Broken Record

It's the middle of Saturday night and I'm crazed and won't be able sleep until I get this all down.  Oh, this was scheduled to be a funny post about Ember and Craig's birthday on Friday and how I had lunch with my friends instead of Craig because he got lost in the gluten free, lactose free artificial coloring hoops I tried to jump through for Ember to bring a birthday snack to school.  That's a run on sentence isn't it?  I don't even care because I'm so pissed right now.

Somehow, when my boys were little they could flush a toilet.  Consistently, every time they pissed in one.  Somehow a decade later, flushing a toilet is a tedious unsolved mystery of the universe.  And every time I venture into their bathroom, which isn't much, because I'd rather enter the NIH without a bio hazard suit with free floating Ebola, there it is, a big bowl of frothy teenage boy piss.  Along with the toothpaste globs and black footprints on the white bathmat.  So it's clear, the soap, is the same bar from the last year, and it never touches their feet ever. Either that or we've discovered the never ending soap bar. Yet, they do get in the shower.  And it's a really long affair when they do.  Although, I know for damn sure what's going on in there besides washing.  Which is precisely why, I'd rather not think about it.

The girls however, shower in the master bathroom shower.  My shower.  Which is why every time I get in there I almost wipe out on my ass from the thick patina of conditioner covering the basin.  Plus, there's a big pool of water like a wading pool because the drain is clogged with long strands of hair.  Ok, so most of them are dark, and I'm the only brunette with long hair.  But, let's ignore this fact for now.  Because this isn't about me.  In fact, this is totally NOT about me.  And how I'm inconsistent with following through with the kids.

This is about the kids.  And how they take advantage of my lackadaisical follow through.  And how that keeps me up at night.  In tears.  Frantically keyboarding, when I should be sleeping, but can't because I'm feeling like the shittiest mom ever.  And crying.  And uncontrollably angry like I'm gonna turn into the hulk. Until I'm feeling like the world's shittiest mom again.  It's a vicious cycle.  If you're a mom, I'm positive you're familiar.  I'm not the only one right?

I could go on and on about how I have to remind each kid 4 times each to do the most mundane of things.  Rinse and put their cereal bowl in the dishwasher, close the pantry door so the dogs don't eat all their school snacks, brush their teeth, do their homework.  The list goes on and on.  And when you calculate all the reminders I give in any one day, it's well over 100.   And this always elicits the same response from them, "I know".  Said in sarcastic teenager tone.   Even though I only have 2 teenagers, they all have the same teenage attitude.

And I just sound like a very distant broken record no one is even listening to.

So, tonight, after they go to bed and I find the left over Halloween candy I meticulously hid in the Victrola (because no one EVER looks in there).  Someone, ok, Sky, looks in there, moves the bag of candy on the floor and plays some old records. Really?  Cause he could have just listened to me. Again. I remind him to put the sweets away or the dogs will eat it and they'll get sick.  Again.  Like the time I left the pizza dough rising on the counter.  I reminded him of this fact several times.

Long after the kids have gone to bed, I find the bag of candy laying on the floor.  And then head up the stairs to find a whole heap of Jade's bedding on the floor in the hallway.  Bedding I changed 2 days before when she barfed all over it and the carpet and anything else remotely in her vicinity. She was sick and I was completely sympathetic cleaning up chunks of lasagna mixed with stomach acid off of her off white carpet. The next morning, I cleaned it all over again, because it still smelled like vomit.  And put on the only clean sheets and blankets left in the linen closet after Barfest 2013,  an extra set of  "boy" bedding.

I was mad, but I could move past it.  Or so I thought.

That's when I went back downstairs to find the keys to the safe.  Where we have to keep things like tape and batteries, in addition to adoption paperwork and other important things. Ok, we really need to keep everything in the entire house in the safe to keep things safe from the kids.  Never mind why I had to go into the safe mind you….

But, of course I couldn't find the keys.  And was totally enraged because obviously the kids found the safe keys and moved them.  Because this is what they do.  Things like this that make no sense.  I tried to just go to bed and forget it.  But Craig started talking about how Sky had batteries for something the other day.  Which sent me over the edge.

Obviously he moved the keys, left the candy out and is the purveyor of all the piss and leaver-opener of the pantry door.  In my head I went through everything he'd ever broken, lost, destroyed, mishandled, misplaced and taken apart.  Which is a considerable long list.  I was so mad I couldn't contain myself.  So I went in his room, flipped on his light and started going through his desk. Of course, Sky was awake.  Probably because he heard me swearing every cuss word known to man in my bedroom, while I assumed he was asleep.  This is just one small reason I make a shitty Santa Clause by the way.

During my mid-night tirade. Craig found the keys to the safe.  In my purse.  And just like a broken record, I'm back to feeling like the shittiest mom in the whole world.  Because clearly, I am.

This is my confession.