I'm getting ready to kick this week's ass, you guys and let me tell you why. This week has been fucked. Demon has been in rare form- he and a friend located a can of red spray paint, painted themselves and my upstairs floor, found some blue paint and painted my closet door, threw all the puzzles and books around the playroom and escaped naked, from my yard, tearing around the neighborhood. AND then Demon called one of the Big Baby C's baseball coaches a nasty name- a name that is another word for penis. (honestly, I should talk to Frank about his language. I have no fucking idea where Demon gets this shit!) Tonight, Demon outdid himself by throwing dirt directly into my eyes (good shot) and insisting on building 'dirt castles' during the Big Baby C's very last baseball game. (or almost last. Colin might be playing summer ball. Then there's a tournament. Whointhehell made baseball season so LOOOOOONG?!?!) Anyway, on our way home, Frank tried to explain to the boys what being a parent is all about. He stumbled after "Being a parent is so hard- you guys have no idea how much work...when you're tired...and then you...so you go to work..." So I stepped in "What he's trying to say is...OOOOH!! I LOVE that song- turn it UPPPP- hey Frank that reminds me- did you remember to get my wine??" Ok...so we didn't do a great job of explaining the difficulties of parenting to our kids (way to go assholes). Forgive us already. That stuff is sooooo hard to explain!
How do you put into words how endless nights of little sleep, being puked and drooled on, changing diapers filled with what can only be called foul science experiments gone horribly wrong- how, exactly do you tell someone that those are really the best years of your life?
How do you tell them that raising a toddler is a little like trying to appease a ruthlessly unforgiving tyrant hell bent on genocide? Genocide plus, he's hell bent on not letting you pee alone until you're 83? That the screaming, spitting, hitting, kicking little purple faced monster in your shopping cart at Wal-Mart is capable of giving the world's sweetest kisses? That the loving way he looks at you and says 'mommy, you're so pretty' makes you forget about tyrannical genocide and peeing with an audience? That when you see your older son hit his first home run, how you could turn yourself inside out with pride? How you could vow to happily endure baseballs flying at your face forever if it means that your little guy is happy? How you can lie awake at night, fearful that your teenage son is getting ready to drive (in two years, but it's never too early to get a jump on worrying!) and he's getting ready to put to use in his actual life all the crap you've been trying to teach him since he was 4?!?! (And I do mean 'crap' because who really needs to know how to make a pinata from scratch?!?!)
That stuff is just impossible to explain, because let's be honest- the payoff of parenting?? No fucking idea when that is. It may come when they turn 18...or when they have kids of their own (that's a funny thought that makes me really, really happy) It may never come, I don't know. I guess my point is, regardless of how rewarding this stuff may or may not be, we're in it for the long haul. Because you can't quit being a parent- I've tried. They make you get back in your car with your kids, hand you a bottle of wine, and send your crying ass home.