I’m going to Crack

I’m under pressure, like a cooker. Like an over priced cooker full of pudding. Vanillia pudding. Hot steamy mess of vanilla pudding. I am so hungry.
So I’m a Mom of 3, ages 9, almost 6 and 3. These kids are plotting my death. I think they are holding meetings in the oldest ones closet. I’m pretty sure they’ve got a map of the house, with important times, and dinner schedules and they are pushing me to see how far I will go. I’m going to crack.
Good Moms can only hold it together for so long, right? Or am I one of those moms that think they are good yet truly suck and no one is going to tell the me that CPS is only a call away. At the time I began writing this the youngest… the boy is climbing on me with his butt, bouncing and yelling oatmeal!!
I blame all this drastic decrease in parenting quality on the 4847382 snow days they have had this year. They are stuck in this house which brings me to my previous point. I’m almost positive they are plotting my demise in the oldest’s closet… in between spongebob episodes.
Three days ago, I tried really hard to be THAT Mom. It took me 45 min to locate all the winter crap and bundle up all three of them up, for I was going to go build a snowman with my children. “Memories and shit”. Here we were, the 4 of us standing on the front porch gazing out at the land of posibility and definitely not the back yard because I am for certain this can not go wrong. The neighbors have got to see this american dream family blissfully playing in the yard. They must hear our laughter and gaze out thier windows while saying “Damn she is amazing, you know? She just does it all.” While I stand there with pride looking amazing in my snow suit, blonde hair waving in the bright snow sun with a slight breeze I could hear them all say it. I could hear them all think to themselves as they stared out thier windows at me that they wished that they had it together like me. Alas, I misunderstood what I thought I heard them think. What they were actually saying in thier minds or screaming at me with thier eyes was a collective… DUCK!!! But it was too late and my face was pounded my the largest ice/snow ball ever made by a 3 year old.
I stood there for a second, winded. That ball of I got you Mommy was cold. This should of been a sign. But NO! I am building a snowman with my children and nothing is going to stop me…. nothing except maybe that neighbor lady shoveling her driveway… by herself… wearing her energy stores down. Suddenly the RN in me couldnt handle it. I sent my girls to help her while me and the boy were busy shoveling snow of our own.
There. Look at us. We are good sumaritans. We care about others.. someone take a photo. The girls finished and came back to me and I tried to engage these children on how to make the perfect snowman. Did they listen? No. Did they care about memories and shit? No. Was I still in denial that this snowman was going to happen? Of course. Because I can handle this.
So there I was… no. PAY ATTENTION GIRLS… I stood there showing the girls how to roll a snowball into a base for a snow man and you would have thought I was explaining the physics of life to them. I mean it’s not that difficult. Looking back on it I dont believe that anyone showed me how to build a snowman. There isn’t a degree taught at the local university on snowman building. An idiot can build a freaking snowman. My daughters are geniuses. They had me building the damn snowman. I am the idiot.
This debauchery went on for about 10 min before what I like to call the meltdown… the oldest hit the boy with the snow shovel, on accident for the 6th time. He is now screaming and the neighbors are scrambling to get thier popcorn in the bowl because this show is going to be great. They know it, I know it, we all friggin know whats about to happen. I’m screaming at the oldest and my wild middle child will not be outdone… suddenly this chain of events has became out of control as she starts wailing at the top of her lungs that she is cold. Crying as if it were the end of the world and I lose it.
“EVERYONE GET IN THE FREAKING HOUSE!!”

They asked why? SMH.

Sadly there were no snowmen produced that day.

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