At 9PM, I was finished. Finally finished. The presents were finally all wrapped. The room was as clean as it was going to get. The kids were in bed. The baby was sleep with no fever. And with the help of one He-Man strong five-year-old I even flipped my mattress. Why are those things so incredibly heavy? After the flipping and sheet changing, I laid upon my 800 thread count sheets. They are like buttah. Buttah, I tell you. What a wonderful birthday gift.
I'm listening to How the Grinch Stole Christmas on youtube as I type. I should probably try to sleep, but I think I want to usher in my birthday. It's only what an hour and 18 minutes away. Praise be to God, I'll be another year older. Blessed with another year to not understand the complexities of the relationships between mothers and daughters. You can't strangle them, but you can't live without them and you love them to death. Do they take lessons when you turn a certain age on how to drive you completely insane?
"Do you think you should go pick up the kids?" my mother asked.
"It's 12PM," I answered.
"But it's raining."
Are you serious?! I'm trying to finish wrapping the Christmas gifts you sent me out in the rain for the past two days to buy because you didn't want to leave the house. The baby is sick which has made her clingier than clothes dried without Bounce. I'm trying to finish doing the spring cleaning of my room, while putting up the never ending clothes you keep coming up with. And on top of all that, you want me to add two more kids to the madness. Two kids I just dropped off at school 3 hours ago.
"I like everyone to be home when it's raining."
"I'm not picking them up."
Silence. Thank you, God, though FYI I live in Los Angeles, you know the city Tony, Toni, Tone talked about in It Never Rains in Southern California, not Seattle or San Fran or Spokane, but in sunny L.A.
Finally at 3PM when the baby who had refused lunch, refused a nap, then agreed to eat lunch, but really only ate her chicken leg, refused her second chance at a nap to transform her from grumpy to tolerable, I decided to put Oma out of her misery and went to pick up Jory and Rowan.
She was very happy to hear this news. At what age do you take the class where you learn techniques to drive your children batty? And are boys as affected as women? Yes, all parents can drive their children mad, but there seems to be something extra special between moms and daughters.
Only a mother could say to her daughter, "You're wearing that?" and say it in that tone, that way, which the daughter instantly knows means, "Go take that off and find something better to wear aka something I would like for you to wear." And the daughter has to decide whether to fight or flee to change.
Days like these I'm evilly glad that I've got two daughters to inflict the pain on. Maybe having a sister means you only get half the madness? Somehow I doubt it. I love to imagine that I won't be like this to the Irish twins, but as I'm talking or rather venting to Chi about the madness that is my mom I know one day my girls will be doing the exact thing with each other or their other BFF. My mom says she's going to live to be 103, which means the girls will be 41 and 42 so does that mean they get to experience my crazy antics and their Oma's madness? Oh wow!
In 57 minutes, it will be my birthday I wonder if I'll have a day where I won't feel like banging my head against the wall until whatever my mom is saying or doing makes sense. One can hope and pray.
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