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Things I Am Sick Of Saying Vol. 1

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The things I am about to share with you will not be surprising. Many of you will nod your heads in agreement, many of you may laugh because you live in this place or once lived in this place, many of you may cry because, again, you live in this place. Some of you may just be ready to blow your top. This is for you. All I can say is don’t do it, but if you do, please know you aren’t alone.

In today’s episode of Things I Am Sick Of Saying, I give you these.

1. “It’s chilly out, get a jacket.” I am sick of saying this because I am sick of this weather. I just got an email from Justin Berk saying we could get snow flurries today. Look, I don’t know how peeps in Michigan are hanging tough, but I am out. I am done. Where is spring?

2. “What would you like for breakfast?” Blank stares. Um, I know you are hungry because you just grew 8 inches last night, none of your winter uniforms fit, and yes I refuse to buy new ones. Your shoes are on the cusp too, but again, not buying you new ones. I know you are hungry. Stop looking at me like I am the one that is nuts. “What the heck do you want to eat!”

3. “We have to go. We have to go now! If we don’t leave now, we will be late to school!” Over, and over, and over again. My kids have been in school for 867592 days. This is not an exaggeration. For nine months of the year, for the last six years, Monday thru Friday, minus ten days at Christmas and seven days at Easter, it’s the same routine. In my head, it goes like this. Wake up, make coffee, feed dog, get lunches out, get additional uniform pieces if we didn’t do it the night before, assess where the shoes are for when one or both kids “can’t find them,” pack my own lunch, wake kids, make breakfast, eat breakfast, brush teeth, get on uniforms, get on shoes that everyone can find, get on jackets, still, get in car. In my version there is no yelling, whining, fighting, belt whipping at each other, crying, or trying to scare each other. My version is fantasy land. I get it. 865792 days of setting myself up for failure.

How it really happens.

I wake up, I make coffee, I feed the dog. If the shoes are in my path along the way, I make a mental note, but with kids aged 9 and 7, you’re on your own in the shoe department. Pack my lunch. Usually at this point one or both boys have gotten out of bed. I love this because I don’t have to wake them. It all goes to the school morning hell-in-a-hand basket after that.

They sometimes like to set me up too. They come, and greet me, and smile, and I am like “Praise God, let’s have a great day.” Then one looks at the other. “He looked at me. Touched me. Sat in my seat.” They get to watch about 10 to 15 minutes of tv in the morning. It’s. A. Terrible. Habit. For. Me. I would be happy with silence, or book reading, or coloring, but here we are. Sometimes there is arguing about how “I don’t want to watch what he is watching.”

Dude. I. Do. Not. Care. Good-bye TV.

Then for breakfast. I can’t even. Most of the time, it’s cold cereal, or toast with jam. In the cold months, pancakes, or oatmeal. L2 often wants bacon, sausage, scrapple, hot dogs, or leftovers. Heaven help us all when we don’t have any of those choices. Then it’s the breakfast sulking.

Then it’s a race. A race to get to the bathroom first to brush their teeth first. I hate this. I would be down with a race if that’s was actually happening. Instead it’s sabotage. You are literally racing to be the child to whom I am not yelling, “GET IN THE CAR!” for the thousandth time today. Gold star for you.

“Get your uniform on. Stop whipping your tie around.”

“Get your uniform on! Stop whipping your belt around.”

“GET YOUR UNIFORM NOW!” I think my kids are trying to see if a vein will pop, or if smoke can actually come out of their mother’s ears.

“Get your jacket.” See number 1.

“Get your backpack.”

Last Thursday, I got a lecture on the ride home from school, that when my kids went to Media (aka Library), they couldn’t check out books because I had forgotten to pack their library books. No, I did not. They are not my books to remember. Your library books are not making the cut in my brain space. When I suggested they pack them in their backpacks as soon as we got home, did they? Sure didn’t. Library books still aren’t packed.

“Get in the car.” Between shots on the basketball hoop.

“Get in the car!” As I make my return trip from getting the coffee, I forgot. If I can’t remember coffee, I definitely can’t remember library books.

“GET IN THE CAR!” As I am closing the garage door.

“GET IN THE CAR! GET IN THE CAR! GET IN THE CAR!”

Finally. I back out of the driveway.

*End scene.*

It makes me sad that Bill Cosby turned out to be such a creep because he has some great and hilarious parenting stand-up. I can’t unsee or unhear his riffs, and I often think when I am screaming, “Get in the car,” of his saying to his kids, “Come here. No, come here. I said come here. COME HERE! COME HERE! COME HERE!”

Until Volume 2.

blog by: achefswife.net

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