(As in: everything makes you want to, and your kids do nothing but)

Tag Archives: moments

My life post retirement at age 34:

I get a full night’s sleep.

I’m sure it won’t always be the case.

There will be earaches, nightmares and Alma launching herself head first from the bed like a circus stuntman.

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But, for now, I’m RESTED.

My children wake up slowly. No screaming, crying and face-smacking over which outfit I choose.

They eat real breakfast!! This morning we made blueberry pancakes and banana pancakes. It might seem like no biggie, but as a former working mom, I feel like a stay at home mom rock star!

We’ve read books together, colored together, gone to the library and flown airplanes.

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We’ve also taken the dogs to the vet, gone to the dentist and hit up the Super Target for batteries and dish soap. So glamorous!

I’m still adjusting to the nasty realities of daily life with petulant midgets, I mean small children.

I spend a shocking portion of my day wiping butts. I had no idea how frequently my kids still pooped. It goes in. It comes out. They have straight guts like unpotty trained puppies.

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I still feel my blood pressure skyrocket when my son cries for no good reason: He hates slip-on shoes, Alma got the yellow straw, he can’t find his Ninja Turtle ball.

I envision drop-kicking our dog like I’m going for a field goal when he barks incessantly during naptime.

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Living in Florida, any of our exercise time means sweating bullets, getting back into the car with sweaty pits, bum, upper lip, no more makeup, hair lookin’ like a swim cap.

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Not a good look. Now I know why some moms find it’s easiest to give up on looking cute. I left my cute in a puddle on a playground.

I can’t say I miss grownup conversation, because even that was rare at my former place of employment.

But, my chats with my son about how his member looks like a castle are not very gratifying.

Other mind-numbing topics include: Why we have nipples, how God made dogs, what veins are.

We have also not made it past the stage where it’s cool to count poop. “Mommy, I did two dem!”

So, fish sticks and temper tantrums.

Sweat stains and poo math.

But, I get to watch my son finally color inside the lines.

I watch my daughter kiss my son’s hand to wake him from his nap.

I get to see the countless tiny moments I’ve been missing for nearly five years.

So worth it.

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