Friday, October 3, 2014

Kids. They Pretty Much Ruin Shit.

Some of you may know, while I pretend to not like children, I have several of my own.  I have SIX. You can say several when you have six. That’s not close to a few. That’s like me telling you that I have several dollars for you and showing up with three. It would be an unpleasant surprise. You have to warn folks when you roll around with several kids. I can’t just pop up for dinner at your house. Several or a few, it’s just me and them most days. Kids are fucking nuts.  Kids are weird. My youngest son eats hair.  Yes.  Hair.  I have one with a stick collection (the kind that fall off of trees) that he takes everywhere he goes. Kids talk incessantly.  Kids ask questions like, "Exactly how big is DNA?" When I ask my 10 year old daughter how was school, she pulls out notes she took of her day so she doesn't miss anything. I mean I truly care, but damn, I just got off work. Can't she just say "good" sometimes and put her ear buds in?   Kids eat a lot. I cook for them. Kids have places to go...All the time. I take them.  Kids need stuff, I buy it. This is what parents do. I am not complaining about it. After I spend all my money on them, I feel a sense of accomplishment and pride until a single tear trickles down my cheek the moment I realize that I have no money for vodka. Okay, maybe I am complaining. But fuck, it’s hard and I'm tired.  And before one of you tell me I shouldn't have had six kids, let me be the one to tell you, I fucking didn't. I had three.  Life sometimes throws you a curve ball and you wake up with six kids one day. No big deal. Hell, I don't even know how the other ones got here.

 All that being said, I love all those little fuckers.  I have every age range: Selfish soul sucking duo of 2 year old twins, who are simply trying to understand the world around them;
I hope the twins understand this isn't The Shining.
 a couple of preteens who have a slight understanding of what is going on, but can't tie their shoes properly;  a teenage girl who instead of looking at one of her myriad of electronic devices and ascertaining the weather for herself, asks me if it's warm enough to wear shorts in August; and a 20 year old man-boy-child hybrid who wants so badly to be grown, but just comes off as a helpless boy who smokes, cusses, and has a tattoo.  Having every age range keeps me on my toes.  There is very little in this world I can’t handle. I could vomit and shit myself with Ebola while driving a kid to practice with one hand and feed a toddler in the backseat with the other; all without spreading the virus. Not to mention, other than strippers, afternoon sex, and daytime drinking, they are my greatest source of entertainment. I wouldn't trade this shit for anything on a good day. On a bad day, I may trade them for a rusty paperclip.

Kids are just little adults with no job and very little reasoning skills who walk around thinking they know everything, regurgitating the world around them. Sometimes, it's quite hilarious. Once, I overheard my 10 year old daughter pretending to be "the mom" while playing house and I and could hear her telling "the kids" shit like, "Boy...If you don't do this homework,  I'm gonna punch you in the stomach!" I wonder where they get this shit from?  I also like watching my kids not learn from my mistakes. It sounds fucked up, but we all know kids don't listen to us. We might as well enjoy the hilarity when the world gives them the middle finger. 
Go on world, give them the finger...Johnny Cash style.
Especially, since most folks frown on flipping-off small children.  I don’t want my kids to learn the hard lessons like, let’s not give a fuck about our credit and have a baby at 18 kind of way. More like the, I've told you 1,000 times to not ride your bike with your shoe untied/if you keep spinning around in circles, you're going to puke kind of way.  They've got to learn somehow. I've shown them where the mop and the band-aids 
are. As fun as it is,  watching them fuck up play, is exhausting. There's the crying, lack of sharing, loud singing, farting, begging, whining, laughing, singing, running...Well, you get it. The shit's tiring. 

I'm constantly surrounded by small people and they always want something. As you can guess, I truly enjoy my alone time. The problem is, I usually don't get it until after 10:00 p.m. on weeknights.  Unless I leave my house or orchestrate Operation Come Get This Kid, there is no such thing as alone time.  Weekends can be worse, if it wasn't for the fact that I wasn't at work, the ability to sleep until 8:30 a.m. (yes a.m.), and vodka, I would loathe weekends. Hell, it’s just me against them all day with no school or daycare to save me.  I am here to tell you that solitude and silence are underrated. I once had a psychology professor tell me that if you can’t stand to sit alone and enjoy the silence and solitude, you must not be able to stand yourself. Well, I fucking love myself.  So with the kids up until 10:00, I tend to stay up late enjoying my solitude and silence, writing, having cocktails, sexting, masturbating, watching Game of Thrones, and any other show with gratuitous fucking and/or entrails. You know, adult shit. Even if what I was watching was as tame as the Today Show, my kids would be like Mom, "Who is that?" Why is he doing that?" What are they talking about?" To put it mildly, they pretty much ruin shit.

So in an attempt to avoid a murderous rampage and enjoy a few hours after bedtime, I stay up late until after homework, dinner, laundry, tournaments, school events, soccer games, etc. are over. I suffer for this of course. I get anywhere from 4-6 hours of sleep a night and I’m awakened by an alarm/child while simultaneously being ripped from my Dreamland wherein I travel all over Europe with my hot boyfriend and huge bank account.  While I am still rubbing my eyes and in a sleep deprived haze, I have a flurry of questions. I usually ask myself things like:

1. Why the fuck am I up?
2. Why did I teach those damn kids to call me Mom?
3. Where in the hell is my coffee?
4. Why have I not taught these kids to make me coffee?
5. What did I do to deserve this?
Oh, yeah. That. Just with fatter legs.
6. Why have I not created an invention that makes a bowl of cereal and milk?
7. Why isn't professional sleeper a job?
8.  Is it too early for vodka?
It's NEVER too early for vodka. 

 Before Vodka.


                                                                                                              After Vodka.
"Mommy smells happy."