April is a work-at-home mom of two children; Andrew, two-and-a-half and Jillian, eleven. It gets quite lonely talking to herself day in and day out so she takes to writing about her less-than-stellar parenting in the hopes of making other moms feel so not alone in this frightening world of motherhood. If she makes you laugh, then her job is done. She can be found on Facebook, and on her blog, Truu Mom.
Oh, joy, it’s Tuesday again. I need someone to remind me why I thought signing the toddler up for story time at the library was a good idea, because at this moment, it seems like nothing short of a chore. I mean there are only two reasons; (1) I work at home and need to get out of this house if my family wants to see another sunrise and (2) sure, it’s good for the boy to get some interaction with others besides his crazy mom and his tween sister.
I hem and haw about whether or not I should skip story time and enjoy a second cup of coffee when I realize that the word “enjoy” is not in my vocabulary when it comes to what I’m thinking. There is no way I am going to be able to even make a second cup, let alone enjoy it in peace. So like the dutiful mother I am, I begrudgingly get dressed (a term I use loosely in this house) and somewhere between the fit pitched because it was time to get the shoes on and the other fit pitched because Mickey Mouse Clubhouse had to be shut off, we are miraculously in the car.
I don’t know how many prayers I said in that five-minute car ride to the library because I kept getting interrupted by the incessant talking of the boy about the police car and the garbage truck and whatever else it was that crossed the boy’s line of sight. Okay, okay, parking spot found, got boy out of car seat — wait, check mirror, oh yes, there it is, that fake smile I have mastered. You know the smile that says, no really, this is awesome, and I love this, and I can’t wait for this to start because this is certainly my favorite part of the day.
Fast-forward through all the stairs we counted out to get to the story time room, the guinea pig that just needed to be talked to, the blocks that just had to be taken out because story time didn’t start as soon as the all-mighty-toddler entered the room to when we finally get into said room and sit on our cushions. Oh, look, the three-minute video is coming on to which I am praying for three minutes of peace to zone out to, but alas, my hopes have been dashed. I mean what toddler sits for three minutes in a row? Oh, look at that, all eight of the other toddlers are of course. I stare in amazement at this for the next two-and-a-half minutes and try not to let the tears of frustration overflow onto my stupid green cushion I’m sitting on when all of a sudden my over-the-top-with-excitement toddler stops jumping up and down, puts his forehead to mine and says, “Mommy, look, story friends.”
This statement gets lots of awwws and how sweet and oh he’s so adorables, and now my tears of frustration are quickly turning into tears of adoration, for clearly, I have created an amazing being who reminds me at least once a week how happy he is and that it is me, his mommy, who has made him feel that way. I feel like I should get a gold star, but I promise not to pitch my own fit when none appears before me.