Ova it

I guess my southern is showing a little bit y'all, because lately I've been feeling like - if you can't say something nice, don't say it at all. Mostly keeping it to myself, but here is a short list of the things I am crabby about.

1. Single parenting.

2. Crappy dull knives.

3. Ssssllloooowww wireless.

4. Having to walk the dog down two flights of stairs first thing in the morning while carrying a two year old (in my PJ's and before coffee).

5. End of school activities - Holy fruit tray Batman - two end of school parties, three awards ceremonies, a Girl Scout gathering, a swimming field trip, a preschool art auction, teacher gifts... it just keeps going.

So there ya go.

Fail

Friday was a particularly challenging day with Little Guy. He woke up uncooperative and I wasn't in the mood to negotiate my way through the morning. By the time we made it into the car to take Girlie to school, he had a full meltdown. He did it again at Target. 10 AM and I needed a cocktail. I grabbed the dish soap and conditioner and sprinted for the check out.

We went to his gym class where he continued to run amok. We went to the park where he refused to listen. Finally just before lunch, I had no choice, we had to run into Trader Joes. I bribed him with the promise of a snack and tried to make it quick and relatively painless.

By the time we got to the checkout, he was starting to lose it again. An older woman was scanning our groceries and she smiled at him. She mentioned that he had a great vocabulary asked how old he was. I replied, "he'll be three in August." This is my standard reply, my way of hurrying the two's along.

"Ah," she said, "most people call it the terribles, but I like to call it testing."

Testing? Ugh. I am so NOT getting a good grade.

The icing

Yesterday Hubs and I were doing the dishes after dinner talking about how crazy things have been. We could almost laugh about it, but not quite yet.

We're moving in just over two weeks and we have a ton of small things to wrap up in Phoenix. The kids have been especially off the hook lately. His travel schedule has been insane. His project has been extremely challenging. I have been sick. And the vacuum cleaner that came with this apartment doesn't work and the knives really suck.

The thing is, life with two youngish kids is insane enough, so whenever you choose to do anything extra, like say, take a new job and move across the country, you can count on chaos. So when you come down with a stomach flu while your husband is out of town, you can pretty much guarantee your children are going to come to blows over the remote while you are hanging over the toilet praying for a swift death.

On Mother's Day, some woman who was being interviewed said that children are the icing on the cake. I agree. It's just that sometimes they are that deceptively sweet icing, where you swipe a finger full expecting a delicious treat and really, it's just too much.

Circle

What if people were like trees with rings representing each year of life? You could slice into the the person and see each year, the little ripples and bumps forming a circle. As you ran a finger across each little groove, you could count the years. You could measure the width of the ring and pinpoint the bad years, the ones where there wasn't enough.

Or maybe it is better that there is no physical evidence of the passage of a lifetime, at least not year by year. Better to come full circle, put it behind you and never look back.

Treasure chest

I am finally up and moving after an illness that was a cross between the flu and some type of Chinese cleansing ritual. I spent Mother's Day in bed watching TV, which in the end didn't turn out to be such a bad way to spend the day after all. I can't remember being this sick in recent years, but I also can't remember being able to stay in bed for a few days straight. I watched Titanic from start to finish, such melodramatic bliss.

Mother's Day morning, the kids burst into the room with their gifts,dark chocolate, cheese popcorn, a really cute shirt from Frances, earrings, and maybe my favorite, this poem from Girlie -

"Mothers are the very best.

They can be as pretty as a treasure chest.

Every time she gives a hug.

I feel snug as a bug in a rug.

They make things to eat.

They also make yummy treats.

I love my Mommy yes I do.

I know she loves me too."

Oh, how I do love them.