10 Ways You Really Know You’re Doing It Right
1. Walk your kids to school and a half block away realize that your son is wearing his sister’s shirt (backwards), your daughter’s socks don’t match and neither of them have brushed their hair. Step ever so casually into the nearest driveway, use your own ponytail holder to do the hair of Thing One, use the saliva smoothing technique on Thing Two, give the t-shirt a mini makeover and tell your girl to rock those socks like it’s 1999. Also, remind self that perhaps a full body scan of all family members might be in order before leaving the house tomorrow. . . seeing as you, yourself, actually have now walked two blocks in public wearing flip flops, yoga pants and a workout tank that says “
Skinny Fit Bitch.” #stayclassysandiego
2. Locate your son’s homework. In the recycle bin. On the street. While wearing your pajamas. 30 seconds before the waste management guy (who totally digs your jams, btw) picks it up. Realize after he leaves that you are now holding last week’s work. This week’s work is actually in the backseat of the car, with the fifteen jackets that are also currently labeled as “lost.”
3. Sign a permission slip, printing your cell number in the box that says “address” and your signature on the line that says “medical conditions.” Laugh hysterically at this freudian slip. Turn it in (late) and have it returned to you, crumpled at the bottom of a backpack, with this section highlighted in silent passive aggressive mockery: “Please include the [ridiculously overpriced] fee of $25 for the [super low budget] play with permission slip.” Oops.
4. Pack everyone a healthy lunch the night before. The next day, open your superman lunchbox at noon- WAIT- SUPERMAN lunchbox? Shitballs. Cross your fingers that your son is really enjoying the broccoli slaw and tuna with a side of celery and sliced apples that are (hopefully??) in his possession. Realize he is your kid and is most likely chowing down on the byproducts and preservatives gilding the styrofoam trays in the school cafeteria while your nutritionally balanced meal ferments in the depths of his backpack. Consider driving to school to swap out meals, then stare at peanut butter sandwich housed by superman and his rippled abs. Decide if said hero can eat it, you can too. Enjoy every.last.piece of that bread.
5. Make gluten and dairy free high protein waffles from scratch. Process includes grinding your own nut and coconut flours and making “syrup” from a berry reduction. Take one bite and realize no one under the age of 30 would eat this shit. Serve each kid one waffle with a heaping scoop of vanilla ice cream on top drizzled with chocolate sauce and covered with walnuts (for more protein, obviously). Be remembered as the Coolest Mom Ever for the history of time. Also be regularly reminded of “that one time you gave us waffles with ice cream on top?” and begged “could you please do that again?”
6. Finish (current) laundry assignments. High five yourself. Struggle to put on yoga pants that appear to have shrunken in the wash. Sigh. Resolve to eat less bread today. Observe your eight year old strutting around the house in lulu’s. Wonder to self when the hell someone bought that kid $80 exercise pants. Have a sip of coffee. Come to senses and figure out what’s actually going down here.
Peel Remove daughters leggings from your large behind. In total relief, reward self for discovery with a bagel. And cream cheese.
7. Get up extra early, have everyone ready on time, dressed, teeth clean, hair brushed, clothes matching. Do a happy dance. Take kids to school, remarking how empty the parking lot appears to be. Wonder why the doors are locked. Look at calendar, realize it’s Saturday. High five both kids and do a little warm and cool feedback session on the successful “practice run” for Monday. Take beautifully groomed family to the nearest restaurant in walking distance serving bottomless mimosas and giant pancakes. Enjoy the benefit of a vast array of open seating options available at 8:30am on a Saturday in Midtown. Take an ultimate selfie with the wait staff to document this one time you were all well dressed and behaving in public. Frame that shit.
8. Take kids to the great outdoors for an overnight. Pack half the house in the car. Successfully set up camp by yourself, including giant air mattress that you are all, ever so cozily, going to share. Go to bed, gazing up at the stars shining through the opening at the top of the tent. Forget names and stories of all constellations (except the Big Dipper) and offer nomenclature inspired by Disney characters instead. Try to go to sleep. Realize all of the following actions make the mattress (and thereby all three of you) move: a) tossing, b) turning, or c) BREATHING. Recall that your Swiss Army Knife of a car is never sans yoga mats. Grab them and set up both (whining) kids to either side of you. Sigh with relief and enjoy the wide open space that is your exclusive queen pillow of air. Wake up to a sore back from the matress that went flat due to your apparent lack of ability to tighten the plug, and also to rain, falling through the opening of the tent, that is NOT covered with a rain fly. . .
9. Take kids to an indoor trampoline center on a rainy day to get their wiggles out. Decide this will be a great way for you to exercise too. Pay $50 to bounce for one hour. Jump with kids for three minutes. Use the bathroom. Jump for another minute. Use the bathroom again. Make it for thirty seconds, then realize that yes, your bladder is THAT pathetic and drag eye rolling children back to the ladies room, otra vez. Lock eyes with another mother in the same (dire) situation. Become BFF’s. Tag team jumping and potty duty for the remaining 45 minutes of the slow and fiery death of your quads. Remind yourself to wear opaque black pants next time.
10. Sign kids up for youth sports. Spend most of your paycheck on registration and gear. Wait four months for the season to start. Exchange half of gear because it no longer fits. Attend first practice. Watch child pick daisies and trip over own feet. Shuttle children across town to next practice, listening to child Two complaining that child One “has a snack and he doesn’t.” Sit with child One while child Two practices. Hear fifteen times that the uniforms are red, just like like blood on her knee from falling down during practice. Watch child Two run away from coach and hit other children. Sheepishly schlep home. Go online and request a refund for both sports, oxy clean the shit out of the gear, return it, and use the money to sign both kids up for swim lessons where their success is more dependent on the laws of physics and less influenced by safety hazards like grass. And flowers. And moving objects.
Cheers to adventures in parenting!
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