This week I read a hilarious post over at Scary Mommy called 20 Signs I’m Too Tired To Mom (disclaimer: the linked post contains language a shade more colorful than my own). Before I even read the article I was giving mental high-fives to the author because…amen, sister. I felt like I could write my own “Signs I’m Too Tired To Mom”. So I did.
With the joys of summer (full-time kids is intense) and a husband who is working on an increasingly more demanding project at work and an infant and a dog who has both a broken tooth and a Urniary Tract Infection (Lord help us all), I’m finding that I, too, am tired. Not like *yawn* “I’m sleepy, let’s go take a nap” tired. More like “just wake me up when they’re teenagers and ready to do their own laundry and cook their own dinner” tired.
And here’s the proof:
- Story time under false pretenses
Let’s read a book, kids! Oh, wait…what’s that? There’s a movie version of that exact book (or at least a movie in a similar genre/theme/category as said book)? And it’s available on Netflix? Hold up, this is real world learning. Text-to-film connection or something. Let’s start the streaming (and excuse me for the next 74 minutes while I lock myself in my bedroom…)
- I encourage “independence”
Yes, you can make your own breakfast (a spoonful of peanut butter topped with chocolate chips). Yes, please dress yourselves (no underwear, backward pants, inside out shirt). Yes, you may play quietly in your own room (dump out every toy box and empty every game box into a mountain of toy shrapnel in the center of the room). You’re on your own, kids.
- I can’t find my sunglasses
They aren’t in the car. They aren’t in my bag. They aren’t in any place where a reasonable human being would put them. I blame the kids and/or dog for hiding them and while I contemplate appropriate punishment I happen to walk by a mirror. And then I find them. On top of my own head.
- Time warp
Dinner is served at 4:30 and we’re wrapping up the bedtime routine by 6. What’s that you say, dear children? Why is it still light outside? Because of the tilt of the Earth… and the end of Mommy’s rope has officially been reached. Goodnight.
- Cooking takes on new meanings
If I have warmed something up–whether by oven, stove, or microwave–that counts as cooking. Actually taking raw ingredients and transforming them into edible fare is a totally different ballgame, and we just don’t go there now. Frozen chicken nuggets? Not anymore–I cooked them (at 425 for 9-11 minutes). Marie Callender’s chicken pot pie? Tastes just like homemade (vent the packaging and microwave for 5-7 minutes).
- Nightly routines
…now consist of tucking in the kids and promptly passing out on the couch with a bowl of popcorn on my lap.
- I go to the gym
…but not to work out. They had me at “90 minutes of free childcare”.
4. I lose track of things. Like counting in order.
9. Bath time
My kids love bath time, and they’re happy to stay in the tub for a good 20 minutes. That’s the time equivalent of 16 games of Chutes and Ladders. Added bonus: bath time = contained children, contained children = contained mess. Added, added bonus: they come out smelling better than they did going in. Win, win, win.
10. Early riser
This is counter-intuitive, but waking up early actually helps me counter-balance the perpetual tiredness. You see, I know that once the wee ones awaken, there’s no stopping this train wreck. So I’ve started setting an alarm and waking up before everyone else in the house (and, as it happens, before the sun itself makes an appearance) just so I can have 2 minutes of peace before the crazy begins. If that’s not absolutely insane, I don’t know what is.
I could keep going on and on and on…but I’m just too tired to keep writing. Good luck, moms, and good night.