all images © Meghan Boyer Photography

Friday, September 28, 2012

Control...It's Way Overrated

Do you ever have that moment?  The one where your kid is so well behaved you pat yourself on the back?  Wow, everyone is looking at me.  Watching me.  Thinking I'm the best mom ever!  I rock!  How the hell did this happen?  I've miraculously instilled values and morals.  I should write a book!   Parents everywhere will adore me.  We've made it through the entire grocery store without incident.   No displaced sunglasses, unwrapped candy bars, or dismantled movie displays.   I'm almost there.  Almost to the van.  I could be home in five minutes.  Run, race, sprint.  Don't forget the kids.   Before people figure out the truth.  Then you get to the van and realize...your kid just stole a Push Pop.  My secret is out.  I control nothing.   

So you haul your load of naughties back into the store...while the milk rots.  Eh, it's full of hormones anyway.   Even if only one was naughty, you know the others did something that you just aren't aware of yet.  Or at the very least, they encouraged the little thief.  You require the thieving child to return the candy and apologize.  While all the other shoppers take back their thoughts of you being the best, rocking mom EVER!   I'm sweaty and smelly, cursing the damn sun.  I shouldn't even be allowed around food.  It's unhygienic.  Sun, don't you know it fall?  Yes, FALL.  Damn you sun and humidity.  You suck weather.  I'm better than you.  At least I do what's expected of me.  Sometimes.  Okay, maybe a quarter of the time.  But sun,  you still suck today.  You have control over nothing.  You make me feel better about myself.  Summer, fall, summer, fall.  Make up your damn mind.  You listen like a rock.  Don't feel too bad about it though, I'm used to it sun.  No one listens to me.   You wanna know why kids love rocks?  Because they don't have ears.  They have an excuse.   They don't have to listen.  It's expected.

Running on the trail this morning, wanting to punch the sun in the face for teasing my body into autumn mode just days earlier, the boys were fighting.  Dempsey kicks Grady.  Then calls him bad.  Grady whines, he's calling me bad!  I explain to Grady that he has no control over what other people say, only how he reacts.  Why don't you get this?   Yes,  I know you're three.  I realize this.  Now stop talking to me.  I'm three too.  Plus a lot of years added on.  And I'm not listening.  I love rocks too.

I chased the triple threat at the playground yesterday,  and finally caught up to Lil.   "Where's Grady?"  I asked her.  "I can't control him.  I'm only five."  She responded.  Fair enough.  I'm nearly thirty-five and I can't control him, or the other two for that matter.  Wait, pretend I didn't say that.   I'm fairly certain I'm not supposed to admit that.  But to be honest, I can barely control myself.  Let alone three children.  Eh, control is way overrated.   It took us way too long to figure out why this baby thing kept reoccurring.  But now I know.  And I'm in control of it.  I have it all figured out.  Until the next time. 

So that's how they got here. It's the guy in the middles fault. He is pretty cute right? I just couldn't control myself.

No comments:

Post a Comment