I don't know how you do it

“I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU DO IT!”

I hear that a lot.  From friends, family, and even strangers.  They mean well.  It seems like such an innocuous thing to say.  They are trying to be complimentary and encouraging.  I get that.  I really do.  And maybe it is just the self-loathing part of me that reacts to this statement, but what I hear is: “You are f*cked.  Your life will never get any easier and you will barely make it by, day to day, until you die!”

 

I KNOW that is crazy thinking.  I know.  But I am crazy, and sometimes it’s easier not to fight it.  Embrace the crazy; that’s what I say.  But truthfully, when I hear those words, all it does is serve as a reminder of how overwhelmed I am.  How much I have going on. 

I have different reactions when someone says those things to me.  Sometimes, I am able to keep my monologue internal, and others, well…

Here are the thoughts that run through my head when someone says that to me:

I don’t have an option. 

Everything hangs in the balance of my decisions.  I am responsible for 4 tiny little humans, and it is my job to make sure that they become productive members of society when they are grown.  At the very least, make sure they aren’t total assholes. 

 

Am I doing it? Because I feel like I fail daily.

There are SO many things I would love to do with and for my children, which I simply can’t.  I would love to give them all more individual attention. I would love to read several books a day to my kids.  I wish we had time to go to the park and just play more often.  I wish I could join the PTO, make homemade snacks for the class, make sure their clothes match every day, check to make sure they are wearing underwear, feed them a home cooked breakfast every morning that doesn’t have preservatives…the list goes on and on.  But some days I have to settle for making sure they are clean, fed (no matter how many preservatives), homework done, and where they are supposed to be on time. (Ok, so we are rarely on time, but we do eventually make it!)

 

I DO IT HALF ASS BECAUSE SOME DAYS I DON’T HAVE THE TIME OR ENERGY TO WHOLE ASS ANYTHING.

I can’t see my sink because of all the dirty dishes.  I could donate my leg hair to Locks of Love.  I can’t have people over to my house because it is utter chaos.  (Clutter, not filth) My kids’ socks don’t match (if they are even wearing any.) I still have toys that need to be put together from Christmas. I have a drawer full of baby teeth because I can’t bring myself to throw them away. I could feed and clothe a third world country with the crap in my van. 

 

SO, while I do appreciate the fact that you notice my life is a hot mess and chaotic, and that you sympathize, I am going to do you a solid, and give you some helpful phrases to use instead of “I don’t know how you do it!”

 

YOU LOOK STRESSED, BUT BEAUTIFUL AND SKINNY, CAN I TAKE A COUPLE OF THE KIDS FOR A FEW HOURS FOR YOU?

YOU LOOK STRESSED, BUT BEAUTIFULAND SKINNY, CAN I GET YOU TWO HOURS OF CLEANING FROM MERRY MAIDS?

YOU LOOK STRESSED, BUT BEAUTIFUL AND SKINNY, HERE’S SOME VODKA.

YOU LOOK STRESSED, BUT BEAUTIFUL AND SKINNY, GO TAKE A NAP WHILE I WATCH THE KIDS.

YOU LOOK STRESSED, BUT BEAUTIFUL AND SKINNY, HERE’S SOME MONEY.

YOU LOOK STRESSED, BUT BEAUTIFUL AND SKINNY, LET ME CLEAN OUT YOUR VAN FOR YOU.

YOU LOOK STRESSED, BUT BEAUTIFUL AND SKINNY, LET ME REPAIR ALL OF THE BROKEN THINGS AROUND THE HOUSE FOR YOU.

YOU LOOK STRESSED, BUT BEAUTIFUL AND SKINNY, HERE’S A PICKLE.

(jk drugs are bad, mmmkay?)

I know that, at the end of the day, I am so fortunate.  I know there are people a lot worse off than I am.  I have 4 amazing, beautiful, happy, healthy, outgoing, caring, and loving kids.  And by some miracle, they love ME like I am the sun in their world.  In spite of my many mess-ups and failures, they see only the best in me, even when I can’t see it in myself.  I love those little shits.    

I crapped my pants at Target!

I am the type of person that likes to read the ending of a book, to find out how it ends, before I go back and read the beginning.  Based on the title of this blog post, I have given you the ending to this story.  I did, indeed, crap my pants at Target.  Now, I think it is important that I put this event in context:

In atypical Tennessee fashion, we have been having a lot of snow lately.  The kind of snow that is actually ice, and clings to every surface of your world.  The kind of winter weather that closes schools for over a week.  OVER A WEEK! That means that not only was I unable to work, but I was stuck snuggled indoors with my 4 kids for roughly 168 hours.  Those first few hours, for a working mom, were wonderful.  I was getting to hang out with my kids and enjoy alone time with them.  Time that normally I miss out on because they are at school and I am working.  It was wonderful.  I had prepared for the storm like any good southerner, stocking up on milk and bread, and also all kinds of other comfort foods, to ensure that my children were well fed during this beautiful winter season.  (Translation: I cooked A LOT and we also ate A LOT of junk food)

By day 3, we were all tired of being stuck with each other, bored, and feeding our cabin fever with Oreos and Doritos.  The house was a mess, tempers were short, and food was in abundance.  Finally, FINALLY, there was a break in winter weather and we could not wait to get out of the house! The boys needed haircuts, I wanted to eat food that I did not have to prepare, and Ryan was battling an ear infection which required a trip to The Little Clinic.  I have never been so excited to do such mundane things.

After two hours of scraping snow and ice off of my van, one hour of trying to appropriately bundle up my kids (because all of their warm clothes were still in a frozen pile on the porch), and another 30 minutes trying to find my bra (because HEY, it hadn’t been needed), we were ready to roll.

First stop, The Little Clinic, which was overly crowded with others who had been sick and unable to leave their homes.  So, there I was, with 4 kids and only 1 available chair outside of the clinic, patiently waiting for our turn to be seen.  The kids decided to entertain themselves by checking out the movie selections, eating candy that we hadn’t purchased, and asking shoppers if they could scan their groceries for them.  Needless to say, my anxiety level was high and my patience wearing thin.  Finally, we were seen by the doctor, given our meds, and quickly shown the exit. 

Second stop, Great Clips where the boys got their hair cut and actually managed to mostly behave themselves!

Next stop, Koi for some fine Asian cuisine and spicy rice. (Remember this part when we get to the end of the story) I won’t bore you with the details of our dinner, it was the usual jumble of spilled drinks, whining, fighting, and complaining about the food (and that was just from me).  After paying the tab, I realized that I didn’t want to go home.  There was more bad weather on the horizon and I wanted to enjoy my freedom a little while longer.  So I loaded up the kids and we headed to the epicenter of suburban mom escapism: TARGET. 

As you know, your first stop at Target is always the dollar section!!! I had barely ventured past the $1 items and into the $2 items when I felt the need to pass gas.  Yes, I said it.  We all do it.  Get over it! So there I am in Target, assessing my options, and I say to myself, “Self, just let it go.  You have all 4 kids with you, if for some reason a stranger hears/smells anything, you have 4 scapegoats there to blame it on.  If nothing else, I deserve to be able to blame my farts on the kids as retribution for all they do!” I also decide to take it a step farther, and wait for Tax write-off number 2 to walk behind me, and I let ‘er rip. 

And then, because my body clearly hates me and was feeling cooped up as well and wanting to cause mischief, I realized belatedly that what I did was not a fart, not even a shart, THIS, my friend, went straight into DEFCON 5 territory.  I took off immediately for the bathroom (which thankfully was close).  As I was doing the shit-shuffle towards the bathroom, I yelled back at my kids “Mommy has an emergency, please put your hands on the cart and wait right here!” I ignored their questions and complaints as I made my way to the bathroom, thankful that I was wearing skinny jeans tucked into my Uggs. 

I make my way into a bathroom stall and immediately begin to disrobe, and at first, I am a little confused.  I could’ve sworn that I just shit my pants, but as I look down, I see nothing.  What just happened? Did I just inadvertently invent disappearing poop? Invisible poop? Am I going to be rich? Can I recreate this in a lab of scientists? Much calmer now, I reach down to pull up my pants, shifting my weight on my feet, and that’s when I feel it.  Yes, IT! Somehow, I was able to defecate myself, completely bypassing my panties, and shitting directly down my pant’s leg and into my Uggs. 

While I am contemplating what to do about the literal shit storm that is my life, outside of the bathroom I hear the sounds of my boys yelling and my daughter crying.  Here I am failing at being an adult and now my children’s voices remind me that I am not going to win a Mom of the Year award either.  I quickly disrobe from the waist down, discarding my undies and socks! My pants have managed to somehow remain decent, but the shoes pose a big problem.  I had to think fast.  What would Macgyver do?  I grab the toilet paper and begin to wrap my feet, creating a cheap paper sock to use as a barrier against my body's clear disgust with how I have treated it. 

After creating my own shit socks, I gingerly slide my feet back into my Uggs, and walk out of the stall without a look back.  Yes, that makes me an asshole.  But I could not worry about the state of the bathroom when I had kids that were currently looting the store.  I quickly washed my hands and ran for the bathroom exit.  It was at that moment that I realized running was a bad idea, as my stomach was still starting a revolt. 

I got to where my kids were and tried to quietly get their attention so we could promptly leave the store.  Fate, however, had other ideas.  I realized that in my absence, my children had grabbed some snacks (and opened them), along with some toys.  Clearly, I could no longer just make a quick exit with what was left of my dignity, unless I wanted to add shoplifting to my list of mistakes for the day, and I certainly did not look mugshot worthy.  I now had to brave the checkout line. Kill me now. 

I am trying to stand in line and not look like the complete moron that just crapped their pants, and my kids are doing everything in their power to get me to break.  They are running wild, swinging their coats at each other and going through other shoppers’ carts to see what they are buying.  I can’t do much of anything other than calmly whisper to them to behave, because I am scared that any sudden movement or strain on my body will cause another fecal frenzy, and I can’t have that.  After paying for our items, I am returning the cart, and TW# 3 & 4 take off after each other, causing TW # 4 to fall, and she begins to cry.  The mother in me wants to run to her and scoop her up and see if she is ok.  The logical part of me knows that I can neither run nor bend over to get her.  Therefore, I ask her what happened and if she is ok, while trying to make my face look like a caring mother and not like I have a two by four shoved up my ass. 

Suddenly, all of the kids start talking loudly about what happened and who was to blame.  They are arguing and talking over each other AND. I. JUST. SNAPPED. As if I was possessed by Zuul I yelled, “Just stop talking.  I am tired of having to remind you guys of how to behave in public.  Mommy needed you to just hold yourselves together while she cleaned herself off because I crapped my pants, LITERALLY CRAPPED MY PANTS, and I cannot even trust that you can behave for that long.  Now, I have just purchased items we didn’t need and I have crap in my shoes, and I am not positive that I won’t crap myself again.  So what you are going to do is shut your pie holes, put your coats on, hold each other’s hands, and walk calmly to the car with me.  Is that understood?” After giving them each the “mom eye” which says, without words, that I mean business, I start to turn to leave and notice that AT LEAST 15 people are now staring at me.  I turn to look at my kids and you know what they did? THEY CRACKED UP LAUGHING!!! I am at a low point in my life, reaching out to my kids hoping they will throw me a lifeline, and instead they kick me when I am down and point and laugh. 

I can feel anger boiling up in me, but then all of the sudden, the reality of the situation hits me! I am a grown ass woman who just shit her pants, in Target, with her kids, and I expect people not to laugh? I mean, it is funny (when it isn’t you) and I can’t blame my kids for finding the humor in something so juvenile.  I mean, come on, I JUST CRAPPED MYSELF AT TARGET! That is effing hilarious.  So instead of feeling down, or getting upset with my kids, I decided to join in on the fun, and I did what everyone else was doing…..I LAUGHED! And then I laughed some more, and then I realized what a horrible idea that belly laughter was at that moment. 

I could still hear everyone in the store laughing as I herded my children to the car, once again doing the shit-shuffle.