Thursday, October 15, 2015

What I Just Cannot Savor

I have become one of those women in the grocery store line who looks at the mama with the screaming toddler and the baby strapped to her chest and the preschooler clearing out the gum department and says, "Oh, it's going to go so fast! Enjoy every minute!"

How do I think that is even a little helpful??? It is not. That poor mama just wants to wipe the tears off my face by punching me. Rightly so.

In reality, there are some things about those years that just cannot be savored. Can. Not. 

Let me give you permission here to not savor some things.

One a.m. diaper explosions? You do not have to savor that.

Vomit in the carseat that takes eleventy billion hours to disassemble, wash and then reassemble? Don't savor it.

Dragging, literally dragging, a snot covered child out of the chick-fil-a play place? It's ok if your face turns red and you cry and wonder what happened to the college degree you worked for and the respect you used to command.

And for all of you who are already irritated with me thinking I don't love my children, please know I know these years go fast, I know these children are a gift, I believe God gave them to us on purpose and orders our days, even days that involve more time-out than time-in. That is why we kept them. 

And if you are irritated and think those moments should be enjoyed because it goes so fast, you have forgotten what those moments felt like or you are delusional and need some psychiatric assistance. 

The days of those major meltdowns are behind us, for now, and we seem to be in the "golden age" of parenting. We are pretty much drama-free, the kids love us and want to be with us and think we're awesome (although one did call us both "really old" last night - didn't savor that moment), everyone tends to obey, the days we have to dole out consequences are getting further and further apart.

However, there are still some things I just cannot savor. And I know these things go on at your house, too, so I'm just going to say them out loud for us. And if they don't or never did, then you are a better mom than I. Brava. 

But in this house, Darling Daughters, Mommy cannot savor:

Rolled up, sweaty socks
Unrolling socks is apparently excruciatingly hard. I know this because there has never once been an unrolled sock in the laundry basket. I am very wise, though, and can teach you this life skill. In fact, I feel sure I have shown you many-a-time. This cycle may be hard to break as it is apparently genetic. Daddy really struggles with this, too. 

For the love of Pete's sake lean over your plate! Six feet away from the table is not an ok distance. Are you trying to leave a trail so you can find your way back to the supper table tomorrow night? Because I will give you a tour of our house. I'll show you where our dining room is. Crumb trails are not necessary, Gretel All Three Daughters.

Q-tips/tissues that almost make it to the trash can.
So close. So, so close. But the floor right next to the trash can isn't actually the trash can. I know it's confusing: in, out...which is it? Here's an easy way to remember: if it doesn't fall into the small white cylindrical bucket, it's out. Also, whoever tried to throw away a partially eaten box of last Halloween's Nerds? Didn't quite make it. I can tell because I CAN SEE THEM. Can you? You don't actually have to wait until Saturday to sweep them up. Cleaning, although generally done then, can be done any time you see a mess. 

Hair everywhere. On every single surface.
You know how Daddy is pretty much bald? Apparently that is happening to you. Or maybe it's just that you are cleaning out your hairbrush in places like the kitchen where all our food is made and then getting so, so close to the trash can with the resulting hair wad (see previous non-savory item). I have occasionally been startled and a little frightened by the appearance of a coyote or possibly even a buffalo in the corner of the living room only to discover it is a hair ball. I know you don't want Mommy to be afraid in my own house, so again, all loose hair goes in that little white container.   

Empty toilet paper spindles. 
When Mommy chose the toilet paper holders for this house I chose ones that are levers. You merely raise the little thing, slide off the old tube, slide on a new one and then lower the lever. There's no more of this rocket science stuff where you have to push and lower and try to figure out how a spring works. That kind seemed hard even for Daddy. Show me your hand. Now raise it an inch. That's it! You can change the toilet paper. College, here we come.  

Books turned sideways and lying on top of other books.

Again, what a good effort. But see all that empty space at the end of each row? Well, if you will just turn the book, just a tad, no, not all the way around, just a slight turn, you can stand it up in that empty space, and it won't get all bent up or lost behind the other books. This will require a paradigm shift, but I am sure you can do it if you focus.

Gallons of shampoo used nightly.
Now as far as I know there is no shampoo shortage, but for each of you to use an entire bottle with each bath is just a little much. And even though we use the cheapest shampoo the Shampoo People make because of this very reason, Mommy and Daddy may have to cancel Christmas in order to pay the shampoo bill. I know this would make you sad, so maybe we could drop the shampoo usage to half a bottle a night, or even better, a dollop the size of a quarter, which we have demonstrated for you nightly since birth

Furniture as Trampolines
This is a really hard concept. This chair, although it may look like a trampoline, is not. In fact, it is the only nice thing left in this house. Mommy picked it out back before you were born when we weren't having to spend quite so much money on shampoo. It is made of the softest leather, but here lately seems to be a little sad. See how the back cushion is sagging? That is not a natural phenomenon but is instead caused by behinds who are confused and think that part is the seat. Not so. And the wrinkles in the once taut leather on the actual seat? That is from little jumping feet. Again, the resemblance to the gigantic bright blue trampoline in the backyard is uncanny, but know that this is the chair, not the trampoline.
If we could just work on those things, maybe Mommy will let you live here until you graduate. K? K. 

Now I know some of you mamas who are past even this stage will tell me I will miss the laundry, and chairs can be replaced, and supper will be so quiet without them and be glad they have access to shampoo. I know, I know. In ten years I'll be that mama, too. 

But for today, can I say --


Nope. Just a hairball. 

Grace for Little People in Stinky Socks,

1 comment:

Share your own craziness here. We are all in this together. Let's laugh about it.