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After three solid months of pure, hardcore motherhood, the day has finally come for me to hand the baton off to a group of women who have stepped forward to tend to my children for part of every day. I love these women. They are my personal heroes.
Lest I sound like a heartless mom that doesn’t love her children, that couldn’t be furthest from the truth. Of course I love them. I’m just sick of them. The feeling is mutual. They are sick of me too. They are starving for interaction with people outside of their immediate family just as much as I am starving for solitude. It’s win, win!
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Do you ever feel like your life is you in a barrel being shoved along a fast moving river and you are hanging on for dear life, trying to stay afloat, water splashing in your face, with a doomed feeling that any minute you are going to plunge over a waterfall that will mean sudden death or at the very least a merciless knocking about?
Me neither. Twice a year, I write goals. New Year’s Day, with everyone else, and my birthday, with people who like to write goals on August 8th. You’d think I’d only need to write annual goals, you know, annually, but writing goals and reaching them don’t always coincide as much as I’d like; ergo, I give myself two start dates.
It turns out, I’m a complete idiot. I have no real problem being an idiot, I just don’t particularly enjoy proving it to my children.
I thought I was being super smart when I decided to take my children to Valley Forge National Historical Park for a day of education and exercise. Really, I was a bit smug and self congratulatory about the prospect. I already took my children to the National Museum of Natural History so I was getting kind of cocky as a mom who took her kids on educational trips. |
I like to throw things.
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