Apparently there’s light at the end of the tunnel with parenting…apparently…
I envy those who like their children 100% of the time. Don’t get me wrong, I love my children. Their existence gives my life purpose. But sometimes I don’t like them, like reeeeeeallly don’t like them.
It’s been a while since I lasted blogged about anything. Looking back on my last round of enthusiastic home-industry-I’ve-got-this-shit-down-crochet-craft-martha-stuart I’m in a WTF? moment: why did I start this in the first place? Was it a platform for me to share my frustrations, failures, and successes about the joys of parent- and wife-hood? Or was it a brag book for all the shit I would like to do…but have yet to even really start (don’t get me started on the quilt I have yet to finish that I started um lets see, 4 years ago…).
I love being crafty. I wish I had more time to be crafty. Reality is there’s not enough time to get the shit that needs to be done done. And that’s just with work. Then there’s all the “being a good parent” and “being a good wife” stuff. Now where in hell do I find time to do all that?
My blessed-three are truly the loves of my life. My husband and I started our “lets get married, oh and while we’re at it, lets have a baby ‘cos it’ll be fun” journey under a haze of youth and naivety. Ah, those were the days…good god what were we thinking? Our children represent a fair mix of their parents: our eldest is a blonde-haired blue-eyed female version of her father, our middle child, a strapping young lad of 5, is a mousy-haired hazel-eyed noisy and sensitive soul, and our youngest is fireball of destruction and chaos all wrapped up with brown hair and eyes like her Mum, tied with a bow of cuteness and cuddles. They are all so different and going through very distinct developmental stages. Our eldest is 9 going on 19 with an attitude and a mouth to boot, our son is…well…very emotionally oriented and is still finding his way settling into school. He also possesses a hideous sniffing habit and a tendency to call everybody a “butt crack”…
I have no concerns whatsoever for our youngest: god have mercy on whoever tells her she can’t do anything she wants. That poor fool will be met with a flutter of eyelashes and punch to the groin.
What I really struggle with is the fact that they never do what they’re told when they’re told and any request is met with a grunt/scream/tantrum/”whatever”/”you’ve ruined (or ruining) my life” or look of sheer disgust that you swear satin must have gifted as an evil fairy upon each of their joyous births.
“Stop touching that!”
“Stop hitting your sister!”
“Get back in that bloody bath!”
“If you touch that again, I’ll turn this car around and you’re not going to the pool!”
“Why are you not listening?!?!?!?”
“LEAVE IT ALONE!!!”
“LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I love being a Mum…
Actually I’m bloody terrified about what this week will bestow upon this whanau of five. I have been lucky (silver lining time) to have had my husband at home playing the stay-at-home-Dad role for almost a year whilst we wait for him to go into surgery. Which is actually happening tomorrow. Eeek! I’m being thrust back into school drop-offs and pick-ups, sports games and practices, immunisations and trips to the doctor, school lunches, cooking nutritious food (and then give said nutritious food to the dog after having the brood turn their noses up at the same thing they gorged on with delight last week…). Then there’s the laundry, vacuuming, cleaning, mowing lawns, mopping floors, cleaning toilets, more vacuuming. Somewhere in all of this I have to work a 40ish hour week…um…shit.
To be honest, I am looking forward to being Mum again. Whilst I enjoy my job, I deeply miss with school pick-ups and the cooking and the cleaning (well not really the cleaning), the after-school sports. It’s been great for my husband to have been able to spend quality time with the children whilst he’s been unable to work. However, I am a bit of a traditionalist and feel it’s my job to keep the home cozy, warm and well-fed. I’m not quite sure yet how I’ll manage to juggle everything whilst he’s recuperating, but I’m sure we’ll survive. I’ll just have to remember to take a deep breath every now and then.
Wish me luck and let’s see how much I’m enjoying things in a few days time…