Being a mom is a hard job. Don’t let anyone tell you that being a “stay at home mom” means you have it easy. This morning, my husband left for work around 8 and my day went something like this:
Lyla: Can we have breakfast NOW??? (She’s been awake for exactly 2 minutes)
Paisley: Mommy, get you wobe (robe) on!
Lyla leaves to start getting spoons and bowls, Paisley decides to throw herself on the floor and start screaming about how her clean cup that just came STRAIGHT FROM THE PANTRY is “sooooo dirty!!!!” and then demands for the next 10 minutes that I get her a clean one. I am like robot, there is no fooling me. I said it’s clean and I mean it, and I do not negotiate with terrorists toddlers.
After breakfast is the time when Lyla (the 16 4 year old) throws her daily fit about how her clothes are either “too matchy” or “too boring” or “not pink enough” or “too long”… you get the idea. Lately, I’ve taken to saying “I don’t care what you look like, just put SOMETHING on!” In the nicest voice possible, of course. And Paisley runs to her drawer and pulls everything out just so she can say “I dis want jammies again.” At this point Lyla looks up from her drawer and slowly puts her hands to her ears. She knows what’s coming. We all know what’s about to happen. I am about to say the 6 words that will lead to the sound that makes you feel like your ear drums are slowly being melted off with match sticks.
“No, Paisley, you need real clothes.”
In the blink of an eye Paisley starts writhing on the ground and screaming like she just got her arm chopped off. Lyla and I exchange sympathetic glances and I get down on the floor and start trying to put clothes on the writhing, screaming, wet noodle all the while repeating to myself: This is just a phase, this is just a phase, this is just a phase, this is just a phase.
It’s now 9am.
The reality is, it IS just a phase. In the moment, I feel like I would give anything to just escape and deal with reasonable adults for a while. But after the kids are finally in bed and I sit on the couch and stare and the wall for a solid 10 minutes I realize that I look forward to them waking up in the morning. If by some odd chance I wake up before them, I get excited thinking about seeing their little faces peek around our door.
This phase is really hard. As I write this I can hear Paisley kicking the side of her bed yelling “It’s coronation day!” and she’s already been in bed for more than an hour. (This means she has taken her jammies off AGAIN and I’m about to have to go in there and use my firmest, most scary, mom voice so she knows I mean business). But it’s just a phase. Before I know it she will be a big 4 year old complaining about her outfit choice or the fact that she can never get her cowlick to lay down. Then she’ll be in school every day and becoming her own person with each passing year.
Today I’m choosing to celebrate the two beautiful children that I get the opportunity to love each and every day. And not wish the years to pass faster because I know some day when they are grown I will look back and miss it.
The days are long, but the years are short.
