I wear many hats when it comes to life. I'm an author, graphic designer, PA, artist, but most importantly I'm a single mother of four.
As a single mom I know first hand the stress of managing four kids all seven years of age and under. As a SAHWM (stay at home working mom), I also know first hand the insanity that is trying to run multiple businesses while the youngest two are at home with me all. the. time. And it is insanity. Utterly complete insanity with no end in sight, but it's also a sh*t ton of fun.
My children are adorable spawns of Satan.
That *gestures above* is the truth. My kids are adorable (yes, I'm biased). They're also incredibly intelligent (again, I'm biased), talented (woot! There I go being biased again), and sweet when they choose to be. And that, my dears, is also the truth.
Don't get me wrong, I'd never change them for the world.... Okay, I'd change the fact that they're too independent and stubborn, and maybe throw in a dash of minion-ess just so I would feel like I wasn't going to pull my hair out half the time. Because it does feel like that. Parenting is HARD. It's stressful, irritating and a whole mess of other synonym's for 'omg I'm going to scream if you ask the same question ONE more time!'
And that's the basis of parenting. Of all of it. BUT, there's a bright side, and that's what I want to share with you.
In between the madness and constant cleaning and 'did you REALLY just take a sh*t on the floor?!?' there's the sweet moments, and the utter moments of hilarity.
Here's an example:
My oldest (Harley) is seven. As such she has a small list of responsibilities that she has to complete: i.e. chores.
Now don't get me wrong, I don't slam her with a list of things she has to do while I just sit around and watch her. Her chores (as well as the other three) go along the lines of: you make a mess, you clean it up.
Normally that wouldn't be a big deal, until you take into account that not only is she a spawn of Satan when it comes to actually doing anything I ask of her, but that she's also a mini-me, which means that she's extremely dramatic and argumentative (Hey, we can't all be perfect, and I take full responsibility for all aspects of her awesomeness).
So lets break down how almost every cleaning conversation that her and I have goes.
Me: Harley, the living room is a mess. It's time to clean up.
Harley: (looks at me like this)
Then proceeds to pout and to tell me: 'I don't feel good.'
Me: Too bad. I don't feel good either, but there's still things that need to be done.
Harley: *rolls eyes* (yes, my seven year old has mastered the art of eye rolling). Mommy, I really don't feel good. My legs hurt and my tummy hurts.
Me: It's amazing that your legs always seem to hurt whenever you have to clean.
Harley: It's amazing that you haven't figured out that if I didn't have to clean my legs wouldn't hurt (Yes, she has also achieved a level of sarcasm to equal mine. Parenting done right!).
Now at this point I'm about to lose it. It wouldn't be so bad if the youngest of the four (Lexia) hadn't just pulled off her panties and taken a sh*t on the floor and was then proceeding to scream about it while the oldest one up from her (Jace) was trying to drive his car through said sh*t. (See? Fun.)
But Harley, being the smart little cookie that she is noticed that I'm about to completely lose my sh*t over the sh*t and her being stubborn (on top of the two hours worth of temper tantrums prior from her brother (Demetry) over doing his homework. But that, my dears, is another story). So she decides, instead of infuriating me further, to stomp her way into the bedroom, grabbing a piece of paper and a pencil along the way.
Now I KNOW that I'm on the verge of losing it, so I take my own grumpy butt outside for a 'mommy-time-out' session (they work wonders when you're starting to feel homicidal toward spawns of Satan). After a few minutes of meditating and reminding myself that I really DO love the kids and don't really want to see their demise I head back in to find my daughter waiting for me, arms crossed and a frown on her face.
Without a word, she hands me this:
For those non-parents out there who haven't developed the art of reading a child's writing and improper English, here is what it says:
I can not handle cleaning places that you tell me to do just to be away from Lexia and Jace and Demetry and I can not find something to do if I do not be away from them I will not clean up and I am telling you I am sorry not out loud because I think that I look funny cause last year daddy videotaped me on the phone and that is why.'
*insert moment of hilarity*
I spend the next five minutes dying of laughter. It's the first 'real' note she had ever written me, and the basis of her rebellion is because she hates her siblings (seriously, she does. Asks me every day to either kill them or send them to join the circus). To me, it's hilarious, and I'm keeping that letter forever. *que instant happy mommy*
At the end of it all she did complete her chores, along with the other three after many threats and arguments. True things didn't stay clean, but that's just how life goes.
So they are adorable little spawns of Satan, but they're mine and I love them. In the end that's all that matters.