That time I smoked some serious crack

For the record, crack is metaphorical. I have never smoked literal, actual crack. But metaphorical crack? I would be classified as an addict. When I come down from my high, I usually learn a life lesson. It is what it is, kids.

Last Fall, after picking up Abigail from preschool one afternoon, there was a flier in her backpack about registering for the 2016/2017 school year. Abigail would be going to our assigned public school for Kindergarten but Mae! Mae would absolutely be going to preschool!! Over the course of the following months through about January, it dawned on me that I was not comfortable with Mae going to preschool. After discussing the option of not sending her with my mom and a few other trusted friends, I decided to keep her home with me. She has a November birthday, so her school career is going to include many, many years. 

Here's where I put my metaphorical crack in a spoon and took a lighter to it and went to town ...

I will be able to do so many THINGS with her! We can do library THINGS, story time THINGS, musical THINGS, park THINGS!

Then, I decided that I needed more metaphorical crack, because I still don't know my limits as a 35 year old, and actually said ...

It will be SO easy having JUST one at home!

I'll let you process that for that a second. I said it out loud ... to other people!! To other mom's!! #iwasanass

See what I mean about the crack? WHAT WAS I THINKING!!! Then at some point we also decided to get a dog? WTF? WTF WAS I THINKING. I mean. Clearly, I overdosed.

You see, we live in a society that places a LOT of emphasis on this math equation:

MORE of anything = HARDER than everyone else

HARDER than everyone else = BETTER than everyone else

And it really drives me bat shit crazy, because it isn't true AT ALL. As you can see from my experience above, I bought into this equation back in the Fall - three kids is harder than one kid. Three kids and a dog is harder than one kid and a dog. Three kids and a dog is harder than a dog. WRONG. Wrong. Wrong. wrong.

A kid, or kids, and/or a dog aren't JUST. They are living beings that rely on their parents, or their owners, or foster parents, or adoptive parents; to care for, and love them. Whether you have one of these or six of these, or some combination of all of the above, it's hard. Hard work. Living with a dog is like living with a mime. You are constantly trying to figure out what they are thinking, why they aren't listening, what hurts them, why aren't they listening? OH right. It's cause you are trapped in that box. *eye roll* #mimesarecreepydogsarecute

We need to do a better job of appreciating everyone's life and recognizing that whether they have more or less than we do, they are doing hard work.

Ask me how many of those THINGS* I actually do, that thought I would be able to do with JUST one at home?

None.

Because it's hard. Taking care of one is hard. Trying to get anything and everything done with one is hard. Having a dog is hard. My God, let's give each other some credit. Cut each other and ourselves some slack. Moms and fur moms alike need a tribe, NOT one more reason to overfill that wine glass at the end of the day.

I have no regrets keeping Mae home with me this school year. I understand this is time I will never get back and I love being able to experience cleaning and laundry and dishes and carpool and errands with her by my side. But none of it is easy because loving a living being, someone other than yourself, isn't to be taken lightly and certainly isn't easy.


*Fun fact: In an effort to give Mae some of those experiences I wanted to back in the Fall, I signed her up for a tots soccer class. It will meet once a week for eight weeks. Well, they just called to say it was cancelled because they are getting new turf.

The TGIF Shit gods

It's 9:45 am on Friday and I've already bathed the dog and Mae. If I saw that sentence on Facebook I'd be all Shut your face, you overachiever. Or maybe even Oh good for her, she's finally mastered time management. Well, get ready to feel better about yourselves kids! 

The dog, Walter, has had a bath because he was rolling in his own shit in the backyard, got all muddy, and was later drinking from the toilet. My kid has had a bath because she shit herself AND the stairs. The events of this morning have changed my day. I had hopes of making a spaghetti squash in the crock pot with my own meat sauce for dinner! What!!!?!? However, now, when I think of dinner, I think of the shit I just wiped off my kid; so dinner is might be a bottle of wine and a big ole middle finger. It's fine. 

You are probably saying to yourself, How does all this happen? What are you doing while everyone is shitting themselves? Happy to explain, especially since I'm in the business of making people feel like they have their shit together, while I do not. When the dog goes out, Mae goes out. She brings everything with her to go out: sippy cup, bowl of fruit and a toy. While I'm out with the dog she will want to go back in. Because WE APPARENTLY WANT WHAT WE CAN'T HAVE ALL THE TIME. Mae can't open doors. Which basically translates into me either letting people in or out of the house all day. As most of you know for shit to get real it takes about 5 seconds. I'm also allergic to whining. Highly allergic. There was a lot of that as I let Mae inside. I made it stop and got her a drink of GD water while the dog was outside, in the backyard that's fenced in, unattended. I even thought I'm sure the dog will be fine for like .5 seconds. WRONG. Hence the shit, mud sequence. The toilet water came when I was cleaning Mae's shit off the stairs. Mae ran upstairs in her room, where she was probably playing with her shit, and the dog went into the downstairs bathroom and was drinking the toilet water. Mae shits herself because she's still in a diaper. #judgeaway

When shit like this happens to me and involves actual shit, I want all the sympathy, all the kudos, all the reassurances that I don't have SARS or ebola or (insert awful disease acquired by shit here). Because it's so. disgusting. By the way, isn't Friday when we say Thank God It's Friday!!! I mean WTF, Friday?!? This morning the only god that heard me say Thank God It's Friday!!! was the god of shit. Friday Shit Gods I surrender. This is not a weakness issue but rather a sanitation issue. You are gross AF. Let's collectively hope, for the dinner options for my kids if nothing else, that this day gets better.