Moments in a Mother's Life

Without a doubt, mothering is one of the greatest challenges of my life.  Ever.  It's absolutely one of the most crazy, frustrating, unpredictable, unscripted, and aggravating tasks I have ever undertaken.  These children do not come with a book of instructions.  There is no user's manual.  No "help" button.  They don't come with a receipt so that they can be returned when they are OBVIOUSLY malfunctioning and they also cannot be exchanged for a more "desireable" model.  Nope.  All sales are final on these children creatures.  Hmmmpff!  That's what I think about that tonight.  It has most definitely been "one of those days". I'm pretty much feeling like the poster child for Calgon, Take Me Away.  And boy, would I be game for THAT!  Take me away already.  The most likely destination being the looney bin.  Maybe I should just walk myself right on up to Rite Aid and buy myself a big old box of that "heaven in a bathtub"?  Oh, that's right.  I don't HAVE a bathtub here in Paradise.  I have a shower.  With no hot water.  But that's another post.  Sigh.  Things are heating up here in my 30 feet of trailer.  ( Just not in my water heater.  Again, another post.)  Being crammed up against your three  completely bratty sweet, angelic children day in and day out can be challenging, to put it nicely.  This week has been particulary, umm, challenging.  Despite my best efforts to please them, all of them, ANY of them, I seem to have failed quite miserably.  My oldest child turned the ripe old age of 15 this week.  I told him that the day was his to plan and enjoy and I would make it happen.  We started out with breakfast at the absolutely yummy cafe up the street.  They serve pancakes as big as your tires and omelets and hashbrowns that will make your mouth water just smelling them.  Everyone had a fantastic breakfast.  But it was spoiled when the birthday boy started reminding me that he is now eligible to get his learner's permit.  Because that brought on the "I told you so" conversation.  We've had conversations about this exact topic for a couple of years now.  And I told him that when he hit that magic age, he was going to want to get that permit and get behind the wheel.  And I also told him that without good grades and a consistent show of responsibility, that was NOT going to happen.  He has had PLENTY of reminders.  Like, say, every other day  every three weeks or so when report cards and/or progress reports come out.  I have been remarkably consistent with that speech.  Never veering, and never changing, always clearly stating the conditions to drive.  Apparently my son is stone deaf thought it was open to negotiation.  It is NOT.  And so, despite a delicious and wonderful breakfast, the birthday boy was in a funk by the time we got back home as a result of the "I told you this was going to happen" conversation.  Sigh.  I hate being right all the time.  But I was not about to let THAT get to me.   Next on the birthday boy's agenda was taking his new Viper 7 surfing fins he had specifically asked for for his birthday out to the beach for their maiden voyage.  He was all pumped up about it and sure he was about to go rocketing through the waves, newly enabled to catch waves he's only dreamed about previously.  After just a few minutes, the fins were deposited back up on the beach rather unceremoniously and I was informed that they were "awful, stiff, made it feel like bricks were strapped to his feet, and completely painful."  Awesome.  Nice.  Now we own $80 worth of useless, brick fins.  Not to mention that during the three hours he attempted to use said brick fins, he managed to rub off ALL of the sunscreen under his eyes.  Which he does EVERY single time he gets in the water at the beach.  And he burned the entire area under his eyes.  AGAIN.  Like dark, dark, red.  The final blow to the big day came over dinner when I made the sloppy joe meal he had requested.  I grabbed a new recipe off of All Recipes...highly reviewed and totally kid approved in every single review.  Max took a look in the pot as I was setting it all up to cook and declared "What is all that vegetable crap in the pot?!"  Excuse me?  Vegetable "crap"???!!!!  Max has long since been a picky eater...but really, sometimes he's just ridiculous.  And this was ridiculous.  He's not even concerned with how it tastes.  We actually RARELY get to the tasting part of things because he's so darned suspicious about how things look or feel or any hidden ingredients that might be lurking there, waiting to trap and trick him.  To say I was a little ticked would be a slight understatement.  All in all, that day was a failure in the book of mothering I suppose.  Despite my very best efforts and intentions.  To top it off, it's been an all out battle every single day about going to the beach to swim with Max because I told him no more for a few days until his sun burn under his eyes is okay.  He keeps managing to weasle an invite from some other family and promises me every time he won't get more burned.  He's practically purple now under his eyes from the sun and will not be setting so much as a toenail down on the beach until that is done.  PERIOD.  Grrrr.  Sigh.  Cue the dawn of a new day.  Today, I tried to do something special for my daughter.  Her BFF is coming out to camp and vacation with us at the end of this month.  They ADORE dressing alike and we have a few matching t-shirts for them.  I thought it would be nice to come up with a couple more since they are going to be together for 10 days this time and found out that we could even design one ourselves just down the street.  I asked her if she was interested and she couldn't get there fast enough.  Rushing me through my morning activities and asking constantly when we were going.  We arrived at the place, she picked her shirt color and her design and then....couldn't be done fast enough.  The poor lady just couldn't iron the danged thing on fast enough to suit her.  FINALLY, after a whopping 5 minutes or so, the t-shirts were done.  Cute.  Fresh.  Custom.  Just the way she wanted it.  I asked her if she'd like to go to Michael's or JoAnn's and get the supplies to design a couple more at home.  She said sure, that was fine and so we headed off in that direction.  We searched all the supplies looking for the right thing.  We found a few things we liked but needed more.  But by then she decided she was tired of the project and was loosing patience with my searching for the right stuff.  I asked her if she liked a couple of cute embellishments, at which point she proceeded to tell me that I had no taste.  I HAVE NO TASTE??????????  Really?  This coming from the eight year old that insists on looking like an orphan 6 out of 7 days in a week?  REALLY?????  At that point I was done.  D-O-N-E.  This momma was taking her no taste self home and her children were going to get a reality check.  I feel like there is such a sense of entitlement with them.  And such ungratefulness.  My children have never done without a thing.  They have always had plenty to eat and plenty of clothes to wear.  Nice clothes.  They have always lived in lovely, safe, clean homes.  Homes that have progressively grown grander and nicer as they have grown.  They have always had activities of their choice and the chance to try most anything they wish to learn.  They have lived a life of plenty.  Not excess.  But definitely enough and then some.  But they have absolutely no appreciation for any of it.  They get their clean laundry and then complain that they've been asked to put it away.  They get a hot, delicious meal put in front of them and then complain that it isn't what they wanted.  They getcell phones,  PSP's,  iTouches, Playstations and XBoxes, but complain that they don't have an iphone and unlimited texting.  REALLY?????  I'll just go ahead and state for the obvious record that we didn't even HAVE video games or cell phones or texting or even computers when I was their age.  When we wanted to tell someone something, we picked up the telephone.  And dialed it on a rotary dial no less!  There weren't microwaves and DVR's.  Back in the old days (ugggh, did I really just type that?!) if you wanted macaroni and cheese you had to boil water on the stove and cook it the old fashioned way.  If you wanted waffles, you had to make them from scratch, then cook them on a waffle iron.  If you wanted POPCORN, you either got out an air popper or a skillet of hot oil and got to cooking it.  None of this microwavable instant gratification.  It makes me crazy to watch my kids act this way.  They don't help clean.  Or cook.  Or do yardwork.  They only take out the trash or empty the dishwasher when they are TOLD to do so...otherwise, when there is work to be done, they are suspiciously scarce.  Then they don't understand why I don't have all the time and energy in the world to entertain  and do things for them.  Not only do they not help to clean up, they seem oblivious to the very obvious messes they are creating everywhere they go.  WHY would you drop your socks right in the middle of the living room floor?  Or tear the labels off your water bottle and just throw them all over the couch in the media room?!  Why would you pour a big bowl of cereal, splashing milk all over my very dark countertops and just walk away like you don't see it?  Grrrr.  I am NOT having a good day with all of this today.  Alas, I've been driven to invoke a certain reality check.  Starting immediately following the "you have no taste" comment, I decided that I do entirely too much for children who appreciate little to none of it.  And so, it's appreciation boot camp for the Roberts children.  I refuse to cook for them, to do their laundry, to cater to their entertainment requests.  No.  I'm done with that now.  I will cook for me.  Or not cook for ME.  Whatever feels good that night.  And the kids, well, they can cook for themselves.  And since they never help with dinner and do not know their way around the kitchen, that is pretty much going to limit them to peanut butter and jelly sandwhiches, microwaved hot dogs and cheerios.  Laundry will need to be done in a couple of days here and they will all be running their own loads.  They can stop their playing and haul it all up there.  They can wait for it and switch it from the washer to the dryer.  And when it's all done , they can fold it up and carry it home AND put it away.  I'm just done and so very tired of it. I can't return them or exchange them.  But I darned sure can make sure that the next time someone does their laundry, that they will have enough loads under their own belt that they can muster a heartfelt "thank you".  And if you eat enough peanut butter and cheerios, then I imagine that my inch thick grilled pork chops that I had for dinner tonight might just start to look pretty darned scrumptious.  And so...that's where I am with mothering today.  Tired.  Frustrated.  Disappointed.  And most definitely on strike!