The truth about being a parent

I was looking back through my recent blogs and realized how serious I’ve been.  It’s time for a little light hearted humor with so much truth ingrained that it hurts.  Let’s talk about being a parent.  I can’t be the only parent that has done this.  In fact, my oldest child, bless her heart, has already told me that she’s putting me in a home.  So yep - I can provide names to go along with each of these descriptions.

I remember myself as a young person being so excited about being a parent and having beautiful perfect children by my side.  The reality wasn’t quite what I had pictured.  I remember looking at little girls with their pony tails half out, hair all frizzed out all over, snot running down their faces and thought to myself.  Do their parents not even care?  Like how hard is it to brush their hair?  And then I had little girls and realized, they can look like that, literally, one minute after brushing their hair and wiping their nose.  

As my kids have gotten older, and wiser (or more sarcastic), I have realized that there are some truths about being a parent that all of us veterans have come to realize over the years.  I thought it only fitting that I share some of them today.  Hopefully some of you can relate, although I fully claim my status as “not the best parent”.  

First of all, oh my God yes.  I had visions of my children helping around the house, doing chores, picking up after themselves, etc…  When does that happen?  They aren’t terrible.  Sometimes they even get things halfway to where they actually go.  But I had no idea that asking them to put away their very own clothes would be such a cause for anger.  These same clothes are the ones that I would haul downstairs, wash, then transfer to the dryer, then haul back upstairs.  But asking them to put them away is apparently just too much.  I feel like I’ve complained about this before, so I’ll move on.  

This picture makes me laugh.  Now that my kids are older, it is harder to get them to be willing to be in pictures.  And harder to get them not to be ridiculous in every picture.  A semi formal serious portrait just doesn’t happen.  But I miss these days.  I know I have a picture, somewhere, of what happened once when we asked Sophie to strike a pose.  Those who watched TV 5-6 years ago may remember the Captain Morgan commercials…

You do it too!  Don’t even tell me you don’t.  Where do you hide the super secret stash of cookies?  The candy bars?  The “don’t they dare even take one” Cadbury eggs.  I can’t post my answers here.  The children might see!!!

Why, in the name of all that is holy, can I be running around the house for hours after I get home, but it is the minute that I finally get to sit down with my book or even just sit down to stare into space and collect my scattered thoughts when someone suddenly NEEDS me.  Sign this, where is my?, help me with my homework, what is the meaning of life?, etc…

 

Which brings us to the next one.  I have a hard enough time keeping my thoughts straight.  I’m at the age where I do the walk into a room and forget what I was going for thing, regularly.  But it is often made worse by interrupting children.  Believe me, I understand.  If I don’t interrupt - I probably won’t remember 30 seconds from now what I meant to say.  

And yes - some day I might remember the names of Sophie's friends' moms.  But for now I'm adding "so and so's mom" to every new contact.  In my defense, I've had some of them tell me they have done the exact same thing with my contact.  So there.

For all my teasing about them, my kids truly do light up my days.  There is never a dull moment around here, that's for sure.  They are so caring and kind.  And while we don't always get along and agree, I know that they love each other and support each other and are there for each other when it counts.  I can count a million ways in which they have made me proud and continue to make me proud every day.