My Mommy Meltdowns

This week has been rough. My kids made me cry. Twice. I'm not exactly sure what drove me to this point, but I do know this . . . typically I can brush the sometimes crazy days off and start each new day with a smile. I figure if I can get to 12:30 PM, any given day, without dropping the f-bomb under my breath it's a good day. That wasn't the case this past week.  I'm going to chalk it up as a default considering one day, or actually one night, started when my oldest decided to get up at 11:30 PM and went the entire following day without napping. I tried my best to ignore the very loud singing that went on for four hours straight that night, but after several reminders that everyone else was sleeping and she needed to be quiet and go back to bed, it just wasn't happening and I gave up. The very next night my youngest started her day at 2:30 AM, and just kept going and going like the Energizer Bunny on some sort of speed. I wanted to run away. I had visions of someplace tropical, but would have settled for an hour to myself to indulge in a very strong Belvedere martini . . . extra dirty. I can totally understand how some stay at home moms turn into stay at home alcoholics. (This is coming from someone who rarely drinks.)

The lack of sleep, temper tantrums and constant arguments over toys was really taking its toll on not only them, but myself as well. One morning I decided to do something kind of silly to see if I could sway our moods in a different direction. It wasn't really silly, it was dumb. Well, I thought it was silly, my kids thought it was dumb. I had a stray helium balloon that I decided to pop and suck some of the helium out of. As I entered the room trying to contain my high pitched, helium laughter, I said "Hey Kids, look at me! I'm your Motha!" (As you can tell, I was clearly starting to lose my marbles.) Kid one screamed at the top of her lungs and yelled "What are you? You're not my mother!!" Kid two gave me the dirtiest look I've ever seen a child give, then turned around and walked away. My attempt at some early morning humor failed.

Later that day my oldest peed on our $2000 couch. Yeah, that pretty much sums up that day. Well, with the exception of bickering over every single toy in our house. The snatching toys . . . I can't take it. It happens all. The. Time. My three year old gets my count to three tactic. It works like a charm. "If you don't give that back I'm going to have to count to three."  I get half way through one and it's pretty much the equivalent of Chinese water torture in her eyes. "NOOO! Don't count to three, I'll give it back!!" My youngest on the other hand thrives on me counting to three. The look she gives as I start to count is similar to the look that a child petting their brand new puppy for the very first time would have. Pure excitement. "Yeah, do it! Count to three. Do it. Do it." It's pretty awful. Let's just say she's going through a testy phase.

Today, my "testy" one made her way up onto the kitchen counter and into a shopping bag that had chocolate cupcakes with orange frosting in it. This happened during the 47 seconds that I was in the bathroom. By the time I cleaned the chocolate off of her hands and face, it dawned on me that I too was now covered in chocolate and had little time to change my clothes. (If you read my past blogs, you may remember my oldest freaks out about stains on her shirt. Yeah, she must get that from me.) Despite my looking like I just took a float down Willie Wonka's chocolate river, I did not have time to change. I had five minutes to get to preschool to pick up my oldest. Plus, I wanted to prove a point to her . . . it's okay to get dirty. Thank god for curb side pick-up, or people may have thought I was home stuffing my face with chocolate cupcakes all morning.

On a good note, my youngest is turning two in a month. That explains some of the testy behavior. On that same day, I’ll be turning 37. My oldest reminded me of that this morning. She said "Mommy, you look so good!" I took this as a compliment, then she said, "For a big, old 24 year old. You have a birthday coming up soon too . . . 47, right?" To add insult to injury, I actually did have to count on my fingers to figure out how old I was going to be. The day I turn 47, I mean 37, is the day I'm treating myself to that martini! Cheers to testy behaviors, terrible twos, good health, and everything in between!

Have you had a mommy meltdown recently? I would love to hear about it, please share!

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