I am no supermom.

Sometimes I just don’t know about this mom thing.  To be honest, I guess I didn’t really ever get it. I always loved kids and thought it would be great fun to have a bunch of my own. But I didn’t have a clue that the fun could be interspersed with such frustration.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my children. They are the pride of my life and some of the dearest loves of my heart. It’s me that keeps showing up and ruining things. If ever there was a way to reveal the most awful things in a woman’s soul, it’s got to be motherhood. (Yes, I said “awful”. Not “awe-inspiring,” “awesome” and the other mushy gushy words usually associated with motherhood.)

I find myself to be very selfish & impatient. I find myself groaning and gritting my teeth when I hear my precious baby cry and cry and cry and scream and cry and cry and scream and . . . you get the picture. I often forget that a baby is probably not doing this intentionally.  But at the time, it sure feels like they have a personal agenda to suck up that precious moment you had dreamed about all day when you might have a second to pee in peace or that 15 minute snooze you were sure would improve your disposition. It feels even more intentional when the wailing wakes the other kid after not nearly long enough and all hopes of previously-mentioned plans falling into place are now completely dashed. So you pray, pray, pray that the wailing will stop. In fact, you tell God, it HAS to stop. You’ve had it. And if that stupid burp doesn’t come up soon and let my sweet baby boy come back, there’s going to be some kind of fury unleashed.

Ugly picture. See — motherhood brings out the worst in me.

I yelled at Ava today. I’ve been trying and doing better (I thought) at just letting her little antics go unnoticed.  I think it’s the fact that she is simply unable to play with actual toys unless she’s shut in room time, and even then I get nervous if it’s quiet. The other day it was two $28 MK gift sets (thankfully testers, but barelyused and definitely good for the bargain table. . .) The room still makes me sneeze, and I think the body butter ended up smashed through the little mesh windows of her playhouse — right next to Luke’s diaper cream from a month ago and the VicksRub from a week or so ago. So back to why I yelled at her today. First, we were in the laundry checking on my bedding (which Luke had so graciously consented to decorate with carrot puke) — the stain hadn’t come out, so I laid it aside. Literally while I was looking at the duvet cover, Ava somehow got the Shout, and had it sprayed all over the kitchen floor. I saw the bottle on the island and wondered why it was there about the same time I felt my nice leather moccasins sticking to the floor. I guess it wasn’t really a “yell,” as those who’ve really been yelled at would classify outbursts, but it was as loud and forceful rendition of her name as I’ve used lately. So I mop it, all the while giving a discourse on how inconvenient this is for mommy.

More ugly. Not only am I selfish, I’m lazy.

Of course, she completely wiped out on the wet floor. More crying. It’s the theme song of my house today.

Maybe that’s why Ava tried to get Luke some Mylicon — opened the bottle beautifully and carried the dropper upside-down like a pro. Didn’t lose a drop, even while she ran from me to stand on Gracie’s pillow and hold the offending hand and medicine behind the TV stand/cabinet thing. “No, mom, don’t take it. It’s baby Yuke’s.”

The rest of the story, which is actually pretty funny, actually started in stages — part a month ago, part earlier in the afternoon. Earlier in the afternoon, while I was nursing Luke, I heard Gracie whimper.  I knew she needed water (Ava had taken it outside earlier and dumped it), so I asked Ava to get her some. Clearly Ava can get water, because this is an all-too-frequent issue with us. So, I relax, believing the dog to be taken care of. Fast-forward to Jake’s arrival home, then rewind a month. While looking in the cupboard to find something that might go with the brats I had set out to thaw (made with real beer — maybe it won’t all cook off. . .) , he slipped. On the WD-40 residue from the “cleaning” spree a month ago (my best explanation for the ice-like conditions there.) In in effort to keep his balance, he stepped/stumbled all over the dog’s dishes, which went flying in the air. Great — the mop is still out and wet. There’s definitely water in there. Ava just refilled it.

The smell hit us at about the same time and poor Ava heard a doubly-forceful rendition of her name. The sober look on her face revealed her troubled conscience. Further investigation revealed about 1/3 of a bottle of rubbing alcohol, missing and presumed to be all over the floor, under the fridge, etc., in a failed attempt to kill Gracie, or at least get her good and juiced. I literally would not have known. The bottle was perfectly recapped, with not a drop spilled. I wish I could say I laughed, but I was in such a foul mood after lots of baby crying that I could only be irritated that Jake went to cover the lemon tree before he cleaned it up. I pulled the fridge forward for good measure and took great joy in throwing away every toy I found there, save the pig’s hiney from our fridge farm.

More, more ugly. I’m selfish, I’m lazy and I’m completely no fun.

If we had a home visit, I’m quite sure we’d be judged an inappropriate environment for kids, especially after the dog food was found to have bugs in it. GRRRRR. And yesterday, and as the meat saleslady was walking away after my “not a good time,” I looked down to realize that Ava was standing quietly by my side, holding her pants AND panties in her hand. See, lady — I told you it’s not a good time. I’ve got a baby screaming for lunch and a naked two-year-old. Meat is the last thing on my mind. Nor do I have a great desire to talk about my television viewing habits, telephone- survey lady. So could you all, kids included, just leave me alone!!!

Bedtime was near at 6:30 and it pounced up poor Ava at about 7:15.  She excitedly used her new Diego battery-powered toothbrush (well, daddy used it in her mouth) and was quick to tell me later that daddy had also “gossed my teeth.”  At 8:15, after a round of screaming, etc, from both kids, I think it was getting quiet.  I’m sure Ava at least is dreaming about the Dora “vitamin kill” she can have in the morning at “breakiss.” Now it is complete bliss.

Coffee. Quiet. Clean Sheets. Bleach pen worked to take the killer spit-up off my duvet.  Sigh.

Sometimes I hate what my children pull out of my inner soul for me to see. But deep inside, I know they’re in a unique position to make me a better person. For sure they’re able drive me to God. And, hey — sometimes I need the push.

For the record, I think they’re great kids. Ava is smart and generally very respectful and responsive. Luke is so happy when he’s happy. . . I wouldn’t change a thing about either of them. I know that there are so many, many people out there who are longing to be in my position, who wish to hear a baby crying in their home. I do know this, and deep down I never really forget. I think that’s why it stings when I find myself so out-of-sorts.

When I get to the end of the day, I look at them sleeping and my heart melts. They say you forget childbirth, but I think you forget a whole lot after birth as well.  That’s why each day can begin with a clean slate, and your love for your children is only strengthened by the struggles of the day before. Hopefully your stamina as a mom increases, too, because I keep waiting for the day that my abilities as a mom will be up to par with my kids’ activities.

My living room wall says it so well — it’s written there to remind me — We do not remember days. We remember MOMENTS. I have some great ones, and I’ll always cherish them, whether I’m doing everything right or not.

Just because I have it, here's the Vick's concoction, set so beautifully before her unsuspecting child. This is a FINE example of Ava's roomtime activities.

AND the failed attempt at painting her nails with daddy's paint brush and cleaning up the spill with a washcloth.

But they clean up, and we love them very much!