evil Emily.