Monday, September 10, 2012
Get me off this rollercoaster called parenting.
For those of you who want to read about a mother going on and on about how being a mother is the definition of bliss and her kids are angels and every day is like living in paradise…well then…you should stop reading now. I don’t live in paradise. I’ve never heard of bliss.
And parenting is mother-effing hard. Like it deserves putting the F word in between words. Like parenting is ha-f*cking-rd….which is so much worse than just regular hard, just so you know.
I hate rollercoasters anyway. I mean I hate the thought of them. I’ve never actually been on one. My emotions have been riding one for hours already this morning. And just like I thought – the rollercoaster made me nauseous and also made me want to cut Rambo’s dick off.
My 7 year old still hates “getting” to school in the morning. God help me but everything in my body wants to scoop her up, wrap her in a blanket, sing lullabies to her and rock her all day and say, “you never have to go to school ever if it makes those big fat tears roll down your precious little cheeks.”
She is fine once she gets there – but getting there is an event.
One minute she is fine and happy and packing her backpack. The next minute I see her on my bed as I’m getting ready, wrapped in her Dad’s blanket, red-eyed and on the verge of a meltdown.
So I change subjects. I get way too excited about riding the bus and how fun it is. I talk wildly about her friends at school. Anything to stop the tears from coming.
I hear Watermelon, the 12 year old, say, “come here sissy” and she takes her hand and leads her out of my room.
So here we go – now my heart is soaring at the kindness my 12 year old shows. In a f*cking millisecond, it’s back to breaking because it is clear that it nearly breaks Watermelon’s heart to see her sister so sad.
Banana comes back in and she’s carrying a picture of her and Watermelon in a tiny little frame. Banana just sits with it – clutching it – staring at it. At any moment, I expect Satan to appear, rip my heart out and stomp on it with his fiery feet. Watching her stare at that little picture feels just like that.
Now it’s hustle and bustle time to get out the door and we are tear-free for the moment. It is then that I realize Banana is now clutching the picture of her and her sister in one hand and tightly clasped in the other is Rambo’s necklace she found in his basket.
That’s it. My heart is done. I can’t do this all before 7am.
I get the brilliant idea to call Rambo since he’s in the semi today. He has some large boner because his boss put straight pipes on his semi and “you should hear how it sounds with the jake brake on”.
Really? Are you serious? Bring the pipe home so I can see it – and shove it up your ass. Did you miss the part about a full scale meltdown occurring back in your home?
Me and the girls get in the car. We’re singing and I’m elated. We’re completely smiling and tear-free. Then things get quiet for a second and I look in the rear-view mirror and we’re still tearless but I’m thinking they are coming at any moment.
I physically turn my head around and catch a glimpse of what is probably keeping her strong.
My two girls are holding hands – stretched across the seats – in silence. Christ. Back to being proud and happy about their bond and how there’s nothing like it and blah blah blah.
Have I mentioned I hate rollercoasters?
This is not easy. I want to yell “school blows and so does work – let’s all stay home and eat ice cream all day!!”...but the damn responsible parent in me knows better.
I’m so caught between what to say and do. I hated being told to not be sad or not cry as a kid but I find myself saying, “Don’t cry. You’re a strong big girl and you can do this.”
Five minutes later I hear myself say, “You can cry and be sad. I don’t want to go to work but we all have things to do each day and we’ll be home later to play.”
Who the hell is going to knock on my door and let me know which version is right?
Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
I tell her she has fun at school and she will be okay when she gets there. She says, “but Mom…sometimes at school I have to hold back my tears because I miss you so much.”
Wow. Thank you for that image. I’ll just get in my rollercoaster cart and ride on down to “Kill me now valley”, mkay?
It sucks. All of it.
Also, I’m fully expecting a call from the principal today at some point.
Because even though yours truly was supermom of the year and set out at least 6 put together outfits for Banana to pick from this morning for school – she came walking into my bedroom in a skirt that is a size FOUR (she’s 7) and an old Hannah Montana shirt.
The skirt is so small and short that the built in undershorts are visible 100% of the time. And isn’t Hannah Montana dead or something? I mean she’s a nobody now, right?
Between the tears and jubilation ride I was on this morning, I just couldn’t bring myself to care about what she was wearing. I’m pretty sure the Principal is going to call and say, “Are you aware that your 7 year old is dressing like a hooker?”
Yes. Asshole. I am fully aware of that. God, she’s cute isn’t she? Wanna ride on the “I just don’t give a f*ck rollercoaster with me next? Or I could shank you. Whatever you prefer. I’ve already ridden the “crazier than shit” ride about 16 times before you called so I’m up for anything.
Posted by the gumdrop farting Skittle bathing ♥ Drazil ♥ at 8:09 AM