I make fun of my kids a lot; some would say inordinately so. Generally, if I brag about them it is an accident, and not in that Facebook humble-brag way. It is a genuine, I-texted-my-BFF-who-has-a-six-week-old-and-mentioned-I-slept-twelve-hours-then-kicked-myself, accident. It’s not because I don’t like my children. They are great…really. But, as a work at home mom who is trying to juggle running her own business, making sure everyone has warm food and clean clothes, raising a spirited toddler and a baby, and maybe brushing her teeth daily, I find that humor helps me to balance that with a non-medicated/drunken smile. And, to me, there is no higher compliment than someone laughing with me, or, okay, at me, while reading my writing. And since my children can’t read, I deposit all of those words on a blog.
But today I find myself doing everything except what I should be doing. I should be getting Boogie dressed and ready to head out to her first day of nursery school. I should be packing a diaper bag to schlep The Sequel to my in-laws’s house, without whom I couldn’t imagine being able to function because of all their help watching the kids. I should be doing The Dougie celebrating the fact that after months without steady childcare I am finally going to get a few hours, a couple days a week, to take meetings and maybe shave my legs.
But I’m not.
Instead I am taking this morning very slowly. Instead I am sitting at the breakfast table, writing during musical breaks from our breakfast dance party (it’s “Royals” on tap this morning), and trying to figure out if I can just keep them here for ten more minutes. I’m wondering if being late to drop them off is really so bad I’ll lose my “#1 Mom” coffee mug before I even have a chance to chip it.
I’m stalling because that lump in my throat, the one that I can’t quite swallow down, I think that means I’m not ready for them to do any of this. I think that means I know that each morning they are getting closer to being further away from me. I think that means I know I am going to eventually lose my blog fodder, and they aren’t going to appreciate what I’ve written about them anyway so I should just pick on someone my own size. I think that means this all is going a lot more quickly than I thought it would. I think that means I actually kinda like them, damn it.
If I could keep them little I could make jokes and bemoan how hard this is all day, but today I’m realizing that little they will not stay.
Sad devil horns look more like bunny ears,