I have a relatively extensive collection of Pinterest boards: multiple recipe boards (regular recipes, appetizers and breads, soups and stews, desserts, crockpot recipes, cocktails), a homeschooling board and a general “Kids’ Stuff” board, a home décor board, a regular fashion board and a theatrical costume reference board, stuff that makes me laugh, stuff that makes me go “Awwwwww,” stuff that’s just cool, etc., etc.
But I also have one board that is simply called, “This Is My Life.” There are a few quotes and memes that describe me because I’m a bibliophile, and a seamstress, and an introvert, but by far, the largest number of pins are references to the way my life is because I am a parent. So for those of you who have never checked out my Pinterest boards, here is my life as a parent, told entirely in Pinterest memes.
First off, we have the whole “sleep” collection:
I’m always on alert, just in case the kids start screaming. Or burning the house down. Or something.
I often spend my entire day fantasizing about bedtime. Sometimes theirs, but mostly mine.
My amazing husband has a remarkable ability to know when I really, REALLY need to sleep in, and he gets up and feeds the kids. I don’t think I am capable of loving him more than I do on those mornings. Especially when he not only feeds the kids, but sends one of them up with my morning coffee. Best. Husband. EVER.
There was a time when I went to bed at 11pm and woke up at 7am. I’m sure there was. These days, it’s more like doze off at 3pm, force myself to wake up and finish up the day, almost fall asleep again around 8pm, then become totally wide awake until 1am, then wake up again at 3:30am, and then one more time at about 5:30am.
My tired times never seem to coordinate with the times I am free to go to bed, and my wakeful times never seem to correspond to the wakeful hours of the rest of the world.
And the reason is that my brain is dwelling on all the parenting mistakes I made during the day. And they are legion.
And then we have the lifestyle changes that come with having small children. I used to wash my hair every day. I used to brush my teeth every day. I used to wear makeup every day. I used to wear a bra every day. No more. I am usually so busy making sure that my children look presentable (clothing all right-side-out and facing front, two matching shoes on the correct feet, hair not sticking in 27 different directions) that I forget to check myself.
Because this is usually my “style”:
Pretty much every day is a hot mess day in my world. But you know, I’m okay with that.
Because who doesn’t want to wear messy hair and sweatpants every day?
The chores and the housework have become a different animal since I had children. I had all kinds of dreams about my children doing chores that would make my life easier, but somehow I turned into an Oompa Loompa instead.
I feel like I’m always doing laundry. And it always involves socks. And they never come out in pairs.
Chores are completely different when you have kids. It’s like doing a high dive with a 27.8 degree of difficulty.
Luckily, I’ve realized that some things are more important than a clean house.
A clean house pales in comparison to the duty to try and make sure that my kids don’t bring on the Apocalypse.
It only sounds like the Apocalypse. But it’s usually not. Usually.
I’m even impressed at the creativity of their misbehavior, at times.
They don’t mean to embarrass me, and yet sometimes they do. I can’t wait until the tables are turned. There’s a LOT of payback to happen here.
Seriously, there’s a reason we refer to our children as “DestructoBoy” and “DestructoGirl”.
Because of this insanity, sometimes I can’t even believe the things that come out of my mouth. And the things that don’t.
The energy level is unbelievable. I thought they’d grow out of it at 3. But at 4 and nearly 6, they’re still manic, topless blenders.
I try to find the balance between stopping them from risking their lives and stopping them from having any fun, but it’s not easy.
There are days when I pray that they’ll JUST. SHUT. UP. For 5 minutes. That’s all I ask, some days. Five minutes of peace and quiet. (I rarely get it, at least not when they’re awake.)
Some days I feel like I’ve completely lost my mind and I’ll never get it back.
I’ve come to accept my own crazy, though.
I’m even proud of my crazy, at times.
I realize that I only have myself to blame.
Although I do occasionally dream of a more perfect life, and a more perfect me.
But I know I’ll get through the imperfect reality. Because I have help. Sometimes from caffeine and alcohol…
…and sometimes from my husband. I could never do it without my husband. I’d like to kill him some days (and I have no doubt he feels the same way about me on a regular basis), but when it comes right down to it, I wouldn’t want to do this without him.
And I couldn’t be prouder that we produced a mini-him together.
Yeah, when it comes right down to it? I wouldn’t change a thing.