Source: Motherhood is.
We are everywhere.
We can be found at school functions, in grocery stores and churches. We are at swimming pools, the beach and ball parks during the summer.
No place is safe. No one is safe.
Moms are starting to lose it, and other moms are starting to take notice.
A crying 9-year-old here; a smart-mouth teen there.
A 2-year-old throwing a temper tantrum on the floor while hurling a sippy cup 15-feet across the room. A pre-school-aged child lagging behind you at Wal-Mart, waiting to see how long it takes you to turn around, demanding their presence at your side.
At the heart of every chaotic scene is a mom who wants nothing more than to crumble at her feet and assume the fetal position. But she can’t. She has to take control of every situation and try to either improve it or end the behavior that started it in the first place.
Nearly every day, I feel like I am walking around my house with a large, “WARNING: CRAZED MOTHER” sign dangling around my neck.
All I am asking of my 14-year-old and 8-year-old twins is to make their beds, clean up their rooms, get dressed and brush their teeth. There may be an occasional “empty the dishwasher” or “feed the cat” notice. I am not asking them to move a mountain. But they certainly act like I am. So, when they fail to “do their summer chores” and I start screaming through the house, they act like they either A. don’t hear me or B. can’t see me.
The slogan in BFE this summer is “There is no summer fun until the chores are done.”
Right now, my daughter is sprawled out on the floor, begging me to open the pool. I still have two baskets of laundry to fold and put away. I asked her earlier, when she declared for the 100th time today that she was bored, if she wanted to fold the clothes on my bed. She turned and went back to her room to craft accessories for her non-American Girl Doll.
“I’m still bored!” I heard her yell through the door.
Meanwhile, my 14-year-old who missed lunch two hours ago is telling me there is nothing to eat in a house with a stocked pantry and refrigerator.
“Mom, we don’t have anything. I want like buttermilk pancakes, um, or pizza rolls, a burger, that’s it, oh stuffed French Toast too,” he is telling me wearing only a pair of summer shorts because getting dressed isn’t on his “to-do” list until apparently this evening.
So, in a nutshell, my kids are bored and starving – and we’ve only been on summer break less than three weeks.
Introducing 2016 Ohio SPJ award-winning blogger Melissa Linebrink. Melissa is a creative, witty blogger who doesn’t sugarcoat the hardships of everyday parenting. Follow her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ParenthoodthenewCrazyTrain/
I couldn’t locate the cash box anywhere in the house. And it was driving me crazy. After looking in everyone’s closet and in the basement, I decided it was either loaned out or simply stolen.
I needed more tables. The tables set up in the garage were already filled with old board games, decorations, bedding, clothes and knick-knacks.
And soccer practice started at 6 p.m.
Dinner had to be made. Dishes had to be washed. The cats needed fed. You name it, it needed to be done.
Add into that the twins were talking to me non-stop all day about the impending garage sale.
“What time does it start?” “Can we make muffins to sell?” “I don’t want to sell my toys, but can I still keep some money?” “What if no one comes?”
I was beyond stressed out and my mind was literally spinning in 100 damn directions.
“Let’s go NOW,” I screamed to my 14-year-old son.
And off we went to soccer practice 4 miles always, my spinning mind and all. The fact is, we left the house early. We had plenty of time to make it to the soccer fields.
But I was in a hurry.
Driving down the road, my mind wasn’t on the drive at all. I wasn’t paying attention at all. I make the 4 mile drive to the community park, once, if not twice per day. I was driving on auto-pilot.
But then I saw the lights go off … and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a finger pointing to me to pull over immediately.
Nearly 1.5 miles from my house, a county sheriff pulled me over.
“I clocked you going 68 miles per hour …” he told me.
I couldn’t even complain as my mind was still racing about what else I had to do that evening for the garage sale.
Digging through my purse, I found my driver’s license and then by some grace of God, I actually put the insurance card in my van the day before, so I pulled that out along with the registration papers.
I have lived in the same county for 16 years and have never had so much as a parking ticket.
My only response was, “Yup, OK. Sorry.”
I know I looked like a trainwreck. I had Jazzercised that morning, and taking a shower was an afterthought to getting the sale ready. I didn’t care how I looked.
Maybe that actually helped my cause? You know the look – hair pulled over with a clip, yoga pants on, coupled with a work-out tank and gym shoes, all sans makeup. I may have had deodorant on, but who knows. Thank God I tossed on my prescription sunglasses – I am required by the State of Ohio to wear glasses due to my poor vision that over the years has worsened due to being pregnant with the kid(s) I taxi all over the place. So, I actually had on two pairs of sunglasses – my Dollar Tree pair on the top of my head and the $100 pair covering my eyes.
I was a hot mess.
As I sat in the car, looking at my teenage son, I saw the sheriff sitting in his car too. He was running my plates through the system. I knew he’d find nothing on me since I am boring-ass stay-at-home-mom-turned-taxi-service-in-the-summer.
Making his way back to my vehicle, I knew I was gonna get a lecture about safe driving. I was right. “Doesn’t it bother you when drivers speed down this road? And you have kids! It bothers me and you live on this road, just like me!”
The truth is, yes, it bothers me a lot when motorists speed down my road. But, on the flip side, my kids don’t play in or even near the road. I am more worried about a driver losing control and hitting a tree head on than hitting a kid. I dread the day when I hear a crash only to run out to my front yard to find someone incapacitated. That scares me. That bothers me.
Thankfully, the sheriff only gave me a warning. But it was a warning that changed my life. Ever since that day, I have set my speedometer on 55 miles per hour. I’d rather be late than get pulled over again. It’s just not worth it.
The wrought-iron, faded bench had been sitting on my front porch since the spring of 2007.
No one ever really sat on it for the fear of getting a splinter in their butt-cheek.
On occasion, I would toss a basket of flowers on the poor, sad, discolored bench, but it didn’t bring it to life.
And then came Pinterest.
I have a love-hate relationship with Pinterest. Some ideas are right up my crafty-alley. Others are just flops.
But as of lately, Pinterest and I are just simply getting along.
First came the wall of faces on my newly painted gray walls. It’s really a photo wall using a combination of white, black and darker gray frames that I refurbished from Good Will. For $10 I was able to buy eight different frames.
Next came the painted wine bottles with various words of encouragement. My favorite is the wine bottle that was at first going to end up in the trash after the white paint dried a bit too rough for my liking. But then I added a splash of gray paint over it and it resembles a newspaper with words “HOPE” and “INSPIRE” painted alongside the bottle. Those were wonderful Christmas presents.
And that leads us to spring, and my sad bench.
Well, the bench isn’t sad anymore.
Using old purple paint (from another project) stored in the basement, I painted the seats and then using my new favorite product – SPRAY PAINT – I painted the backside of the bench teal.
It is gorgeous and provides just enough color. It will soon be placed in my new flower garden where it will be surrounded by Shasta daisies and lavender plants.
Once I find a cute table to repaint, the flower garden will become my favorite spot in the yard to relax, read a book and sip a glass of vino.
It’s amazing how something old and tarnished can be refurbished to look like new.
All you need sometimes, is Pinterest … and old paint.
Source: Am I selling myself short?