Those Days

Some days I can understand why some people do not have children. 

I am talking about the days that I just want to run and hide or get into my car and drive far, far away because I seriously cannot stand my children for one more second.

The days that Noelle gives me attitude over every.little.thing.  Honestly, you would think the whole world was ending because I told her to hang up her clothes.  This, of course, is after she found some way to interrupt every conversation I was engaged in that day or found some way to make each and every task I needed to accomplished incredibly difficult.   She also thinks me trying to pick a random piece of hair out of her eye is like major surgery that requires tears or valium. 

The days that Nikolai cries for absolutely no reason or because I do not give him everything his little heart desires.  You know, I can only hold so many dishes/toys/food/babies in my hands before I crack.  This comes after he has decided the floor that I just picked up and vacuumed should be re-christened with his lunch and re-filled with his toys.  Oh yes, and then he is upset because he is still hungry for the food that made it to the floor and not his tummy and that his feet hurt from constantly stepping all over the legos that MUST cover every square inch of the living room.

The days that after hearing all the whining and crying and fits and temper tantrums that I still must find a way to stop from drowning in a never-ending pile of laundry and sink constantly full of dirty (smelly) dishes and people saying to me "when are you cooking dinner" and "did you pay this bill yet."

You know...those days. 

It is on those days that I do not like being a parent. I do not like having responsibilities.  That I tell my husband that for Christmas next year I want Santa to make me six years old again so that somebody else can do my laundry, cook my dinner, wash my dishes and pay my bills.  So that somebody else can listen to children whine and cry and throw themselves on the ground in a rage because they did not get to play with the toaster (yes, the toaster).

Now, on those days, after I have given myself the appropriate time out, I remind myself that being a parent sucks.  Having responsibility for the lives of those who cannot care for themselves is hard.  Trying to keep life in balance is not an easy task.

But, watching your daughter figure out a tough math problem or scoring a soccer goal, hearing your son sing "ABC" for the first time, gazing at them both as they dance together around the house, putting them both to bed with an I love you and a kiss, that is what a mom gets to do.

And being a mom is awesome....even on those days.