There’s pee on my shirt. I don’t know how it got there. I can guess it is the urine of one of these three boys I am attempting to raise.
I say attempting, mainly because some days they raise me. Ommmmmmm.
Did you buy that bullshit? Me neither. Today, my son decided to wig out on me because I changed his diaper. It is good though, because this is our Groundhog Day moment.
If the toddler wakes up and starts a tantrum we have six more hours of him being an asshole.
I love my kids. I love my kids. I love my kids.
One kid has a waffle. Well, had a waffle. Now, the dog has a waffle and the kid is asking for another waffle. Not today, little Sarah McLachlan. You want to feed the dog your breakfast then the kitchen is closed till lunch time.
I keep having to come back to the tantrum toddler. His new nickname. Tantrum Toddler Underwood. The boy who, every day of the week ends up sitting criss-cross applesauce (because, Indian-style is totally not PC, bro) naked in front of the tv has suddenly gained modesty and is demanding his clothing not be removed. Especially his diaper. The diaper he wore to bed and has pee in it.
Scratch him off the list of suspects for the pee spot on my shirt.
Did I remind myself I love my kids yet? Because, I do. I swear.
I don’t have to like them though, right? Today is a love your kid, hate their attitude day.
Yesterday, I got my baby to walk. Today, I sat there and threw cheerios in his mouth. I made six in a row before hitting him in the eye. Six. In. A. Row.
His eye is fine by the way.
“This is parenting” I tell myself as I put the coffee back in one gulp. Did I mention one sons first act of the day was to dump the toy box. He didn’t even grab a toy from the clutter. Instead, he went to the Wii U remote and put on Netflix.
It’s Netflix and chill, buddy, not Netflix and fuck up my previously clean dwelling. I want to check the clock and see how much longer I have in the day and HOLY CRAP it’s not even ten yet. Reminder to self, don’t watch the clock, it makes the tantrums last longer.
Because I need to write, I get free passes to put on headphones and ignore the kids. It is probably the only reason I am writing this. See, I am not ignoring the baby, I am wordsmithing. Okay, maybe I ignored him a little.
Six in a row, how freaking awesome is that? I barely hit his eye. He definitely overreacted. Drama child! Maybe, instead of whining, the baby could be more supportive of my accomplishments. Nourishment and accuracy, it is most certainly a feat that deserves applause.
Applause. Applesauce. I need to get more applesauce or there might be another meltdown. The precious fruit sauce is a staple in these toddler’s diet. They love it. That and chocolate milk. Hey, at least I am feeding them! Once, I tried to use a spoon as a catapult and fling applesauce into the baby’s mouth. I didn’t get to six in a row but I did have to bathe the baby.
You know what cute thing they do? Of course you don’t, but I will tell you! They call chocolate milk yummy milk. Which is super accurate. I will pull the gallon of milk out of the fridge and a pitter-patter of feet will run to the kitchen followed always by me being told to wait. Then, a giant grin spreads across a face as little hands grasp the chocolate syrup, bringing it to me.
Yes tiny little terror, I will yummy your milk. I will yummy it the F up, because
it will keep you quiet for five minutes I love you. Then, I will pour myself more coffee.
I adore my kids. I didn’t write that for you. I mainly wrote that as a reminder that I, in fact, do adore the kid laying on the ground screaming like he got shot. Apparently fifteen seconds of Netflix buffering is unbearable. It snowed here, which means we will go outside. They will play and frolic (frolic is code for try to not fall as they run around in their puff-ball winter wear) as I sit there worried they might find and eat yellow snow.
For any Apache Helicopter parents reading, by sit there I mean I will sit on my porch, near them. I am not sending two toddlers to play Revenant out in the snow alone. Hello, child protective services, yes I did allow my children to get out of hands reach of me. Yes, I know it is awful of me to do because they could have fallen. I barely hit the baby with the cheerio, it was an underhand toss.
We still have five hours of tantrums.