My internal monologue goes something like this,
"Knock off breakfast, play for a bit, then we are going to get dressed, hit the bookstore, the mall, maybe Target and time permitting ...some other store that will suck up my money."
And surprisingly, my ass-kicking, motherhood self reassures me that THIS is a good plan. And we will all be in great moods and it will go off without a hitch.
And off we go -- with the foreshadowing starting with getting the kids in the car and the mini-fit thrown about which fruit snacks we take with us. I should have taken heed and that point, but dammit, I was KICKING ASS, motherhood style.
First stop: bookstore. Getting some new stuff for the kids, Keeping reading FUN. Which we did a pretty good job of until....The bookstore has also turned into a toy store. And all the toys are placed right at eye level of say, 1 and 2 year olds. So, battled with the 1 year old about not taking the stuffed doggie that she insisted on having. By insisting, I mean shouting "mine, mine, mine" with all her 16 month old might. Then the 2 year old found the Thomas the Train set they had set up in the kids area. If you have been under a rock for the last 12 months, let me refresh your memory. My kid digs trains. I mean, DIGS trains. So between thumbing through my new read ( the cool parents tutorial on potty training -- yeah, that's what my nightstand reading looks like) and reminding the kids to play nicely with the other kids milling around, things were actually pretty calm. Until I said the most horrendous, the most appalling thing anyone in the history of the world has ever said..."Its time to go".
Queue the full blown, old-school, throw-yourself-on-the-floor tantrum from the 2 year old. Now to recap, its me, solo. The 83 lb mom-bag, the one year old and a small handful of books. All of that is nestled in the crook of my left arm. So not much I can do about the fit-throwing 2 year old. My only saving grace was that it was in the kids section, so in theory, everyone there could relate. At least that is what I told myself. Finally, we get over the tantrum. Getting over it is defined as giving in to said two year old and buying the $6 book on fire trucks because that was going to get us out the door.
And we made it. One would think at this point, that I would acquiesce to my ass-kicking mentality and call it in.
oooooh, how wrong you are. Reminder; Meghan is Irish. Meghan is stubborn. Meghan is going to do what she wants.
So off to the next store we went. That was fairly uneventful Other than the ludicrous amount of money I spent - Target OWNS me. However, towards the end of our check out, both kiddos started pushing the limits.
Clearly, now I went home.
OH, NO.
No, we were going to get lunch. See part of kicking motherhoods ass, means that I am reclaiming my body that mother hood stomped on, beat up, stretched out and loaded up with extra weight. Thus, I started WeightWatchers this week. Caveat: I have no grandiose ideas of like, Giselle's or Heidi's body or anything. All I know is that I am about 15 lbs shy of my max PREGNANCY weight and something has to give. Plus, I am not willing to buy clothes in larger sizes, so we called in the pros. What this means is that the current pantry at my house isn't very conducive to the new eating. So we were going to go somewhere I could eat and get the kids some chow as well. The meal began with both kids squirting about 1/3rd of their juice boxes all over themselves before sip one. Faolan is in a high chair, so I can keep her in check. Finn however, is in a chair. A chair that he decides he does not want to sit in. He in running everywhere. And all I want to do is eat my meal. So again, in my weakness, I just let him hang off the back of the baby's high chair. Seems a good compromise. Then we start throwing things. And of course, whatever her brother does, little McDiva must follow, so yeah - juice boxes, spoons and the piece de la resistance -- the food. At that point, we are done. So corral everyone, try to clean up our mess and get out the door, but not before Finn takes off like shot, I go running after him, dodging some teenagers and barely holding on to Faolan and my purse at the same time. I find him down the hall, climbing on the high chairs.
Motherhood has now kicked my ass.
Officially.
And I don't think I will be taking my kids out to dine in public for like, 15 years given the current state of their table manners.
I can report that we made it home in one piece. A little worse for the wear, and just when I thought - a little peace and quite awaits me on the other side of putting them down for naps, Finn freaks out when I put him in his room and take off his shoes. Why is he freaking you ask? Because I took off his shoes. For naptime. Shoes. Yeah, I don't get it either. Oh, and his tantrum woke up the 1 year old who had fallen asleep on the ride home.
Ass kicked.
2
I think what I am getting at in this VERY long winded post - see, this is what happens when I don't post for like, a month -- is that I AM (bolded and underlined by me) kicking motherhoods ass. Every day. My kids are happy. They are also 2.5 and 16 months, so that means that the world is always a little more challenging. My marriage is great, our house is a total wreck, and professionally - we are owning it. But some days, the ass kicking is an hour by hour give and take. Motherhood is out there to remind you what is at stake with these little people and not let you get too comfortable, less you let your guard down. Because the stakes don't get any higher than forming and shaping the lives of your kids.
Now, if only I could get my hair to look as great as Christina Applegates, then I would REALLY own it.
Now Listening: the neighbors leaf blower - a stark reminder that somewhere in my schedule, the yard needs some love.
