I like to think that I have pretty high standards as a mom.
Or, at least, I used to. I started out my mothering journey vowing that my daughter would be the only kid in the world to eschew fast food and proclaim a love for vegetables (she was the only baby I knew who loved peppers). That dream promptly died when I found out that both grandmothers had been taking her on regular trips through the McDonald's drive-through and then again the day that she discovered chocolate. Sigh.
So the truth is, while I have a lot of goals for myself and for my children to lead healthy, well-organized and overall happy lives, there also comes a time in each and every day when I simply, well, give up.
I'm not a barbarian, but there are times in my life when I just don't have the energy to deal with the toddler who insists on acting like having me wipe his nose is the equivalent of torturing him with razor blades. If the child has a booger, then the tired mother just may look away when he uses his own resources to retrieve it.
Even if I know it has been a couple of nights, I may or may not just nod my head and smile agreeably. "Sounds good kids! Who wants to watch a movie?"
Who is there to tell on me, I ask you. Who? There is some good stuff in cookies (eggs = protein) and it's not like kids aren't bottomless pits of hunger anyways.
I'm a stay-at-home mom, we spend a lot of time in the pool and it's almost a guarantee that one of my children will be potty training, so really, what is the point?
This has become, sadly, a weekly ritual in my house. I am always too exhausted after grocery shopping to even think about going home, putting the groceries away and then cooking dinner. Ugh. Chinese takeout for the win... Er, mom fail.
Organic sugar doesn't count, right?
All attempts to eat healthy, exercise or generally appreciate the miracle of life go out the window along with my hope of getting through the day without ankles the size of watermelons. I think I just generally check out of life during those last few weeks.
It's not called the witching hour for no reason.
What's that I hear? Another few minutes of peace and quiet? No wonder they couldn't hear me talking to them — they are used to hearing a much different decibel in Mom's voice.
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