What my kids say vs. What I hear

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1.       They say : “Mommy, when are you going to get dressed?”

I hear: “ You look old & tired. Put down that cup of coffee and get off the couch you lazy bum.”

2.       They say: “ Mom? Mom? Mom? Mommy? Mama? Mommmmmmmmm? Hey Mom? Mom? Mommy? Mommy??”

I hear:  Nails on a chalkboard.

3.       They say: “ No I want something else for dinner. Yuck!”

I hear:  “ Just because you watch Rachel Ray doesn’t mean you know how to cook. I can survive on bread alone (with butter).”

4.       They say:  “ Go away! I need privacy!”

I hear: “I am going to poop on the floor and make it look like an accident.”

5.       They say: “Puh-leeze! I just need some water before I go to sleep!”

I hear:   “ It’s so funny to see how easily you cry at 2am after I wet the bed.”

6.       They say: “One more book!”

I hear:  “ Don’t even kid yourself that I’m falling asleep anytime soon.”

7.       I say: “For the love, go play with your brother”

They say “ No Mommy, I want to stay here with youuuuuuuuu.”

I hear: “ I’m running an experiment to see how many times it takes to say the same thing over and over to you before you go nuts.”

8.      They say: “ Can I have more waffles? Can we go to Nanee’s? Can we watch some Kipper? Can you go get my baby doll stuff? Can we go outside? Can we go to the park?      Can we do a project? Can we fingerpaints? (all asked without breathing or pauses)

I hear: “ Can you do a headstand and sing the Star Spangled banner in Spanish while doing sign language with your feet?”

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Why?

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I’m having one of those days. One of those days that makes me avoid mirrors for fear of confronting the “mommy-ness” of my appearance. You know, wrinkled jeans, a shirt that has a spit-up stain on it, wet hair in a tight bun, no make up and glasses. When I was a teen I would see moms out and about and chuckle at their appearance. What was so hard about keeping up with the styles? Doing your hair and makeup before going out? Ah, this is time’s sweet revenge…

I can’t believe it, but I’ve arrived here. I think I’m fully lunging forth into the arms of parenthood now. Now I truly fit the part. Let me explain: I actually left the house and went to an appointment with sweatpants on (ones that I wore while pregnant, AND to the hospital when I went to deliver, so please try to envision the bagginess!) sneakers that were bright white and squeaky with each step, sopping wet hair in a bun, and a loose hoodie on. It wasn’t until I sat down in the waiting room that I realized my horrible faux pas. My sweatpants were too short! (probably because I was used to wearing them so low to fit under my preggo belly) The shortness caused my nubby, chaffed ankles to show, which of course I was wearing those socks that barely cover your feet, so paired with my white & neon green sneakers….I looked like a bad fashion nightmare. I looked down at the backpack-diaper bag which I now carry with me everywhere as my pocket book. Then I realized what was happening. Look at the way I’m dressed! Look at my “purse”! How long has it been since I did my hair? Shaved my legs? Wore jewelry? I found myself rationalizing my actions as my heartbeat quickened into near panic,

“I just wanted something comfortable and quick…”
Yikes! I caught myself thinking those words… I half expected to be ambushed by Stacey and Clinton when I stood up for my appointment…..

Why is it always on these days, “naked mole rat” days as my sister calls them, that you bump into the high school prom queen or your former friends who became models? It begins innocently enough: you jump in the car to run out real quick to grab a gallon of milk thinking

“meh, I won’t see anybody so its ok”

Then suddenly it seems everyone decided to have a class reunion at the Shop Rite but forgot to send you an invitation.

“Hey is that you? Wait aren’t you the one who ended up being homeschooled? What are you up to these days.?”

“uhhhhhhh grocery shopping. you know..” (you glance down at your cart ,start feeling tinier by the minute, and more dumb)

Of course inwardly you are screaming

“I’m married!!! To this great great guy! AND we have kids! 2! That’s right! I have two babies! And they are so much cuter than you were when we were little, and I went to college! I know you didn’t….you thought I was such a dork, I know I never had any boyfriends then, and you all thought I’d never get married, that I’d always be selling ice cream to you.. but no! I did move beyond braces & books…”

You remember your attire. Ah, the humble pie. Still looking dorky.

“So what do you do with your spare time?”

“Ummmm (massive brain fart) I have kids…so mostly …..you know…”

Her cell phone rings and she has to run, she’s late for a lunch date, but it was nice seeing you again. Yeah, you too. You’re smiling comatosely as she trit trots away in her Uggs. Nice nails by the way.

You think I would have learned my lesson already and spared the world, stayed inside, lock the doors and keep to myself on those days. Why must I keep torturing myself?

At least she didn’t ask me what was wrong, I try to comfort myself. Although if she did I could have just replied the way I answer anyone when they’re trying to determine if you are tired, terminally ill or just plain not good looking.

“No, I’m not sick” I always growl “I’m just not wearing any make up. It’s naked mole rat Monday. Didn’t you get the memo?”

Maybe I should be the one to get the memo next time. Note to self: On naked mole rat Monday, stay indoors. Keep your pride intact as much as possible. Avoid shopping, and doctor’s appointments. If you must go out for extraordinary circumstances: wear a burqa. Or just get dressed!