Whine Entitlement

I think all wives and mothers should be entitled to emotional pain and suffering compensation. I really do. It is so stressful. And what makes it worse, is most of the time it’s nothing you can really pinpoint, or explain. Just a general weariness. It’s not like, when Jeremy asks me “What’s wrong with you?”, that I can immediately produce a bullet list of reasons. Maybe I should start keeping one- with men, logic is the key to validation.

So here’s how my week has been:

Monday, I woke up with a throbbing headache, the kind that hurts when you move your eyeballs. Thankfully, Jeremy was home from work and could help some with the kids, but for some reason, my kids can’t grasp the whole “I have two parents” idea. They want a drink, they come to me. They need their butts wiped, they call me. They want food, toys, new clothes, vindication, they come to me. I try to tell them over and over, “Go see Daddy! That’s why you have TWO. PARENTS.” I wonder if he’s behind my back doing the ol’ violent arm wave (“Noooo! Don’t do it!”), because they will. not. listen to me. I’ve heard people say that they became a mother because they wanted to be needed. I wonder if they realized beforehand how very “needed” mothers are. Dogs are needy. Clingy boyfriends are needy. Kids? They’re straight leeches. If they could, they would crawl back into your uterus.

So anyway, Monday was a bust.

Tuesday, I was rushing the kids out to take Ashton to school, opened the car doors, and realized I was short two car seats. They had been left in Jeremy’s Jeep. It was too late for me to wait for him to bring them back, so I had to buckle them into the seats and pray to God I didn’t get in an accident or get pulled over (please, please don’t report me to the police. I’m a stickler for the car seat issue, trust me.). My kids were nervous too, they’ve heard me plenty of times ranting at ignorant people who stuff seven 2 year olds into the back of a Honda Civic. All the way to the school (a 9 minute drive), Chloe’s in the back seat chanting “If the police catch you you’re gonna go to jail!”, with Ashton chiming in with, “If we get in an accident the seatbelt’s gonna cut my neck off!”

So Tuesday didn’t start off well.

This morning, I was doing pretty well. Except I just remembered, as I type this, that I forgot to give my poor kid breakfast. $&%@. Anyway, we got out of the house in a timely manner, all car seats accounted for, all kids mostly cognizant, and drove to school. There’s a random guy who rides an old banana seat bicycle up and down Briarfield, going with the traffic, about 5 miles an hour, on the street. Not the sidewalk. He didn’t ruin my day or anything, it just bugs me. It’s stupid and dangerous. I wonder if he’s not quite all there.
We pull up to the school, and I see all these boys with collared shirts and ties on. Crap. It’s school picture day. Collared shirts and ties are required for boys on school picture day. Brushed hair is a plus. Neither of which my son had. His teacher JUST reminded me, less than 24 hours ago. How did I forget that quickly?? So I had to rush back home, scrounge out his undershirt, white button down shirt, and red striped tie, rush back out the door, to the school (thankfully crazy bike guy was gone) and drop it off at the office. Wearing sweatpants, with unwashed hair in ratty pigtails, and my old glasses. Thank God I had at least put on a bra this morning. Also I just remembered that I forgot to clip Ashton’s fingernails.

None of these things individually seem like that big of deal. I guess really, on rereading them, they seem pretty insignificant. Like I said, I can’t provide a PowerPoint presentation on why I’m so stressed and over it this week. There’s no exact reason. It’s just one thing after another, after another, after another. Most people will tell you that it’s not the major problems that they can’t handle. It’s the stupid, little, everyday things that drive you crazy, keep you awake at night, and make you dread getting out of bed in the morning. That’s a lot of what motherhood is. If one of my kids (God forbid) broke a bone or something, I could handle that. It would be terrible, but that’s a crisis that I can manage. However, if my kid pees on his/herself in the middle of Target, I will lose it. Not only because it would suck, but also because I more than likely won’t have a change of clothes, which will make me spend money I don’t have to buy a change of clothes, which will make me feel like a terrible spendthrift on top of already being a terrible mother for not having a change of clothes for my kid, or better yet, for not listening when they said that they really had to go potty. You see what I mean? It’s all a downward spiral.

So today I felt entitled to a little whine. Since apparently I’m actually not entitled to emotional pain and suffering compensation.

P.S. The above image was on a postcard my sister gave me once. I thought it apropos.

Also, I just had to add this. While I was typing this blog, Atleigh spilled her entire drink in the living room, then attempted to clean it up with a whole roll of toilet paper. I suppose she gets points for trying to clean up her own mess. But the negative points from my having to clean up her attempt at cleaning up might counterbalance the whole thing.