But I saw some shit this mornin’ made me think twice. See, now I’m thinking, maybe it means you’re the evil man, and I’m the righteous man, and Mr. 9 millimeter here, he’s the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or, it could mean you’re the righteous man and I’m the shepherd and it’s the world that’s evil and selfish. I’d like that. But that shit ain’t the truth. The truth is, you’re the weak, and I’m the tyranny of evil men. But I’m tryin’, Ringo. I’m trying real hard to be the shepherd.
– Jules Winnfield
Being a mom, single or otherwise, is a dirty business. There are a million different things you have to do, and kids like to test you at every turn. I told a friend today that my kids are incredibly well behaved…in public. That’s because of the all day long foot in the ass extravaganza. One thing is certain: they do NOT want me to show my ass in public, and therefore, they keep their shenanigans to a minimum. But in my quest to keep them in order, I feel like I’m at war all day.
Some folks, upon seeing my reaction to annoyance and adversity, may call me somewhat high strung. That would be a gross understatement. When my nerves are plucked, I tend to lose my shit, and whoa be upon anyone who gets in my path. It’s a character flaw that I constantly work on. One of the things I LOVE about my children going to school across town is that, by the time I actually get home, I’ve calmed down exponentially. My knee jerk reaction is not always positive. When my kids do something galactically crazy, I sometimes sit on my hands to keep myself from reaching out to “heal” them of their insanity.
But they do not make it easy. They’re at the point where they’re getting too old to do some of things that they do, and it drives me nuts. This is partially my own fault for being too much of an I’ll-just-do-the-shit-myself mama, which ultimately handicaps kids. HOWEVER, if you sit your coke on the table’s edge, then start doing jumping jacks, cartwheels and kung fu, WHEN you knock the coke down, I’m gonna cuss.
Every morning, particularly since I have not had the added pressure of having to get myself out the door, I’ve taken some deep breaths and said, “Today, I’m not gonna spaz out.” Yet, I’ll come out the bathroom to two people sitting down with one sock on, still in their pajamas, giving me the booty look, asking, “Huh? What’s wrong?” I’m about to bust a cap in your ass, that’s what’s wrong? The fuck is wrong with you? But you can’t say that to the babies, because it stunts their development or some shit. A good 50% of parenting is “help me help you.”
I’m not there yet, but I’m tryin, Ringo.