14 Years and No Hope of Parole
"He does it when something is funny. He does it when he is happy. He does it when he is mad, sad, pissed, or bored."
Summertime is hard. At least it is for me. I have three children, ages thirteen, eight, and four. I have been a stay at home mom since my youngest was born. And just this afternoon I believe that I very nearly suffered a full-on psychotic break right in front of them all.
I was watching one of those funny home video shows with the kids earlier, and as per usual, my youngest cannot simply sit next to me, but has to cling to one of my arms. This is, I admit, for the most part incredibly sweet and endearing. He even gives me quick kisses on the cheek and arm sporadically, and for absolutely no discernable reason. I know that I will one day miss this terribly, I do. However, being that it is now summertime, and the children have been home all day, nearly every day for well-over a month now, certain things that would not normally get to me are now driving me stark-raving mad. And for some of us, that drive is much shorter than it would be for others.
So, while normally snuggling with my baby boy would just be a wonderful and lovely experience, I am not exactly myself at this particular point in time. Did I mention that this child is completely incapable of sitting still for longer than three seconds at any given time? Oh, let me tell you. He just fidgets and kicks, elbows and bounces for no reason whatsoever. It is much like what I imagine would result if the Tasmanian devil had ADHD and a nasty crack habit. I am not even sure if he knows that he is doing it! Also, this kid is B – O – N – E – Y. His elbow gets me in the ribcage and it feels as though someone is trying to insert a chest tube. And it is constant. Completely nonstop. Yet he continues to cling to my arm, all the while I am being repeatedly injured, poked-at and nearly impaled by his cold, boney toes and other appendages.
"Oh, there is also this awesome thing he does where he spends about three quarters of the day with one or both of his hands down his pants."
For my added enjoyment, the boy’s new favorite thing to do is freaking spit. Yeah. You know how you flap your lips in order to “zurbit” someone? He does that. He does it often, and he does it without provocation. He does it when something is funny. He does it when he is happy. He does it when he is mad, sad, pissed, or bored. And for whatever ungodly reason, it would seem that he has an overabundance of saliva, so it also goes completely everywhere. Me, being the lucky individual he clings to relentlessly, is not only being physically beaten and abused, but I now also have the added bonus of intermittent spit-showers. Life is good.
Oh, there is also this awesome thing he does where he spends about three quarters of the day with one or both of his hands down his pants. In. His. Underwear. So when he does let go of my arm, it is usually so that he can grab my face with both of his hands in order to deliver a kiss. Both of his hands, which spend most of their time on his own ass and/or genitals: On. My. Face. Sweet, huh?
Toddlers Are Adorable For a Reason.
..."I will have been doing this whole parental-insanity-thing for approximately twenty seven years."
So back to the breakdown. Here I am, being poked prodded, spit-upon and having ass/genital facials (graphic, I know, but it is just that bad) on the regular, and I am trying to get him to settle down so that we can all enjoy the show. I am not succeeding, mind you, but I am trying. Finally, I just look up at the ceiling and say out loud to myself, “Just fourteen more years of this and I will be done!” As soon as it came out of my mouth, the realization that these bizarre conditions under which I live my life could actually continue for another FOURTEEN years just overwhelmed me completely, and I actually began to tear-up. I covered my eyes, and then this almost psychotic, maniacal laughter started. It got extremely loud, extremely quickly, and I just could not stop it. The tears also continued, and it was just. . . . . Super crazy. No other way to put it.
My eight year old daughter, who was sitting in the chair across the room appeared to be entirely un-phased by the whole thing, but I am pretty sure that she is even nuttier than me, so that is not saying too much. My thirteen year old son, who was on the other end of the couch was visibly disturbed by this (not that I can say that I blame him, it was pretty scary), but I just could not stop! And the harder I would try to calm down and explain myself, the louder the scary laugh/cry thing got! The thirteen year old had to get up and leave the room! His leaving during our program upset the four year old so badly that I was finally able to calm down a bit, and I called my teenager back into the living room so that we could resume watching our show. He still looked uncomfortable, and as soon as our program ended, he took the four year old and fled upstairs.
"Check Please!"
I feel really bad, yet still begin giggling when I think about it, even as I type this now. I mean, fourteen years. Yeah. Assuming that all of the kids are out of the house by the time my youngest comes of age, I will have been doing this whole parental-insanity-thing for approximately twenty seven years. This only demonstrates to me once again that math is evil, adulting is for suckers, having kids is hard, and being a stay at home mom during the summertime is just plain madness. Check please!
