Hey you there: Are you stressed?

My mom broke the unspoken rule of motherhood the other day.

She asked me if I was stressed.

I lied and told her everything was fine.

She didn’t need to know that I can’t even go to the bathroom without someone screaming, “MOOOOMMMM!!!” Most summer days, I don’t shower until 10 p.m. My husband comes home to a ragged, dark-circles-under-eyes, exhausted as hell wife with her dirty hair in a clip, pulling her bangs away from her face. The days I do appear showered and put together, he wants to know where we are going that night.

She doesn’t need to know that every day my kids fight, whine and argue like they are trying to set a world record for “Aggravating Mom the Most.”

She doesn’t need to know that me working from home when my kids are home is getting increasingly more difficult as my kids age. I thought it would be easier, but it’s because my children no longer take naps. Back, long, long ago, I had two to three hours of peace and quiet during the day. That was MY time. A time when if I needed to nap, I could grab 20 minutes and feel rested. If I needed to work, I could. Now, my kids surround me like a bee to a flower. Buzzing, buzzing … all the time.

She doesn’t need to know that rather than be a mom to my 14-year-old son, I am now his personal taxi service for all high school sporting events. Who has practice at 5 p.m. on the weekdays? Answer … my son.

She wanted to know what she could do help ease my stress. She let me know that she is there for me if I needed to talk. I actually told her I have no time to talk – that is what talk-to-texting is for where I don’t need to have a conversation for 20 minutes, explaining why I am stressed.

Besides, no one cares!

A day later, I confessed I was stressed. Who isn’t?

Moms are all in the same boat – making our way through muddied waters called Motherhood. Day in and day out, we experience the same crap. And it doesn’t matter if you are a stay-at-home mom, working-mom or whatever-type-of mom.

Being a mom is stressful enough without adding all the extra shit – like laundry, cleaning, cooking, dishes and sleeping (if we are lucky).

To know that we are responsible for our children is an insane amount of stress – especially if we don’t want our kids turning into assholes later in life.

We have to dole out the chores, the punishments, the rewards, the explanations. We have to set good examples.

We have to make sure they are associating themselves with the right kind of people.

We have to make sure they receive proper nutrition and the right amount of sleep.

We have to control how much screen time they have on a daily basis.

The list is endless.

And it’s not just moms … this goes for dads too. Parenthood is the hardest job I have ever had in my life. Some days, I yearn for my college days where the only person who I was in charge of was me. I’d give anything to pull an all-nighter, cramming for an exam. I’d give anything to have two days to write a 10-page-double-spaced paper on revolution. I’d give anything to live in dorm with 200 other people.

This isn’t saying I don’t wish I was 19 years old again. Because, I don’t. I don’t miss my teens, 20s or what’s left of my 30s (which is six months). Those years are who made me the crazy, loud, fun-loving, honest, hard-working mom I am today.

So, yes, I will continue to pretend everything is fine; and that I am not stressed because no one wants to be weighed down by my problems because we all have them – it’s just how we deal with them that makes us … us.

Reestablishing my role as “MOM;” not “MAID” this summer

I know it’s my own fault.
I am a bit obsessive compulsive when it comes to all the beds in my house being made; the pillows on the couch being in the right spot; and the throw blankets need to be folded and placed over the couch/chairs.
I can’t help that … it was that way in college for me.
It’s also part of my DNA as my dad has always said, “everything has a place.”
But, what I didn’t realize is that my anal-ways have not allowed my children to do things for themselves.
Case in point –
My 10-year-old son does not make his bed.
My 10-year-old son does not know how to use the microwave.
My 10-year-old son does not have the knowledge of how to open the fridge and find himself a snack.
My 10-year-old son does not know how to make himself a sandwich.
Well my friends, that is all about to change NOW.
I refuse to be his MAID this summer.
He is perfectly capable of learning how to maneuver himself around a kitchen. He knows how to use computers and make PowerPoint presentations, he can figure out the microwave.
He knows how to make a mess with mud and grass – that tells me he can figure out how to slap some lunchmeat on two slices of bread and call it “lunch” with veggies on the side.
As for the twins … they are pretty self-sufficient for being 5 years old. I no longer get them dressed. I generally toss their clothes on the floor and tell them to put them on. Some days though, I just don’t care what they wear and they fend for themselves.
They are now setting the table for dinner.
They help me empty the dishwasher.
They fold clothes with me.
I guess the point is … we “gave in” to our 10-year-olds demands – and that is our fault as parents. Perhaps part of that is because the twins came along when he was 5 and we didn’t want him to feel “abandoned” after their arrival, so we did things for him.
And now it’s biting us in the ass.
So, this will be the summer the 10-year-old learns to take care of himself, under our guidance.
Lord help us all!