Worst. Mom. Ever.

Every day, I suffer.  Every. Single. Day.  I get up at 5:20, take a shower, and go in to the living room to do my makeup.  Why do makeup in the living room?  Because I get a whole 45 minutes in the morning with my children, the majority of which consists of "L, get your pajamas off!  K, put your diaper in the trash!  L, get your clothes on!  K, hurry and go potty. L, get your clothes on. L.  L!!!  Can you hear me!? K, let's go.  We gotta get dressed! L! GET. YOUR. CLOTHES. ON. NOW!!!!! . . ."  etc. 

At 7, we feed the dogs and the girls argue over who gets to turn off the lights, who gets to feed which dog, and yell, "I want candy" (the awesome name I came up with for their vitamins). 

At 7:05, I trip over two little girls as the 3 of us try to get out of the door at the same time, me with my purse, K's extra clothes for daycare, my coffee, and anything extra for the day; the girls with their backpack, a toy of choice, their milk, their attitudes.

I spend the next 10 minutes trying to get 2 little girls in to their car seats, both of whom cry, "lemme do it", but neither whom are capable.  Attempting to help them only exasperates the problem, but it just has to be done.  I'm relatively certain my neighbors sit at their windows every morning sipping from their cups of coffee, taking bets with their spouse over how long it will take me to snap (the girls in their seats, of course), watching this unfold. 

I then drop L off at school, drive 20 minutes, take K to day care, and get to work by 7:45.  I leave work at 10, pick L up at school at 10:20, take L to daycare, give hugs and kisses to 20 kids (I'm apparently the mom to many more people than I remember giving birth to.  Those were some good drugs!).  Go back to work by 10:45.  Work until 5:30 (if I'm lucky), and either get to fight the wonderfully designed roads of San Antonio with 4,000 other people heading home or pick up the girls and only fight 2,000 people.  (Who thought that taking 5 lanes down to 3 with 3 entrance ramps all within a mile was a good idea, anyway!)  I usually get home around 6:15 - 6:30. 

The family sits down to dinner, then it's time to get the girls ready for bed.  The goal is to have the girls in bed by 8, otherwise, they are bigger terrors the next day than normal.  Then, it's time to do the dishes, make my coffee for the next day, and get ready for bed just to do it all over again.

There are two MAJOR problems with this scenario - the first being that I am starting to hate my job, the second being, this makes me the worst mom ever.  In all of the hustle and bustle of every day life, I feel as though I am neglecting my children.  It's not that they are not well-adjusted individuals, it's just that I feel like I go to work to be able to afford to pay someone else to spend time with my children.  Really, how much sense does that make?  It's not even like I'm doing something that improves anybody's life.  I'm doing a job that anybody can do in my place.  No one can replace my children's mother.  So, what am I doing?

I sat down with my husband today (well, we sat at our respective computers from different hemispheres of the world) and discussed this.  Can we afford for me to not work?  Can we figure these details out?  When is the right time to make this decision?  How do you know the decision you're making is the right one? 

I realize this post is more of a vent than it is interesting.  I just sometimes need to see it written down to see how easy of a decision this really is . . .

not me, Not Me, NOT ME!!

We've all been there.  We're sitting on the plane, waiting for everyone to take their seat so we can sit on the tarmac for an hour before we take off.  As person after person meanders down the center aisle that's too small for a person and a bag, we look each person up and down, avoiding eye contact, sizing them up.  As the person starts walking towards you, you think to yourself, "please don't sit by me, please don't sit by me, (except you, Mr. Hot dude that smiles just right,  You can sit ON me.  Wait, what?)."  It could be the person that stinks from too much perfume, or not enough deodorant.  Or that one that's chatting on the cell phone so that the whole plane can hear and you just KNOW that person will want to tell you her whole life story when all you want to do is sleep.  Or that poor woman carrying a screaming kid that you are fully aware does not want to be confined to a little space for hours and will whine, kick, and shout incessantly, stopping only long enough to vomit on the person in front of him or sneeze and sling snot your way. 

You've been there.  You've walked down that same aisle on the same plane and looked at the people already sitting and you know that person is thinking the same thing about you.  We all know "the look".

Unfortunately, in the past few weeks, I've seen "the look" more times than I could have imagined, seeing as how I haven't stepped foot on a plane or any form of public transportation. 

It's happening when I drop L off at daycare.

She walks in, goes into her room, and you see all the kids giving "the look".  She looks around and starts heading towards a table and the established kids give each other this knowing glance.  The others, as L passes their tables, let out an almost audible sigh of relief.  The kids she approaches start putting away what they're playing with, already resigned to the fact that she will mess up whatever they've spent their last few minutes mastering.   The other day, a kid actually said to his friend, "I guess it's time to put this away; we'll have to start over anyway."  Today, it was, "She can't play here. Center's full".  I was taken to that scene in Forest Gump when he's trying to find a seat on the school bus.

My heart almost broke.

And so begins our next chapter in life.  This chapter begins with L's peers noticing a difference, and being frustrated by it.  They can tell she is not age appropriate in her actions, but they don't fully comprehend the why behind it.  This is a stage when kids say what's on their minds, the filter not yet being installed.  It's past the age of questioning everything, but noticing differences. 

The one thing I'm most grateful for is that L is not there yet.  She is still stuck in the "everything's okay as long as I have food and boots" phase.  (The boots are very important, but they apparently only function well when they're a) rain boots and b) worn on the wrong feet.)  The point being, she's oblivious to the stares, sighs, and comments as of now.  She gladly sits beside her "peers", flaps her hands, and begins to steal whatever toys they were playing with. 

Yea for the little things!