There is approximately 60 hours before I send my 3 darlings off to their first day of school. When they leave, I will blow them a kiss goodbye, put on my sad face, tell them I love them and I will miss them. Then, as quickly as the speed of sound, I will turn and rejoice and send praise to the heavens.
Maybe I am PMS'ing. Maybe not (probably not). Come April and May of each year (or at leas the last 2), I look so forward to summer. The beach, the outdoor festivities....the mini trips, all of it. This feeling lasts about 2 months. Then the reality sets in. The reality that I will pretty much be spending 24/7 with at least 3 of my children. This is not healthy for anyone. Not them, and certainly not me..... not for my husband.
I begin to hate them by mid August. Don't gasp.....I cannot be the ONLY mother who occasionally hates her kids. I may be the only one to admit it, but I cannot be the only one that feels it. I mean...I love them always. But sometimes. a little bit of hate takes over.
By mid august, they have had enough of each other as well. The girls are close...and close brings fighting. For the past two weeks, there has been nothing but fighting.
Pitch represents the perceived fundamental frequency of a sound. Little girls argue in a pitch that is just decimals below "Teen Buzz". ("teen buzz", for those of you who do not have teenagers, is a high pitched ringtone that the cell phone companies created which CANNOT be heard by adults) The sounds coming from my offspring while they are arguing permeates my brain to what I can only imagine could be simulated by a serrated fire poke stick thrust into my temples. After 2 minutes of this. I hate them. Really. I want to lunge out and poke their little eyeballs out.
Their father, and my dear husband, rarely has to deal with this. Except for the 2 hours a week I escape to the movies. This should be my "wind down" time. However, God forbid I have a couple of hours to myself. Not soon after I settle in my chair with my large bag of extra buttered popcorn, and large half diet pepsi half cherry pepsi it begins. My cell phone rings at least 3 times....and then I begin getting text messages about whom did what to whom, who said what, etc. It is at this moment. I hate them. And then I hate my husband for not dealing with whatever issues they are having.
Pitch represents the perceived fundamental frequency of a sound. Little girls argue in a pitch that is just decimals below "Teen Buzz". ("teen buzz", for those of you who do not have teenagers, is a high pitched ringtone that the cell phone companies created which CANNOT be heard by adults) The sounds coming from my offspring while they are arguing permeates my brain to what I can only imagine could be simulated by a serrated fire poke stick thrust into my temples. After 2 minutes of this. I hate them. Really. I want to lunge out and poke their little eyeballs out.
Their father, and my dear husband, rarely has to deal with this. Except for the 2 hours a week I escape to the movies. This should be my "wind down" time. However, God forbid I have a couple of hours to myself. Not soon after I settle in my chair with my large bag of extra buttered popcorn, and large half diet pepsi half cherry pepsi it begins. My cell phone rings at least 3 times....and then I begin getting text messages about whom did what to whom, who said what, etc. It is at this moment. I hate them. And then I hate my husband for not dealing with whatever issues they are having.
Its not bad enought that the younger one go at at. My eldest, Matt, who will be 17 in less than a week has, for some strange reason, been home more then usual over the past couple of weeks. He lays on the couch, day in and day out. Occasionally, he will get up for something to eat or drink (after asking my to get it for him and getting denied). He fights with his sisters just as much as they fight with each other. It is hard to imagin that a 17 year old can fight with a 7 and 10 year old, but it is a given if they are home and within a 20 foot radius of each other.
He specializes in physical torture of his sisters. He baits them to say something to him...an insult, or whatnot. This, in turn (and in his mind) gives him license for retaliation. His specialty is the big toe in the mouth....or any rubbing of his "after football practice" dirty socks on their person. This elicits screams and cries....followed by the need for them to shower. This can happen several times in a day. I hate this.
I have prayed. I have prayed for September 1st for several weeks now. I sometimes think I am not cut out for this homemaker shit. I hate my kids at least 33 1/3 of the week, I tell my husband I have a "match.com" account. My house constantly looks like "hoarders" and my yard like Fred Sanfords. My bureau is filled primarily with sweatpants and sweatshirts, and my mascara had expired 6 months ago.
I spend entirely too much time on facebook....and read the braggings of other mothers' wonderful lives, children and husbands. Then, then my common sense kicks in and tells me that that is all a crock of BS, and that I am surely the poster child for the American Homemaker (and prozac as the two are not mutually exclusive)
Yes, there are, I am sure, many mothers who will truly miss the company of her children. I, admittedly, am not.
So, as three loves of my life begin the new school year, I am left with but one sleep deprived, nipple addict. I will enjoy a somewhat neater house for 6 hours a day. I will make 3 less lunches a day and I will not miss acting as referee and manager of "could be" inmates.
So, to all my fellow mothers sending little (and big) ones off to school. Think of me at 9am on September 1 sitting on my couch with a cup of coffee and a ginormous smile on my face.
Happy 2010 School Year!
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