makes me wonder -- what does the babysitter do that i don't? oh yeah, she stays at home with my kids all day.
makes me wonder -- am i doing this parenting thing all wrong? should i be staying with my kids all day? are my kids screwed because i gave up breastfeeding to go back to work instead of leading them around by the boob until they left for kindergarten? am i depleting brain cells by playing curious george 2 for the third time in a row today? should i have given them a bath with real soap instead of letting them jump around in a puddle in the backyard and spraying them off with the hose?
and ... the purpose of no judgment day become apparent. because if i spend any more time asking myself these questions, and any more time answering them in the affirmative, i'll have to collapse into a blubbering heap of failure and regret.
but friends, here are my confessions. i am not ashamed.
#1 -- i take full advantage of the fact that panzer will do anything for a fruit snack. i buy them hundreds of packs at a time at costco, and have at least 3 packages in my purse at all times. i will pull them out whenever i need 10 seconds of quiet and still. i will even tell myself what a favor i am doing to him, making sure he gets all that vitamin C. and gelatoids, or whatever.
and i'm flexible when the obsession turned to mints, i bought tic-tacs in bulk and commended P on his excellent breath.
#2 -- i let yo-gabba-gabba babysit my kids. but only sometimes. i even let panzer believe that DJ lance's name is "butthead," knowing that he is not stupid can pick the real butthead out of a line-up any day. when i was a kid, you got your mouth washed out with soap for using that kind of language. also, i let my kids watch yo-gabba-gabba fully realizing that it is simulating a mixed-drug-induced haze/craze. for all i know, that's what the world looks like to their brains anyway.
#3 -- i will give the kids whatever they want to eat, whenever they ask for it. eggs and waffles for dinner? OK. a bowl full of nuts for breakfast? fine. 15 glasses of milk today? probably never hurt anyone. you just ate three pieces of pizza and an entire pineapple, and now want to stand next to my soup bowl with your mouth open like a baby bird? in it goes. i don't even get mad when they eat who-knows-what crumbs off the floor. (i do tell them it's gross, like when panzer tried to lick the old chewing gum off the sidewalk at the park, but that only invites giggles and increases the desire to eat off the floor.)
lately, panzer has been demanding to eat mohs' smashed baby food zuchinni. whatever, i make my own and there's more of something else that can be smashed up where that came from. i mean, kids can't unlearn how to chew and swallow, right? and if they do, perhaps they just shouldn't be eating anymore...
anyway, when i was growing up, the floor was clean and you ate what was on the table, or nothing. which brings me to #4.
#4 -- the kids both sit at the same high chair. (P just pulls up a stool.) which is the only surface in the house not covered with laundry, bills, bubble canisters, old coffee cups and other assorted things you hope your kids won't touch. let's face it, there's no table upon which to put a single choice of food.
#5 -- i strap my baby in his swing and put on a movie so i can go back to sleep. ironic, as when panzer was born, i swore i would never put him in a swing after hearing many horror stories about kids who develop triangular heads from the sway of a baby swing. but i'd do it again with mohs if he insisted on getting up at 330 AM and wasn't so easy to snuggle back to sleep on the pillow next to me.
#6 -- i take my kids to safeway to look at holiday decorations. this is where panzer learned about spiders and pumpkins, turkeys, and santa claus and snowmen. on this point, i truly have good intentions, but usually by the time i realize a holiday is coming up, it's all up on me and i panic with indecision. thankfully, there is always something we need at the store.
#7 -- i lock myself in the bathroom with the fan on and cover my ears when my kids are crying. aaron thinks this is childish, cowardly, and unnecessary. probably so. but keeps me from running back in scooping them up and ruining that whole rules/discipline/manners thing we agreed to force upon the children.
#8 -- i get angry at my kids. this was not something i planned to experience in the first couple years, but damn, those little heathens can cause a lot of trouble in a few short minutes! (and yo-gabba-gabba was supposed to be watching them!) the battles of will are not my proudest mommy moments, but i will win, especially once you've ticked me off. thankfully, it's tough to stay mad at a little dude who runs around yelling "sorry mommy! hug!" and pats you on the back like you're his charge instead of the other way around.
#9 -- i cry for my children. not in front of them and certainly never in front of any of you bitches. but i'm not strong for them. i am sniveling mess of worry and panic and indecision. i get overwhelmed with sadness when people (kids or adults) are short or uncaring or unappreciative of their awesomeness. at news stories highlighting what a terrible group the human race is comprised of. when i think of them being grown up-er someday and stressed and tired and on their own with climate change and civil wars and violent religious yahoos with their own kids to worry and panic about. like me.
#10 -- i ask for help. a lot. from anyone -- family, friends, dudes at starbucks, mall security, TSA officers. pick an occupation -- that person has held at least one of my kids for five seconds while i searched for my driver's license, carried hot coffee to the car, dumped vomit out of my best leather pumps, etc.
and actually, i am largely open to advice. i'm pretty sure panzer would be potty-trained right now if i had any idea what i was supposed to do. and also, i am totally open to ignoring your stupid advice, jerk whose baby slept through the night at 3 weeks old.
so friends, i repeat: i am not ashamed. my kids have fairly good digestion, grow like weeds, smile frequently, and yell "c'mon mommy" or wave fat little arms at me when i walk in the room. no self-help book can help me with #s 1 through 10. sorry old lady at the grocery store who never let her kids leave the house without a hat or socks until they turned 7 and can't believe i let P have a cookie from the bakery at 630 AM ... these are my wild, dirty, crazy kids and they are a product of me; you can suck it.
