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Broke Wife, Big City
The best mom in the galaxy
By Aprill Brandon
My eyes pop open like blinds that have been pulled too hard. I heard
one of the kids cry, I’m certain of it. I strain my ears over the
snoring duet of the dog and the husband. Nothing. Whoever it was must
have fallen back asleep.
As I lay in bed, wide awake now since parental panic is the most
effective alarm clock on the market, I think about the day to come.
It’s going to be a good day, I tell myself. Because today I’m going to
be a good mom. The best mom.
Mary. Friggin.’ Poppins.
(wavy fantasy lines, wavy fantasy lines, wavy fantasy lines)
Today I will get up, refreshed, and gently wake my children, both of
them sleepily smiling at me as I sing “good morning!” to them. We will
do our morning routine like an adorable montage from a romantic comedy,
complete with a fashion show by my 5-year-old as he gets dressed for
school.
As we walk to school, we’ll joke and laugh and enjoy the late autumn
weather. Then the 3-year-old and I will head to the library for
storytime and after I will surprise her with a trip to her favorite
pizza place for lunch, where we make up silly songs and she tells me
about her favorite animals. She then takes a nap and I am able to
actually write my newspaper column by deadline.
We then pick up her brother and I let them play on the playground while
I successfully have a 20 minute! conversation with another adult. Then
we head home for a snack and an impromptu dance party (all of us, of
course, agreeing on the music we listen to).
Then they help me make dinner, the two of them adorably drowning in
aprons. Daddy comes home and we all sit down at the table, talking
about our day and discussing our highs and lows.
Then we read five books and they obediently clean their rooms and brush
their teeth. And then, as I tuck them into bed, my son looks at me and
says “you’re the best mom in the world.” And my daughter says “no,
she’s the best mom in the galaxy.”
And I walk away with a huge smile, telling myself just how lucky I am that I get to do this every day.
(wavy fantasy lines, wavy fantasy lines, wavy fantasy lines)
In reality I groan as I get out of bed (because that just happens
involuntarily now) and I make coffee, menacingly standing over the
coffeemaker, threatening it to hurry up or else. The kids procrastinate
getting ready until the last minute despite me reminding them every
five minutes that we are leaving soon. He then calls me stupid and mean
for making him brush his teeth and she throws a tantrum because she
can’t find her favorite kitty cat stuffie (you’d think the fact I found
eight other kitty cat stuffies she can take would help but no, no it
doesn’t). Finally I explode.
“If you guys aren’t ready to go and by the door in the next 30 seconds,
I will set all your toys on fire, so help me,” I loudly growl, my inner
Darth Vader holding my inner Julie Andrews hostage in a chokehold.
The entire walk to school they complain. It’s too cold. They’re so tired. Carry me, Momma!
A little while later, me and the toddler are leaving the library in
disgrace because she started screaming at the top of her lungs for some
reason that she refuses to divulge. Trying to turn the day around, I
take her to her favorite pizza place, where she runs around the entire
place singing songs about poop. She then refuses to take a nap, even
though she needs one, and refuses to get off my lap, leaving me to try
to type 800 words of my newspaper column one-handed.
Later, we pick up her brother and the three of us end up leaving the
playground in disgrace, one of them tucked under my arm like luggage
and me dragging the other one behind me by the hood of his coat, all of
us raving at each other like lunatics.
As soon as we get home, they both immediately ask to watch TV. When I
say no, they both end up in the corner because we do not hit mommy no
matter how mad we are. I tell them to go play in their rooms, which
lasts for almost 10 minutes before I have to pull them apart because
they’re fighting over the Legos. Let’s read a book! I suggest, hoping
to distract them. They then end up back in the corner for beating each
other up because they can’t agree which on book we should read.
They then make a giant mess in the kitchen under the guise of “helping
me cook” and I age 10 years in 10 minutes trying to bite my tongue so I
don’t scream out of frustration. I get a text that Daddy is running
late again.
The three of us sit down to dinner, which is gross and smells like
vomit apparently. Before I even manage to take my first bite, I have to
yell at them to sit down in their chairs and stop sniffing each other’s
butts.
Bedtime is an hour of complaining (on their part) and threats about setting everything on fire again (on my part).
And as I sigh and tuck them into bed, exhausted, my son looks at me and
says “you’re the best mom in the world.” And my daughter says “no,
she’s the best mom in the galaxy.”
And I walk away with a huge smile, telling myself just how lucky I am that I get to do this every day.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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