Stop the Clock

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Being a parent to two young children is exhausting. People think it’s because kids have boundless energy, but let me tell you, that is not the case. In fact, I am a huge proponent of running around like maniacs, myself included. My kids chasing one another in circles after dinner? Bring it on. The real reason behind the exhaustion is because I’m a chameleon in a one-woman show. I’m a short-order cook (often making three different meals), referee (Dylan, don’t throw a train at your sister’s head), therapist (you’ll be okay if you use the blue pacifier), storyteller (my daughter demands a new “Sally story” every night), mathematician (“mom, what’s 23+144?”), and scientist (“why do we see the moon during the day?”) Damned if I know. There is a reason people go to school and study these trades for years, yet I am expected to know it all and do it all—before bedtime. My husband and I can’t wait for the kids to get older so things become easier. Thankfully, my daughter is becoming much more self-sufficient and outgrowing some of her childhood preferences.

The definition of insanity is not doing the same thing over and expecting different results, it’s listening to Barney on repeat.

We’ve recently graduated to the top 40, so I can listen to my music again. My daughter has started going downstairs when she wakes up instead of coming into our room. Waking up to the sound of her rummaging through her marker bin is absolute bliss.

 

When older couples meet our kids, they tell us how lucky we are and how they wish they could stop the clock and go back to that stage. My husband and I look at each other like, “No comprendo.” You mean to tell me you want to deal with a screaming toddler who has a meltdown on a daily basis because he has to brush his teeth? Or who has a meltdown because he can’t have two Oreos? Or who has a meltdown because I cut the banana the wrong way? Or who wakes us up at 2:00 am demanding he watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse? I was explaining this to a coworker on a recent business trip. And he told me watching Mickey is a joy compared to worrying about where your kids are at 2:00 am. Or worrying about your teenage daughter out on a date. Or worrying about your teenage daughter not being asked out on a date. Okay, point taken. But I still wasn’t ready to stop the clock. Until tonight, when I heard my daughter singing what sounded like “Twenty-two” by Taylor Swift. Except her words were, “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling sexy too.” Barney anyone?

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