At first this is going to sound like I’m complaining about my kids. I’m not. Well, not completely. Just give it a minute.
My kids are trying to kill me this month. It’s getting cold and has been rainy, which severely inhibits the amount of time they can spend outdoors. Also, I am still suffering from (or recovering from, not sure) what is apparently The Great Endless Mystery Illness of 2010. Also, midterms. Also, my car catching on fire. So their insane amounts of energy, which is now locked indoors for the winter, plus my stressed mind and body, are making for some frustrating family times.
Yesterday Maya was combative and, okayfine, straight-up bitchy, as toddlers are wont to be. She threw a wicked temper tantrum so I put her in timeout while I went to the bathroom to pee and curse the failure of contraceptives that led to her birth. While I’m in there, I see her little lips through the crack at the bottom of the door. I’m rolling my eyes when she says, “Mom, I’m gonna come under this door and get you! Because I miss you… and I wanna see your pee.”
I laughed off my frustration. I did not show her my pee.
I was talking with Taylor sometime last week about his behavior at school (which has actually been really amazing this month, knock on wood) and was making some reference to how big boys are expected to blah blah blah if they want to blah blah mom words. I was walking the dog and he was pushing Maya in her stroller and he cut me off mid-stride with the stroller. “Mom, you need to slow your roll. I got this first grade thing now. I’ll handle it.”
Maybe if I had a giant parenting stick up my ass like many parents do I would not be amused and would consider that “talking back to Mom”. To me, it’s simply hilarious. Way to put a bitch in check, son.
This morning, Maya was again being a headstrong toddler and wouldn’t let me help her navigate the walking path to daycare. She was wearing a huge coat that kind of threw her off balance and since she refused to hold my hand, she fell and rolled down the rocky hill. At the bottom, she got up, looked at the blood (from her nose) that had dripped and smeared everywhere, and said, “Dat was so fun!” No tears, no wailing; she just laughed it off. Wanted to do it again, even (which, no, because stitching up a toddler is no fun).
That is fucking awesome. A two-year-old!– scraped and bleeding, finding fun in the fall and shrugging at her injuries.
This parenting shit is hard. Duh. Being a single parent makes it even harder. Duuuuh. But every day, as my kids are driving me to Insanityville, they stop the Crazy Train for long enough for me to look out the window and revel in the view.