Complications in the Mom Squad

I seem to have a love/hate relationship with my kids. Well, no, actually, I don’t ever hate my kids. I guess I have a love/oh-my-god-you’re-driving-me-crazy-right-now-can-I-just-get-five-minutes-of-peace-to-myself? kind of relationship with my kids. I love ‘em, but sometimes I love them a lot more when they aren’t in my general area.

Real parenting is kind of ugly. Moms have this preconceived notion that we are never supposed to speak ill of our children and we are supposed to think that rainbows spew forth from their butts at all times and we frolic with the unicorns… and then find out what drugs that nice nurse gave us that made us have these pretty hallucinations. Real parents know that kids don’t come with instruction manuals because every single one is different just for spite. Ok, maybe not for spite, but some days that’s what it feels like. It’s messy and exhausting and there’s a 100% chance of fluids from somewhere and 99% of them ain’t good.

And we can admit, if only to ourselves, that at times our kids are jerks. At times they step up their jerk game and become full-fledged a-holes, too. Sometimes we are just as tired of their tantrums as they are of having them. (I don’t know if this is true but I’m guessing since they eventually outgrow tantrums that they do get tired of having them. Either that or they just find new ways to manipulate those suckers they call parents.) We all fall prey to the green eyed monster of envy and wish our kids ate as well as Annie’s kid or that they were as sweet and Mindy’s kid or that they hated candy like Sarah’s kid. It might happen someday. Then again it might not, but we shouldn’t let our mommy guilt paralyze us and waste their growing up years bathed in a cloud of self-doubt. Hell, most days I’m just happy that they’re all alive, safe, and breathing. (Every day we keep them alive is another feather in our caps!) If it’s been a particularly trying day and I successfully get them all to bed without beating one of them, it’s a miracle. (Disclaimer: I actually don’t beat my kids but I do threaten to beat them on an hourly basis. Usually something like, “If you don’t stop throwing that ball in the house, I’m going to beat you.” Or “If you keep sassing back to your father, I’m going to beat you.” Sadly, since I don’t actually beat them, it’s just an idle threat. Well, not sadly, because it’s not like I WANT to beat them. Maybe a swat on the rear. Or a stern talking to! Oh, who am I kidding, I might be getting too soft for this parenting gig. Where are my nerves of steel? It's more like aluminum foil these days.)

I think I had a point before I severely got off topic. Oh yes, it’s that guilt that we carry around with us. We know it’s there, and just as often we know that we shouldn’t have it, and yet, we still do. Case in point: I love having a little “me time” when the hubs takes the kids to grandma and grandpas to visit or they’re spending time at a friend’s house, but I feel bad about it. Like: I will read this book uninterrupted but I won’t enjoy it because I will miss you terribly. I want them to go away and give me a break, but then I miss them when they’re gone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to make the most of my time without squabbling, demanding, whining little monsters, but I don’t know if I’ll truly be able to savor it because I feel like good moms don’t enjoy their children being away from them.

And there it is in a nutshell.

We think that good parents don’t want to spend time away from their kids. What are we, martyrs? Did we sign a contract that said we will spend every waking moment that we possibly can adoring, caring for, or staring at our bundles of joy? Do we not deserve a break after the 77^th time listening to the Paw Patrol theme song or the 23^rd time we broke up a sibling squabble over that one toy that you haven’t been able to accidentally break yet because it doesn’t leave their sight ever? (One day though, they will leave it unguarded and I will swoop in and destroy it! Muah ha ha ha ha ha.) We deserve to be able to eat a hot meal every now and again, right? One that doesn’t involve macaroni and cheese or chicken fingers. One that we might even get to dress up a little for. (And I don’t mean just wearing the unstained yoga pants.) We deserve to go to a rock concert and wonder how we are going to make it to work after staying up so late (11pm). Just like your family deserves time to bond with your precious angels without their parents hovering, being the heavy hands of justice. They deserve to be spoiled and drink soda and eat snacks that they won’t tell you about because it’s part of childhood and frankly, as long as they are happy, healthy, and unharmed, you probably won’t care anyway.

So yes, I will admit, I do need time away from my kids. It helps me not smack them when they’re being uber annoying and it helps me appreciate those sweet cuddles more. That doesn’t mean I won’t feel bad for wanting the time, but give me a hot meal with meat that isn’t cut into toddler sized bites, and I’ll probably get over it. (If not the meat, then definitely the dessert that I DON’T HAVE TO SHARE!!!!!! will probably seal the deal.)