(Warning: This is a long one!)
This parenting thing is getting harder. I thought the worst was behind me... the sleepless nights, hourly wakings and feedings, colic, tantrums, potty training... but that's nothing in the grand scheme of parenting. As the kids get older I'm less physical (which is both good and bad) as I am not constantly up and down, chasing, making sure that my toddlers are safe from harm and safe from themselves. So in that sense my life is 100% easier. But there were fewer activities and fewer play dates. And there were naps. Nice naps smack in the middle of the day. And I could count on a good 2 hour (give or take) break. My kids are more independent and I do not need to entertain them non-stop. This too is good. But in lieu of endless games of Chutes and Ladders, Hungry Hungry Hippos, Hi Ho Cherry-O, Elephun and all those yawn, er fun games, I am spending my days in my car. My decked out minivan to be honest.
I hate schlepping and chauffeuring and even after 3 years I hate my minivan. Well, actually I love it. But I want to hate it. I love that Toyota did the best they could (and better than anyone else out there) to make my bus seem less like a bus and more like a luxury vehicle. I love the leather and wood and chrome trim. I love my fancy dashboard and my built in navigation and my fantastic 4 disk CD player and the back-up camera and the sonar and the DVD player. I really love the DVD player. And if I could just keep my eyes ahead of me I would actually think I was driving a car. There's no difference between my van and our Lexus, except for the entertainment systems, sonar and back up camera.
So sometimes I pretend I am in the nice car. But the kids are still back there as are their messes. And sometimes I actually attempt to schlep them around in the Lexus. And then I wonder what the hell got into me to to even attempt such a cockamamie, stupid, idiotic thing. There is no third row in that car. And the three kids are squished in the back like sardines. And my kids, these days, are very good at pretending to hate each other, and no where is this more evident than in the back of a car that is just not meant to be a family car. So back in to the garage the car goes and stays until I turn stupid again.
So the van is nice and convenient and does and has everything a van is supposed to do. And I love it. I love that there is room for my kids and friends and backpacks and groceries and sports equipment. I hate that there is all this room. I don't want to schlep my kids and their friends and their sports equipment and their groceries. Like yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. And the day before that. And so on and so on and so on.
I have been spending my life in my car. I took the kids to school at 8:30 yesterday. I left school at 10:00 (had school auction meetings) and was back at 11:30 to get Alexander. And then back again at 2:30 for yet another meeting. And even though the kids got out at 3:30 Christopher went home with a friend and I had completely forgotten about Rebecca's jewelry-making class, so we waited and waited and waited some more, Alexander and I, for Rebecca to be done so we could go home. And finally we went home. We had a half an hour and Rebecca needed to clean her room, put her laundry away, change and pack up for a sleepover. And of course Alexander is tired and decides to nap at 4:30 which is a recipe for disaster. At 5:00 we leave the house. As I am pulling out of the driveway I ask Rebecca if she's done all that she was supposed to have done. She hadn't I was fuming mad. I have been after her since Monday, to tidy and put her laundry away. I restrain every bit of my being so I do not jump over the seat and throttle her. I have a few choice words... including lazy and spoiled.
I do not feel badly for yelling. I am was and am very disappointed with her. I do not ask much, but what I ask of my children I expect them to do. I told Rebecca she would not be able to go on her sleepover. She screamed and screamed and screamed some more. From the van, equipped with Bluetooth, I called the parents involved and explained that Rebecca would not be going to the sports dinner at school with her friends, nor the sleepover. I explained to the parents that Rebecca had certain obligations and she did not do them. As I sat in traffic on the Merrit Parkway on my way to pick up Christopher, Rebecca continued her wailing... I am the worst mother, the meanest, blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. I was not hurt or offended by her words. I was fed up. Fed up with doing everything for her and fed up with her for not keeping up with her end of the bargain.
Finally we get to Christopher. I went into the gym and let Rebecca and Alexander (who managed to stay asleep through the entire tirade) stay in the car. There my friend Mindee tries to convince me to let Rebecca go. I held firm. She went out to the car to talk to Rebecca, who I am sure was furious with me for this too. Mindee came back in and tried to convince me to let Rebecca go to the sleepover but maybe miss the sports banquet so that she can go home and clean her mess. But this is no better a solution because I am flying solo and do not want to gather the troops again and drive them to the sleepover sometime after 7:30 pm in a town 20 minutes away. I'm sick of driving. It's been a long day. We're still a half hour away from home. There is no place I would rather be right then.
Once everyone is back in the car I disconnect the Bluetooth, call Mindee back and tell her that I would drop Rebecca off at school. She's happy that I am giving Rebecca a second chance. I'll feel better... it's the right thing to do, she tells me. We'll meet up with her husband there. I'll give him the slumber bag and he can take my kid into the sports dinner. I do not tell Rebecca of this plan until we pull into the school parking lot. I'm done. I'm tired. I'm toast. I do not feel good about my decision to let her go. I tell her this and tell her that never ever again will she get a second chance. I go on and on about how I do all this stuff for her and she does nothing for me. This is a perfect example. The boys are hungry. The older one is tired. And here we are in the school parking lot, I explain, for her... once again. I go on and on about how everything revolves around her and that it is not convenient for anyone else and that godforbid she has to go to one of her brother's activities it's not fair and the world has ended....yadda yadda yadda... I couldn't stop. I was still angry. I let her go but I did not feel good about it. I didn't feel like the good mother who saved the day. I felt like crap. Honestly, I would have felt better had I not let her go. After waiting (for her) for half an hour with two whiny boys I took off and went home. But there was still dinner to make and a little one who would be up for hours. I was exhausted. Spent. Bone tired. Brain tired. These days do not get any easier... that's for sure. I wish I had some answers... I feel as though sometimes it goes all wrong. And sometimes doing the right thing isn't the right thing at all.
This parenting thing is getting harder. I thought the worst was behind me... the sleepless nights, hourly wakings and feedings, colic, tantrums, potty training... but that's nothing in the grand scheme of parenting. As the kids get older I'm less physical (which is both good and bad) as I am not constantly up and down, chasing, making sure that my toddlers are safe from harm and safe from themselves. So in that sense my life is 100% easier. But there were fewer activities and fewer play dates. And there were naps. Nice naps smack in the middle of the day. And I could count on a good 2 hour (give or take) break. My kids are more independent and I do not need to entertain them non-stop. This too is good. But in lieu of endless games of Chutes and Ladders, Hungry Hungry Hippos, Hi Ho Cherry-O, Elephun and all those yawn, er fun games, I am spending my days in my car. My decked out minivan to be honest.
I hate schlepping and chauffeuring and even after 3 years I hate my minivan. Well, actually I love it. But I want to hate it. I love that Toyota did the best they could (and better than anyone else out there) to make my bus seem less like a bus and more like a luxury vehicle. I love the leather and wood and chrome trim. I love my fancy dashboard and my built in navigation and my fantastic 4 disk CD player and the back-up camera and the sonar and the DVD player. I really love the DVD player. And if I could just keep my eyes ahead of me I would actually think I was driving a car. There's no difference between my van and our Lexus, except for the entertainment systems, sonar and back up camera.
So sometimes I pretend I am in the nice car. But the kids are still back there as are their messes. And sometimes I actually attempt to schlep them around in the Lexus. And then I wonder what the hell got into me to to even attempt such a cockamamie, stupid, idiotic thing. There is no third row in that car. And the three kids are squished in the back like sardines. And my kids, these days, are very good at pretending to hate each other, and no where is this more evident than in the back of a car that is just not meant to be a family car. So back in to the garage the car goes and stays until I turn stupid again.
So the van is nice and convenient and does and has everything a van is supposed to do. And I love it. I love that there is room for my kids and friends and backpacks and groceries and sports equipment. I hate that there is all this room. I don't want to schlep my kids and their friends and their sports equipment and their groceries. Like yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. And the day before that. And so on and so on and so on.
I have been spending my life in my car. I took the kids to school at 8:30 yesterday. I left school at 10:00 (had school auction meetings) and was back at 11:30 to get Alexander. And then back again at 2:30 for yet another meeting. And even though the kids got out at 3:30 Christopher went home with a friend and I had completely forgotten about Rebecca's jewelry-making class, so we waited and waited and waited some more, Alexander and I, for Rebecca to be done so we could go home. And finally we went home. We had a half an hour and Rebecca needed to clean her room, put her laundry away, change and pack up for a sleepover. And of course Alexander is tired and decides to nap at 4:30 which is a recipe for disaster. At 5:00 we leave the house. As I am pulling out of the driveway I ask Rebecca if she's done all that she was supposed to have done. She hadn't I was fuming mad. I have been after her since Monday, to tidy and put her laundry away. I restrain every bit of my being so I do not jump over the seat and throttle her. I have a few choice words... including lazy and spoiled.
I do not feel badly for yelling. I am was and am very disappointed with her. I do not ask much, but what I ask of my children I expect them to do. I told Rebecca she would not be able to go on her sleepover. She screamed and screamed and screamed some more. From the van, equipped with Bluetooth, I called the parents involved and explained that Rebecca would not be going to the sports dinner at school with her friends, nor the sleepover. I explained to the parents that Rebecca had certain obligations and she did not do them. As I sat in traffic on the Merrit Parkway on my way to pick up Christopher, Rebecca continued her wailing... I am the worst mother, the meanest, blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. I was not hurt or offended by her words. I was fed up. Fed up with doing everything for her and fed up with her for not keeping up with her end of the bargain.
Finally we get to Christopher. I went into the gym and let Rebecca and Alexander (who managed to stay asleep through the entire tirade) stay in the car. There my friend Mindee tries to convince me to let Rebecca go. I held firm. She went out to the car to talk to Rebecca, who I am sure was furious with me for this too. Mindee came back in and tried to convince me to let Rebecca go to the sleepover but maybe miss the sports banquet so that she can go home and clean her mess. But this is no better a solution because I am flying solo and do not want to gather the troops again and drive them to the sleepover sometime after 7:30 pm in a town 20 minutes away. I'm sick of driving. It's been a long day. We're still a half hour away from home. There is no place I would rather be right then.
Once everyone is back in the car I disconnect the Bluetooth, call Mindee back and tell her that I would drop Rebecca off at school. She's happy that I am giving Rebecca a second chance. I'll feel better... it's the right thing to do, she tells me. We'll meet up with her husband there. I'll give him the slumber bag and he can take my kid into the sports dinner. I do not tell Rebecca of this plan until we pull into the school parking lot. I'm done. I'm tired. I'm toast. I do not feel good about my decision to let her go. I tell her this and tell her that never ever again will she get a second chance. I go on and on about how I do all this stuff for her and she does nothing for me. This is a perfect example. The boys are hungry. The older one is tired. And here we are in the school parking lot, I explain, for her... once again. I go on and on about how everything revolves around her and that it is not convenient for anyone else and that godforbid she has to go to one of her brother's activities it's not fair and the world has ended....yadda yadda yadda... I couldn't stop. I was still angry. I let her go but I did not feel good about it. I didn't feel like the good mother who saved the day. I felt like crap. Honestly, I would have felt better had I not let her go. After waiting (for her) for half an hour with two whiny boys I took off and went home. But there was still dinner to make and a little one who would be up for hours. I was exhausted. Spent. Bone tired. Brain tired. These days do not get any easier... that's for sure. I wish I had some answers... I feel as though sometimes it goes all wrong. And sometimes doing the right thing isn't the right thing at all.