Sometimes it feels like my kids are f*cking with me. Like really and truly f*cking with me. Sometimes, I am just sitting here minding my own business (texting my friends or hiding in the bathroom), and something will happen that makes me think that they have the upper hand on me.
And they always will.
It started when they were only weeks old. Like the one time I left the house without my emergency change of clothes, which turned into the one time that Sadie or Simon would colossally blow out of the diaper. So, I would end up traipsing through a restaurant or Costco or Target with a leaking baby and poop stains on my favorite shirt.
Then, of course, there were the iconic moments when I had to catch an 8:00 AM flight and that was the one day in her whole entire life that Sadie decided to sleep in. So I found myself in the unenviable position of having to wake the very baby for whom I had sacrified fledging livestock to Gods to try to get some sleep. That day sucked.
And, how come a certain curly-headed two-year-old child of mine cannot repeat “please” or “thank you,” but “oh sh*t” rolled off her tongue after the first time (more or less) it escaped my lips?
How about all the poetic injustices around meal times? Aren’t those awesome? How many times have I put about eight choices in front of my kids, only to have them reject each by throwing them against the wall and watching them slither to our filthy floor (where they then refuse to eat it because it’s nasty)? But, if I then sit down to eat my own damn dinner and ruminate about my children’s rejection of my meals, guess who suddenly wants a bite of whatever it is I am eating. Raw meat through a spinach straw? “Oh, mommy, I want some. PLEASE can I have some?” Right.
It’s also getting more complex as they get older. Sadie is ecstatic to see her grandmother who came to visit this weekend. Through the vagaries of modern love and life, Sadie actually has three grandmothers: two of them are Christian and one is Jewish. Sadie just memorized the words to “Jesus Loves Me, This I Know” (which will certainly teach me to leave her unsupervised with the iPad again anytime soon). Guess which grandmother is in town? (Hint: it’s the Jewish one.)
Do your kids to this? Do you feel like they are messing with you? It can’t just be me, right?