I am substituting “shirt” for the other word so I won’t be wracked with guilt for being a total potty mouthed mommy.
Life is filled with “oh, shirt!” moments.
Oh, shirt… I picked the wrong major.
Oh, shirt… I forgot my best friend’s birthday.
Oh, shirt… I am getting OLD!
But, parenting is just one big, long, drawn out “oh, shirt!”
Oh, shirt… my babies have already outgrown the sitting on my lap phase. I will never again have the need for a glider.
I will never again know the bliss of a chunky baby in a milk coma on my chest.
I will never again be idly playing with chubby toes while watching something wildly inappropriate for children to view. (unless my toes end up super chubby, which is entirely possible)
Oh shirt… my kids are outgrowing the time period when they shout “mommy” with joy when I walk through the door. My daughter has officially started calling me “mom.” My son’s first words when I come home are generally, “I want cheese stick” or “I want nilk.” (he still can’t master that “m.”)
Oh shirt… my daughter is inching closer to entering real school. This is terrifying on multiple levels. Already, my toddlers are getting sent home from day care with “homework.” Homework at this stage just means work for parents.
Sorry, I don’t REALLY have the time to hunt down pictures of things that begin with the letter “J.” We don’t have magazines in our home. Who has magazines anymore? So, now I have to BUY a magazine in the hopes it contains jewelry or a jump rope, but will probably end up with Jack Daniels and maybe a celebrity Jew.
Teacher Appreciation Week is coming and some overzealous mom from my son’s class has sent us home with a sheet of things to buy for the teachers.
It’s a tour of the world!
Monday, we’re supposed to find three items inspired by Italy like pasta, olive oil etc to put in a gift basket.
Tuesday, we’re expected to move on to France and choose flowers or perfume, but non-scented because the teacher has a “sensitivity.”
The week rounds out with a request for ten dollars to give them gift cards to “enjoy dinner on us.”
Let me digress from “oh, shirt” for one moment.
First of all, I don’t actually think they should be called “teachers” when their primary responsibility still includes wiping shirt (hehe) off my kid’s ass.
Yes, they teach them. They teach them letters and numbers and how to be angry without biting.
They can have an apple.
Day care for two children costs as much as a second mortgage and now they want me to give them more money?
Yes, they are underpaid.
I will make sure my kid does a special crappy drawing of a unicorn just for them.
Oh, shirt… this is only going to get worse. The expectations for crafting and field trips and extracurricular activities and the cost and the bullying and the boyfriends and “the talks” and the FCATS and the applications to college and the…. oh shirt, I am getting ahead of myself.
Oh shirt, I have two children who are entirely my responsibility to try and shape into wonderful grownups. They are not “ideas.” They are not “something fun to think of a name for.” They are tiny little people with the potential to become psychopaths, serial killers, drug addicts, teen parents… or geniuses. (just as scary)
Oh shirt, I still think of myself as able to wear flip flops to work and eat Ramen noodles.
Was I really ready for all this?
You never are.
So, oh shirt… here we go.