Natalie is a SAHM to three children three and under: a 3 year old son and 1 year old twin girls. She spends her days chasing the three of them in three different directions, usually all at the same time. She blogs about her day-to-day life and the chaos that comes with raising children. In her free time, which she rarely has anymore, she enjoys writing, reading, gardening, cooking, and lots of wine.
The name of my blog is Mommy of a Monster and Twins. This is misleading. You would assume by reading that title that I have one monster kid and two good ones, when in reality my son (my monster) when I first started my blog last year is no longer a monster (most of the time). The twins, on the other hand, are both monsters. Well, I will say they are considerate enough to take turns being monsters instead of bombarding me at the same time. Usually.
My past-monster, Tater, is three. The twins, Ms. L and Ms. M, are a year and a half old. Whenever I’m out in public with all three of them, I will get stopped at least once to have someone tell me “Wow! You must be busy! I don’t even know how you do it!”
The reply is a simple one: “I just do it.”
This simple reply is so much easier to explain than the actual honest answer. Because you and I both know that strangers really have no desire to know how I really do it. The real answer is that 95% of the time, our life is chaos. The house is a mess, at least one kid is crying, there’s constant noise and chatter, and constant movement. I’m busy. I’m trying in vain to avoid going crazy. And I am tired.
So come with me, and spend a few minutes in my life…
Tater is three. Tater talks. A lot. I mean A LOT. Like never shuts up. He is also a rambunctious boy that is go, go, go from the minute he wakes up until the minute he goes to sleep. He’s now at the age where he says “I want to do it myself” and so everything takes twice as long. And Tater tortures his sisters. Well, not literally, but if you have siblings or more than one child, you know exactly what I mean. I couldn’t even count how many times a day I yell “Tater! Keep your hands off your sisters!”
Ms. L and Ms. M are a year old. They talk, but it’s all Chinese to us at this point. They actually prefer to play lets-see-who-can-scream-the-loudest rather than talk. Tater enjoys joining in, too. It’s not something you ever want to be around to witness. Trust me.
The girls are typical toddlers…inquisitive and into everything. I mean EVERYTHING. Child proof locks are a joke. A spoon is way more interesting than any of the tens of thousands of toys they have that litter my entire downstairs, and that spill out of their supposed toy room and into the hall. The whole house is a toy room, if you ask me.
But back to the spoon. Let’s say that I’m making dinner and Ms. M comes into the kitchen to supervise. She knows where our silverware is and will come over to the drawer, point, and say something that sounds like “insaybobway”, which of course means “I want a spoon! Get it now, woman!” So I give her a spoon. At that exact second, Ms. L will look up from whatever it is she’s doing wherever she is, instantly knowing her sister now has something she wants. She runs over, and grabs the spoon. A fight ensues. Screaming drowns out anything I try to say to calm them down. I get another spoon and give it to Ms. M. Now Ms. L doesn’t want her spoon, she wants Ms. M’s spoon. But Ms. M wants that spoon too. A fight again ensues. More screaming. Tears. Pushing and shoving. Good times people, good times.
Meanwhile Tater is tearing around the kitchen screaming singing Mary Had A Little Lamb death rock style and swinging his guitar around. As he comes around the kitchen table, his guitar slams straight into Ms. M’s head. Ms. M, who is already crying and screaming, now begins to shriek. She drops her spoon. Ms. L stops crying, bends down and takes the spoon. Now she’s got both of them and is happy as a clam. She walks off to enjoy her pillage.
Ms. M cannot be calmed. I’m sitting on the floor comforting while Tater is standing over her yelling in her face “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She is now just pissed. She is pushing me away, she’s pushing Tater away, and squirming around trying to get off my lap so she can flop onto the ground and throw herself a real fit.
And then she realizes her spoon is gone. Tears immediately stop. Now she’s in predator mode. She goes looking for it, and it all starts again.
You’ve now spent five minutes walking in my shoes.
I have no idea how I do it. I have no idea how any of us do.