I could write a nice long introduction to you, detailing the history of how I got to this dark, depressing place (Let’s just sum it up in a title that would go something like this: : Bad Math—Procreation: 2 minutes of bliss for a lifetime of misery. ) but frankly, I don’t have the energy.
It’s been sucked out of me slowly and painfully. And now I can’t remember if I brushed my teeth today or what my ATM pin is or if I’m wearing pants.
Fraternizing with child terrorists will do that.
So, don’t expect a catchy intro, funny banter or proper use of punctuation. That shit went out the window the day I found myself looking for a shoe that was missing. One shoe, just gone. Do you know why? BECAUSE IT WAS IN THE TREE IN THE BACKYARD. Right. Don’t ask, people.
I’m going to bottom line this for you in the simplest terms I know how (and all I have left are simple terms—I’ve been talking to 5 year olds for months).
I am losing any brain cells or compellingly witty qualities I had managed to salvage after staying home with my children for the last 13 years.
I thought I was in the clear when they all started school full time last year. I was wrong.
Here’s the proof.
5 Indications that Summer is making me DUMMER
As I prepared to go to a Marching Band function for my daughter and my children were eating dinner, I sweetly told them all: “No one touch my clothes with your dirty hands, please. Mommy wants to look nice tonight.”
I was, after all, wearing my GOOD yoga pants.
This was my facebook status on Wednesday.
In my closet.
I don’t want to talk about it.
Dialogue surrounding every activity I take the children to do :
Me, cheerfully: Isn’t berry picking/geocaching/miniature golf great?
Them, whiningly: It’s so HOT!
Me, trying to remain calm: It’s only 75 out, let’s make the best of it!
Them, being Them: We don’t want to make the best of it. We want to make the worst of it. Let’s go home.
Me, dejectedly, : I thought you would enjoy this.
Them, uncaring: Well, we don’t.
Me, angrily: I spent $27 on these blueberries so we are going to have fun if it kills us, dammit.
Now start picking, minions.
Things I have actually said in the last week
To the boys: “Get that turtle off the ceiling!”
To my teenager: “Please, watch her. We can’t let the cat get knocked up again before she can get fixed.”
To the cat: If you move your kittens one more time SO HELP ME GOD…
To my husband: “I can see why Japan’s children are so much more advanced than the kids in America. Annabella is learning Japanese in 8th grade. It seems like such a hard language. But kids in Japan learn to speak that shit as BABIES.”
So obviously, I’m not doing great.
I have 6 cats, 6 kids and a plastic turtle stuck to the ceiling in my house.
Sometimes I wander around the yard hoping that a neigbor over the age of 17 will talk to me about anything other than Pokemon and buying EMO clothes at Hot Topic.
On those days, I am probably not going to be wearing my BEST yoga pants, but considering the situation I have brewing inside,
the neighbors should be thankful that I remembered to put on pants at all.