“Perfect Parents Exist They Just Don’t Have Kids Yet”

I saw this quote on Facebook today and it really hit home. 

“Perfect Parents Exist They Just Don’t Have Kids Yet”

Lawd ain’t that the truth.  I had this whole parenting thing completely figured out before I had kids. It was going to be a joyous experience.  I was going to parent using the perfect blend of love and discipline.  No yelling, spanking or cussing necessary – I mean, why give birth to these little angels if you’re just going to yell at them all the time?  I was going to stay at home and raise them because I couldn’t bear to imagine pulling myself away from my imaginary children for one little second.  And why have kids if you’re just going to hand them off to someone else to raise?  Who does that?  Well, apparently people who need money and like to eat and not live on the streets.  Those people.  My future children were going to have a routine and we were going to stick with it every day because routines are good for kids - my Parenting for Dummies handbook said so.  I memorized that book and read every parenting book and magazine I could get my hands on because it was bible.  I high-lighted, took notes, cross-referenced information – I was ready.  Bring on the babies!

Fast forward 14 years and 4 kids later to yesterday.  

My day started out unusually smooth.  The 3 boys were dressed, teeth brushed, breakfast eaten, and we were actually a few minutes early picking up #2’s friend who I had to drop off for Middle School Camp.  We no sooner drop off #2 & his friend and #4 has his first meltdown of the day.  He could not and would not understand why a 4-year-old couldn’t go to Middle School Camp.  He screamed and kicked and threw a fit the whole way to Summer Camp.  (Remember that stay at home mom thing I planned?  Well, didn’t happen.  This is where I drop my angels every day so I can work full-time.) 

We arrive at Summer Camp.  As I’m dragging the fit throwing 4-year-old who is acting like a 2-year-old from my van, #3 keeps saying, “Why does my swim back look different?  Why Mom?  Why does it look different?” to which I snap, “It’s not different – it’s the same red bag you’ve used every single day this summer for camp.  What do you mean it’s different?”  He points to it and says, “Look at it.  It’s different.”  I stop.  Look at the bag.  Sure as shit it’s a different red bag.  Son of a biscuit making mother trucker.  I open the bag.  Good news: it has a beach towel in it.  Bad news: no swim suit.  Also bad news:  summer camp is an hour round-trip in the opposite direction of where I work.  But it’s okay.  It’s fine.  I’m sure today is field trip day, not swim day.  Riggghhht.  Counselors confirm it is in fact swim day.  I tell #3 I will get his swim suit and bring it back.  I pry #4 off a pole he’s clinging to and carry him surfboard style kicking to his room.  (Remember how I didn’t want to pull myself away from my kids to go to work?  Yeah, I couldn’t get out of that room fast enough.)

I run out the door and jump in my van to begin my hour-long swim suit recovery trip when a light bulb goes off.  Well, actually it was a huge lit up red K to be exact.  I run in to Kmart, find an ugly ass but clearance priced #3 sized pair of swim trunks, throw my $7.48 at the cashier, snatch up her sharpie, write his name on his drawers and 3 minutes later I’m chucking those trunks through the door at Summer Camp and off to work I go. 

Work.  Ahhhh work.  It’s the only calm, sane part of my day.  It’s my refuge from my chaotic home life. It’s my break from the madness I created within the four walls of my home.  Many days it’s the only adult interaction I get.  I love work.

But alas, 8 hours later, it comes to an end and the real work begins again.

Back to Summer Camp. I arrive and head to the trampoline park to pick up #3.  I tell him to get his shoes so we can get #4 and go.  He can’t find his shoes.  He says they’re in the duck pin bowling area.  We trek over to the bowling alley and after searching under every bench and table we find them under the last one.  As he’s putting his shoes on, I ask him if he had fun bowling today.  He says, “Our group didn’t get to bowl.”  Ummm, okay, then why are your shoes in the bowling alley?  He has no idea.  Why would he?  I don’t even care at this point because we have his shoes and 674 more things to do.  Off to pick up the infamous incorrect red bag.  I look in the bin, it’s not there.  I ask him where it is.  He says he doesn’t know.  We walk all the way back to the trampoline park and ask some counselors.  One doesn’t know.  One says she thinks it’s in the gymnastics room.  Another counselor agrees.  Great, it’s on the other side of the building.  Before I turn to go, yet another counselor says, “Wait, did he just pull a red bag from that locker?”  Sure enough, #3 found his bag.  Kind of scary that he’s got his shit together more than the counselors but again, don’t care at this point because we have a bag. 

We finally head over to get #4.  He’s ironically playing with Lincoln logs and is in the beginning stages of a massive tower.  Because I did not sit down and wait 30 minutes for him to finish said tower, we got the wrath of 4 the whole way home…and the entire night if we’re being honest.  The kid was relentless with his screaming.  It went on through cooking dinner, eating dinner, cleaning up
dinner...off and on through the hour long football carpool trip…through his bath and into bed.  Still screaming.  HOURS of screaming.  By this point, my head is pounding.  I can’t get the kid to bed soon enough. 

Remember that cute little routine thing I planned out in my heavenly pre-parenting days?  Yeah, not so much.  I try.  I do.  I give them baths, brush their teeth, read them a book or 12 every night.  But then it’s supposed to be bedtime.  Ohhhh but not for my precious little love nugget #4.  The minute the door closes it begins.  He asks for another hug, needs to get up for a drink, needs me to tuck him in again, asks how many more sleeps until he gets to go to grandmas, gets up to pee, needs tucked in again, forgets to tell me that he farted in the pool that day, needs to poop, needs me to wipe his butt, needs me to tuck him back in for the 4^th time, calls me in to tell me his pajamas itch and his blanket smells like ham…

I. Can’t. Deal. Any. More.

Blame it on the full moon, blame it on the husband being gone for over a week, blame my lack of alcohol consumption, blame it on the HOURS of screaming I had to endure…blame it on what you will, but my patience was SHOT.  I had enough.  My thin little thread snapped.  Momma lost her shit.  Obviously I’m not proud of said shit being lost but it happened.  My house sounded like an episode of Jerry Springer live.  I screamed so loud I thought my head would explode.  It didn't - but I kind of wanted it to.  Did it help acting like a raging lunatic?  Yes and no.  After his crying switched over from I'm being an asshole and crying for no reason to an I'm terrified of my psycho ass mother whimper he finally fell asleep. Did it make me feel better?  The part where he fell asleep - hells yes. But the rest?  Absolutely not. I felt like a horrible human and an even worse mother.  I was nothing
like the mom I had planned to become before I had my litter of children.  I was beating myself up over this pretty hard when I started thinking about allll the times I didn’t flip the f out when I most certainly had probable cause but kept my cool. These moments by far outweigh the crazy ones so that’s a parenting win in my book. And the good news is...heeeee’s baaaaack!  The hubs is back - finally!  So I can put the crazy away for another nerves-are-shot kind of day and maybe learn to like my kids again. 

I will end this with a ginormous shout out to all the single parents out there. This is me a measly 8 days of doing this on my own. I’m absolutely out of my mind stressed out and I’m tapping out for a bit since the hubs is home. But you guys, you single parents who are either widowed by death or widowed by dead beat parenting, you guys are my HEROES. I do not know how you do it but I have the upmost respect for each and every one of you.  I just want to say you are AMAZING, keep doing what you’re doing and don’t beat yourself up because the only ones who can do it better are the perfect parents who haven’t had kids yet.