What Was I Thinking?

My 7yo daughter is at that stage where she needs to be constantly busy and entertained, surely a side effect from when she was a baby and we didn’t put her down for the first six months of her life. Hashtag first kid problems. So the weekends bring a fresh level of what-am-I-going-to-do-with-these-kids-hell. And that’s where our story begins.

We loaded up into the car to drive to the craft store so they could pick out a craft that would hopefully keep them quiet and occupied while I was free to do mom stuff. They oohed and aahed up and down every aisle. When my daughter saw the pom pom kitties, she was done. She squealed, grabbed the box, and that was that. I didn’t even look at what it was, other than it had things to glue to make a cat, or so I thought! She was ecstatic so I blindly agreed. Such a rookie mom move.

 

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Make Your Own Cute Cats At Your Own Risk

 

With one child being super happy, of course the other child had to be super unhappy because that’s how kids roll. My 5yo daughter was moping because she couldn’t find the mermaid craft she had seen on a previous trip. Against my better judgment and to cheer her up, I convinced her to get a clay set to make her own charms. Something told me I was going to regret these decisions, but at the same time, they were happy so I felt like things were going to be okay.

Checking out, the cashier said there was a free slime project in the craft room if the girls wanted to participate. Of course they wanted to, so I agreed, feeling like the world’s best mom because I not only let them get a craft, but now they were allowed to make the most dreaded thing in the world: slime!

 

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Slime Heaven!

 

As we drove home, they held onto their projects, anxious to get started while I happy danced on the inside like, “You’re such an awesome mom. Look at you getting crafty, being all nice and shit.” But then we got home and I opened the pom pom kitty box and it was like, “Uh oh. WTF did I get myself into?”

There were bundles of yarn with some plastic thingymajigs, pipe cleaners, plastic eyes, a comb, and a tiny bottle of glue. Where the hell were the cat heads and bodies? I have to what? Make them? Out of yarn? But first I have to do math to figure out how much yarn I need? With a child next to me whining/pleading/asking when her cat will be ready? Oh hell no!

Let’s just say my mood went from birds chirping in the sunshine to storm clouds gathering. I cursed myself over the next 2 1/2 hours. I think an hour of that was just figuring out the math. I wanted to give up, throw the yarn across the table, and stomp out of the house, but we kept going. I worked through an injury sustained while “grooming” the cat, and even paused production to watch a youtube video for additional help.

 

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When you (also) realize someone is documenting your descent into madness

 

Slowly, the pom pom kitty came together, through my frustration, irritation, and grumbling. After only 2 hours and 22 minutes, we finally made it to the part where my daughter could help (8 years old and up, my ass! More like 28 years old and up!). She glued on the details, gave her cat a collar, and voila, Fluff Ball was born. The look on my daughter’s face at our creation and her newest companion was priceless.

While I felt like a failure in the process, realizing I’m no Martha Stewart, I learned that the cat didn’t have to be perfect because my daughter would love it no matter if its head was bigger than its body, or its eyes were wonky, or the feet were jacked up, but that she would love it because we made it together.

 

ev cat

One Happy Customer

In conclusion, my review of the pom pom kitty project is 0 out of 5, do not recommend, at least for those who are not great at math and measuring and patience-having, but if you ask my daughter, she gives it a 5 out of 5 and wants to make 1,000 more.

 

 

 

 

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Eff This!

It’s all too much!

This motherhood and parenting thing is for the birds! And not even, cause as soon as baby birds learn how to fly they’re gone, kicked out of the nest to take care of themselves, unlike my babies who won’t be self-sufficient for at least 20 more years and then there’s no guarantee that they’ll leave. (Kill me now!)

My nest won’t be empty for a looooonnnggg time and it gives me hives just thinking about how much longer I have to do all of this. And don’t you dare tell me this is the easy part. I will go ballistic on your ass!

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How was my own mother SAD when she became an empty-nester? Her AOL account name was PJMTNEST when I went off to college. Mine would have been YAFREAKINGHOOTHOSEASSHOLESAREGONE@aol.com I’m going to throw a raging party when they’re both in college, hell, I might do it when they both start elementary school.

I can’t wait until the day I have my house back to myself and it’s quiet and I can sit and listen to the birds chirp and eat a meal without someone poking me or asking me “why” 5 million times a day or screaming at me because she wants a bowl of Cheerios to dump all over the floor. I realize it’s 30 years away, that’s why I’m so freaking pissed off!

If you can’t tell, I’ve been really overwhelmed with this stay-at-home-mom business lately. It feels like it’s too much 99% of the time.

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When you wake up and fantasize about going to work just to get away from your kids, then it might be time to make a change. So then I start thinking about getting a job and how great it would be to feel validated and like I’m actually doing something and then the other side, the mom side, throws her 2 cents in and says, “But you’ll miss so much. They’re only this age for a short period of time. Do you really want someone else raising your kids?” When they’re both screaming at me and fighting over toys and pulling hair and screaming louder the answer is YES! I DON’T CARE WHAT I’LL MISS AND THEY MIGHT NOT LIVE MUCH LONGER IF THEY’RE IN MY CARE ANYWAY SO BETTER TO LET SOMEONE ELSE DEAL WITH THEM!

I wish I was one of those laid-back moms who lets everything wash over her as if she didn’t have a care in the world. How do you not care that your house is a goddamn disaster, your kids won’t listen to you, there is yogurt crusted onto your dining table (at least you hope it’s yogurt), you have more dirty dishes and piles of laundry than you can count, the dogs are barking at the wind, and someone smells like shit. She’s the mom who tells me that it’ll get better with time, much like my own mother. But no, I’m a crazy basket-case mom because I deal with two little mini-me terrorists all day, every day. It’s exhausting and I think I’ve hit my limit. Besides, my mom told me months ago that it was going to get easier and I’m pretty damn sure that it hasn’t.

So if you never hear from me again it’s because I got out and got an effing job!

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