Confession #17: I run late.

This confession is short and not-so-sweet.  Now that I have children, I run late.  It's not ever because of the children that I'm running late, it's because of the children that I run late.  This might not make sense yet, so read on.

My personal sense of timing is impeccable.  I know exactly when to get in the shower in order to be ready by 6:15.  I know that I need to be in the car by 10:38 in order to get to the doctor's office by 10:50.  I know this.  I can do this.  However......

I have now realized if I get any place a little too early, I must be the sole entertainer for three children.  That's a tough job some days.  I would rather walk in late somewhere, possibly causing others to be frustrated, than to have to put on a dog-and-pony show for my Trio of Fun (as I affectionately call them) while we wait for Activity XYZ to begin. 

If you're the type that is okay with wrangling the herd while you wait, wait, wait, then good for you.  I'll be at home, making another cup of coffee in my Keurig.  I'll see you when I get there.

Confession #16: I wonder if these tendencies are for always.

Now that I'm with my children more hours than ever, I have begun to notice their tendencies more than I did before.  Sometimes it's a blessing because you fall head-over-heels in love with your child's little mannerisms.  Other times, you pray away the behaviors in hopes that your child grows out of them.

Example conversations people have with each other:

"L really loves to play with her stuffed animals and read about animals."
"Oh, really?  Maybe she'll be a vet."
"Yeah, that'd be great!"

"Q is great at throwing the football."
"Oh, really?  Maybe he'll play football for the Chiefs!"
"Yeah, that'd be great!"

"H is a really happy baby!"
"Oh, really?  I bet she'll have lots of friends when she's older."
"Yeah, that'd be great!"

Could you imagine if people did the same with the less-than-desireable traits?

"L seems to really like to put things in containers and keeps every single thing she's ever gotten."
"Oh, really?  I bet she'll be on 'Hoarders.'  What a pig!"
"Yeah, isn't that great......."

"Q likes to shut cabinets and open doors.  He just can't stand them being open!"
"Oh, really?  I bet he'll be paralyzed by obsessive-compulsive disorder, completely altering his every decision."
"Yeah, that'd be great......"

"H is only happy when she's eating."
"Oh, really?  I bet she gets trapped in her house when she weighs 1,000 pounds when she's 25 years old."
"Yeah, that'd be great......"

As a parent, I get too consumed by my children's tendencies, whether they're positive or negative.  I must stop thinking that every marvelous thing will lead to world-famous status, and I must stop thinking that the little annoyances will doom my child to eternal social exile.  Kids are kids.  They grow in and out of things, and I'm gonna love my children at the end of the day, no matter what.

Confession #15: I'm not very good at guessing.

Fresh from playing a guessing game with my daughter, it turns out that I'm not a very good guesser.  She would draw something, and she would give me 11 chances to guess what the items were.  I failed horribly on these three, and she told me I was horrible and that I wasn't even trying.  Let's see what you think:

Drawing #1: 

I began to wonder if maybe I should be taking her to some sort of therapy on a weekly basis after seeing her budding drawings.  I guessed at least three times on each item, and I just couldn't get my mind far enough out of the gutter to get the right answers.  Let me know what you think, and from here on out, I'm going to be the one doing the drawing.  No matter how crappy my footballs or flowers may be, at least they don't resemble man or lady parts.

Confession #14: I committed a parental sin.

I let my daughter's pants get too short.....and took her out into public.

Please forgive me.

Confession #13: I only like the idea of toys.

Ahhhh....fresh off the thrill of Christmas and on the cusp of my son's birthday, I must make another confession:  I only like the idea of toys.  In all actuality, those little things drive me nuts and only cause me headaches and more opportunities to play referee in my own home.

You're with me, right?  You go to Target in search of the perfect toy for your little guy or gal, niece or nephew, random stranger kid from preschool, etc.  It's amazing how you eye the wares in the toy section and think about how much fun your little person will have with the toy.  You spend lots of time (10 minutes max.) hand-picking the proper Batmobile, Littlest Pet Shop creature, or sand art kit.  It sounds like the kiddo will have endless hours of fun with the selected toy allowing the parents to sit back and enjoy some kid-free moments of bliss.

Reality:  the kid never loves the toy as much as he should.  Reality:  the parents hate the toy more than you will ever know....even if you're the parent who purchased the gift.  Reality:  the little pieces don't matter and always get lost or eaten too quickly.  Reality:  toys seem like fun, but they're really only fun if you drop everything and sit down to show your child how to properly play with the damn thing.  Reality:  who has time for that?  We buy the toys so the kid can spend some time "exploring his imagination".....alone. 

The harsh reality, no matter how much or how little you spend on toys, is that they will never be just right and there will never be "enough," yet there are always too damn many.

Confession #13.  Deal with it.  I've got a birthday party for which I must prepare.....including wrapping another set of toys......*sigh.*

Confession #12: Reading is overrated.

My oldest child is learning to read, and while I should be celebrating this, I am not.  I just spelled a naughty word to a friend on the phone, and she sounded it out.  When she said it out loud, she looked at me questioningly, as though she had never heard it before.  I felt a small, very, very small, victory at that moment that her virgin ears hadn't heard that expletive. 

Then I felt very deflated that life is changing.....the life with a juvenile reader.  They can sound out enough stuff to cause trouble, yet they read at a snail's pace, which makes reading together torturous.  I know this phase will pass. 

And......that.....is.....the.....only.....thing.....keeping.....me.....going.......

Confession #11: I maintain false composure.

So I just endured one of the worst 20 minutes of my parenting life.  You know that damn saying, "If it can happen, it will...."?  Well, it did.

The sweet Valentine's Day holiday is upon us, and since I am basically the slacker parent we all know and love, I began working on a treat to bring to my daughter's class that would dazzle in the eyes of the kids.  However, when my daughter told me last night that she was starting to not feel very well, I told her, "No.  You're fine.  You're going to preschool tomorrow."  I was in denial that my hard work might not be recognized by the 5 and under set.....and, who am I kidding, their parents as well. 

So I shouldn't have been surprised when she awoke in the middle of the night to grab my husband and tell him that she didn't feel well.  She ended up getting sick, etc. and ultimately stayed at home from preschool.  However, in my selfish desire to have the cupcake treats I made with the My Little Cupcake cute-as-a-button cupcake creator pounced upon, I kept telling her, "Oh, if you're feeling better, which I'm sure you will be, we'll still go to the party."  (Translation:  You're going to the party, no matter what, and you'll wear that darling white dress with hearts all over it, as well as the matching tights, so everyone can marvel at the glorious creations I slaved over.)

Let me try to Reader's Digest this part of the story.  L wakes up at 2:40 and is dressed immediately.  Q is awakened at 2:43 and is dressed immediately.  H is already dressed, and is awakened and placed in car seat at 2:46.  The three children are placed in the car at precisely 2:49.  Cupcake pops loaded at 2:51.  Arrive at preschool to unload three children and cupcake treats balancing precariously in cardboard box at 2:53.  Enter class, children (and parents) oooh and aaaah over cupcake treats.  I beam.  I thank My Little Cupcake for creating such an adorable treat maker.  L makes craft.  Q plays with dinos.  H wets through her diaper.  Change diaper.  Get snacks for L.  L eats carrot.  L throws up carrot.  I pack up H, Q, and L, and carry remaining cupcake treats out of preschool, lug children and snacks back to car, and arrive back at home at 3:18.  All of these tasks are completed while maintaining complete composure, class, and tact. 

Enter home:  throw down box, plunk down car seat, yell at children to put away shoes, get Q in seat to eat treat.  Q potties in his pants and in his booster seat in kitchen, and I try not to scream, stomp, and pout in my utter frustration at what has occurred in the past 25 minutes.  H decides the only thing that will calm her is a bottle.  Yet, I am dealing with pukey L, potty Q, and pouty me. 

Where is that composure that is ever-present in public?  How can I keep it together when I know others can see me?  How in the world have I ever received compliments from strangers on my ability to diffuse children's temper tantrums when I go all "Mel Gibson" when I get at home?  I have no idea.  This one is a stumper that will last until the end of time, but I guess I'm just glad that I can keep up a false front while under scrutiny in public.  And hopefully, just hopefully, my children will forgive me some day.....