Life Sucking Kids

That’s what a wise friend of mine says. It’s so damn true.  When it’s not one, it’s the other. Most of the time it’s both.  How wonderful it is to have children! Sure, for a while, until they learn to walk and talk. Then it’s holy hell. I remember how it was with my first. When he got into his terrible twos, I thought I’d go mad, but looked forward to that stage passing. Then I found out it doesn’t stop at two. It goes on until you kick their asses out the door at 18(if you’re really lucky). Add another child to the mix. ‘What the hell have I done??’  You realize your life has pretty much ended at that point.

Here’s a morning in the life of Nikki-

Wake up, hear son’s alarm going off, go in and I have to drag him out of bed and threaten him with all kinds of violent inhumane acts if he doesn’t get up and get dressed.  Go into the screaming daughter’s room to find a pee soaked bed and a kid who insists on being carried even though she’s perfectly capable of walking herself.

Go downstairs to change said wet girl’s diaper, wipe her down & change clothes and give her some milk and turn on her favorite children’s channel.  Run back up the stairs to find son laying half unconscious on his bedroom floor, exactly where I left him 10 minutes ago. Shake & yell to wake him up, and threaten more terrible things, while laying his clothes out right in front of him.  Go back to my room to do a quick wipedown / change/ brush.

Back to son’s room to ask if he’s done getting dressed. Let’s say today is a good day. He says, “yes almost.”

Venture back downstairs to realize that I forgot to set up the coffee last night. Start cursing under my breath while fixing it. Go take my medications so I won’t go completely crazy this morning. Curse out loud when I see mine have been moved, and I have to re-find them. See son come downstairs, sockless and shirtless, opening the pantry & sitting down on the floor.

“Where are your socks & shirt??”

“Oh, I forgot them.”

“I laid them out right in front of you!!”

(now getting that attitude in his voice) “Soo-ooorry!”

“Just get your breakfast!”

another 5 minutes passes..I go in for my first cup of coffee.

“Why aren’t you eating breakfast??”

“I can’t decide what I want to eat.”

“We don’t have a lot of fucking choices! Cereal, poptarts, or the chocolate chip waffles you begged for 3 weeks ago, but haven’t bothered to eat!”

“Those waffles take too much time to make. Can’t you cook me some eggs?”

“What do you mean, they take too long to make? You just stick them in the goddamn toaster and then put some butter and syrup on them! And no, I’m not making eggs! You’re running late, so just fucking pick something!!!”

(pouting)”Well you don’t have to yell…*sigh* I guess I’ll just have some cereal. Hey! Who ate the last of the Fruit Loops???!!”

“I don’t know- you or your father. We have 2 other types in there!”

“aww..But I really wanted Fruit Loops.”

“If you don’t find something to eat in the next 5 seconds,. I swear (insert more punishment or bodily harm here)!”

*huffs*”Fine.”

He then wanders around kitchen, will inevitably take out a fork and cup, not spoon & bowl. Huffs some more while pouring cereal and milk. I can see him doing the pee pee dance (don’t they usually outgrow that before their teen years???), nag him to go to the bathroom, and after some insistence that he doesn’t have to go, stomps/runs to the restroom.

He finishes eating his cereal. I then remind him to clean up after himself and to go back upstairs& get his socks, shirt and glasses.  Meanwhile, Mike comes down from his shower and after a hug & kiss,  quickly makes his escape. ‘Lucky Bastard’ I think to myself.

Yell up to son to hurry it up & get downstairs. “Just a minute- I’m looking for something!”

Another 5-10 minutes quickly pass, filled with toddler shrieks & squeals, and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Son gets downstairs, I nag him to brush his teeth. He spends 5 minutes in the bathroom staring at himself in the mirror. “Get to brushing your teeth, son!”  “I’m about to!!”

After he does brush his teeth I see him rush to put some probably inappropriate item in his backpack.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“Bring me your fucking backpack- NOW!”

“I don’t see why you want to..”(I snatch the backpack)

“Why do you want to bring a torn apart Rubick’s cube to school??”

“Cuz we’re doing tricks with them- you know like crosses and blah blah blah”

“You don’t need to lose another toy at school. You can do your tricks after you get home.”

“Mo-om! I won’t lose this one, I swear!”

“That’s what you said about such & such and some other thingamajig. NO.”

More huffing and puffing.

I go to pee(cup of coffee has kicked in now), and step in a puddle of piss. “SON!!! Get in here!”

“What?” as he approaches tentatively.

“Look at that!”

“At what? I don’t see anything..”

“It’s pee- you peed all over the fucking floor, and I just walked in it!”

“It’s probably just water.”

“It’s yellow, and over by the toilet, not the sink. Get in here & clean it up.”

He reaches for some toilet paper.

“That’s not going to get it up- use the lysol wipe- right there!”

…

I’ll cut to he heads out the door, I sigh a heavy sigh of relief.  By this time daughter’s yelling “num num, num num, num num!”  She’s hungry.

“What do you want to eat? How about some cereal?”

“NO!”

I look to the cereal & see the milk jug there in the pantry. ‘That kid better be glad he’s already out of here!’

We run the gamut of the pantry and fridge, and I can’t seem to find what she wants..  The headache sets in. Another fine morning at the Darling House!