So you wanna know how I do it?

Something I get asked a lot, mostly rhetorically, is 'how do you do it?' How do I manage being a single mom of two kids, work full time, compete in a highly competitive sport and still have flawless lipstick? (Ok, maybe not so much the last part, but if you must know, it's Stila Como and I fucking love it.)

I wish that I had some magic answer about how I meditate every morning and watch the sunrise and that the chi of garden fairies recharges my chakra or some bullshit. But let's be real here. That is in no way what really happens. This is how it usually goes.

I start my day with about 6 different alarms. No joke. Check out this screenshot. Go ahead and judge my battery level, I don't care. I live dangerously-ish.

I snooze to the second, check my phone until 6 and then I get up. The rest of them are because I simply don't trust myself. I hate mornings. I'm sure that will never change. After I drag myself out of bed, and pep talk myself for what I'm about to do. I got this. I am confident. I am strong. I can do this. I wake up the kids ever so nicely. I read somewhere that if you get woken up gently, then you wake up nicer. And these little fuckers need to be woken up sooo gently, it's like baking a souffle. I mean, I think it is. I don't bake fancy shit. 

Then I make coffee. Armed with caffeine, I wake up my son again. Then possibly a third time and I'm not being so gentle as I threaten him with whatever creative form of punishment I can think of after only half a cup of coffee. After I have confirmed that his preteen angst has been fully awakened, I put on pants. Because it's too early in the school year to be that mom at the bus stop with no pants. Next month. 

Fight with angsty child about the woes of having to have a sandwich in lunch. Threaten with creative punishment until he makes said sandwich. Pat self on the back for enforcing a balanced lunch and then sigh heavily when I realize he'll probably just throw it away. Fight with angry troll child about taking his meds in the morning until he finally just gives in and check his mouth like a prison guard. He's a slippery one that troll. Get the kids out the door to the bus, cheer not so silently as it pulls away then proceed to get ready for work. 

Getting dressed and putting my make up on happens in various degrees based on how many alarms I had to use that day and how many wake up calls it took to rise the darling little heathens. Some days, it's a blessing I brush my hair. I usually wear a dress because it requires less thought and I look super put together. Fake it til you make it. Jump in car, usually late, and drive an hour to work. Congratulate myself on a fantastic commuter karaoke that I am positive my traffic neighbors enjoyed. Work all day which consists of answer questions as snarky as I can get away with, helping customers with issues and telling people no. That's my favorite. 

Drive an hour home. Pick up children who refuse to stop talking the entire car ride home, which thankfully is now only 3 minutes. The longest three minutes of my day. Get the low down on a bunch of kids that I have never met, teachers that I should probably know but don't and activities that I'm not really paying attention to because I'm trying to remember if I took out something from the freezer for dinner. Spoiler alert, I didn't. Get home, tell kids to feed the dog and cat and tortoise. Get told I'm the worst for asking them to help. Figure out dinner. Top Ramen is super fancy with frozen veggies in it. Rewash that load of laundry for the 4th time. I'll remember to move it tonight. Spoiler alert, I won't.

Get through dinner. Break up about 2394 fights. Take 395684030 deep breaths. I'm very oxygenated. Tell myself I should start doing yoga again, I mean, I won't but I should. Stop the dog from eating cat poop. Be told I'm mean because I said no sleep overs on a school night. Told I'm mean because I told them to brush their teeth. Told I'm mean because....I'm not really sure why that last time, I stopped listening. Answer text messages. Facebook messages. Hid on the toilet for 20 minutes. Realize it's bed time and say a silent prayer of thanks and also for strength to get through this. Realize I need more then prayer, and get the wooden spoon. Put kids back to bed 2 times. Grab a bag of chips and dip, wine if I have it and cry in my closet because fucking balls that was a hard day. 

Get up tomorrow and do it all again. 

So long story short, I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't know how I do it. Some days are autopilot. Some days I get through counting the seconds to bedtime. Some days, thankfully more days then not, I am so blessed that I almost forget how hard it is. Almost in the same way you forget how much contractions hurt. You know they hurt, but you can't quite recall the pain in which you wanted to paint the walls with your significant other's blood for what they did to you.  

Also, I laugh. And maybe drink more then I should a little. And I have a great tribe of women who have my back. That's how I do it. 

Mean Mom

Tonight, I am a mean mom. I'm literally the worst. I mean, they don't get any worse then me. What did I do that was so terrible? I asked them to go to bed. After the courtesy 5 minute bedtime warning. Who the hell do I think I am? How dare I yell at him after asking nicely 3 times? I should be shipped off to Azkaban and wait for 12 years until I learn how to transfigure into a dog to escape. I should be grounded forever. I should be marched around the neighborhood while all the neighbors watch my kids shame me ringing a bell.

After being told how I was such a mean mom, that I hate him and other random grumbling of a ten year old that just been told the tragic sentence of bedtime, I thought to myself "One day, one day he'll call me and apologize for being such an asshat. That reminds me, I should call my parents..." I can't possibly be the only mom who accused of being mean. I'm mean anytime I tell them no. Tell them they need to do something. Tell them, well, basically anything it seems now-a-days. I just can't win for losing. What did I do to deserve this? I birthed you out of my WOOOOMB! I GAVE YOU LIFE! I GAVE YOU THE LAST SLICE OF PIZZA AND THIS IS HOW YOU THANK ME???

Deep breath

Then I just have to remind myself. Kids are assholes. They are selfish. They can't think of how their actions affect others sometimes. They don't get how leaving a puddle of water on the bathroom floor will later lead to their mean mom slipping and pulling a groin muscle in a not so graceful reenactment of an Olympic gymnastic routine. SO selfish. But there are glimmers of hope in there. When they call strangers sir and ma'am. When they go out of their ways to play with the special needs kids at school. When they are gentle and kind to the neighbor's baby. The rare moments that they are sweet to each other right before someone gets slapped in the face and another war breaks out. Those moments, those are the ones that make being a mean mom worth it.

So I say to you, fellow mean moms, keep being mean. Keep setting boundaries and enforcing them. Keep on making the rules and showing you mean business. Stand your ground, cause you're a mean mom. And a damn good one.