I no longer know when one illness begins and another ends. In the last month I had a cold, Zach, Rowan, and I have all had a stomach bug, Lorelei had a high fever, both kids got pink eye, Rowan had an ear infection, Rowan got another stomach bug, Zach got pink eye, Lorelei threw up, and this morning Zach and I both woke up with sore throats.
Remember how I wrote that “The Dishes Can Wait and Other Lies” essay? And how I put it up on HuffPost and people who must have had an unfortunate accident as a child that removed both their sarcasm gland and sense of humor took me way too literally and seriously? The best was that they went both extremes. Some took it to mean that my house was a complete disaster all of the time, and that there were ants everywhere, because all I did was take the “they’re only young once” advice to heart. And then some people were sure that my house was perfectly clean, because I was shunning that advice entirely.
This morning Lorelei decided to make “potions.” She informed me that she would be needing soap, water, and salt. Okay. And food coloring. Whoa, wait a minute. I draw the line at food coloring. Until I’d already helped her once and she asked again, and after all she did say please. My counter will be tie dyed for a while.
Hi. I’m new here.
That’s the only explanation I can find for why I had no baby wipes in my car; okay, that’s an exaggeration, I had two wipes and they were both dry. I went to get Rowan out of his seat and he was sitting in a pile of poop. All over his seat, his legs, and his clothes. Did I mention I was standing in the street outside of Lorelei’s school? Because yeah.
To the mom who…
has laundry baskets full of all the random shit that collects around the house. Toys, hair bows, single socks.
Facebook recently reminded me that Lorelei did not sleep completely through the night until she was almost two years old. How depressing. Rowan slept for five hours once, but it wasn’t the most useful time slot, since it started at 7:30pm. I seem to have forgotten how to sleep, anyway.
Dear mom who is totally screwing up,
Today my five year old daughter screamed the whole way home because I would not buy her a pottery wheel.