Summer Holidays & Motherhood

I need summer holidays to come to a halt. I have had it with my children and the summer. Between being a personal referee and a chef with little to no thanks, I am done. If I hear one more complaint I will personally buy the tiniest violin and play it at my tiny crotch goblins expense. I will make it my mission to act as immature as possible to show them the idiocracy that is our summer.

The beginning of summer I was prepared to be the best mom I can. I had plans to do something every day. Educational activities out the butt were planned. Healthy food for the whole summer was on the menu. We were going to do arts and crafts for god’s sake. I was going to laugh more and create the best memories for my children. Truly I had made a solid plan for this summer to go well. My children on the other hand decided we don’t do that here.

Plans to do something every day: well lets add whining and crying to almost every place we attend. I have never in my life seen two kids behave so barbaric publicly, I am embarrassed. They are not raised to be like this and I promise discipline was delivered. More challenging is why they were angels with the grandparents. I have no idea why the universe decided to bless my husband and me with feral boys. The angry mom you hear about shouting at her kids that was me. I’m pretty sure my downstairs neighbours think I’m nuts. I am the crazy white lady who yelled like I was in a metal concert with some sick throat signing. Mastering the art of using my Batman voice it scares little children. I put Kate Middleton mom face to shame. The face that says I mean business and I will not take any prisoners.

Educational activities: what are those? Non existent like dinosaurs. Despite the best efforts to match Pinterest mommies, I render my resignation. Cute little hand print paintings more like brown goo and a toddler eating paint. The blue crayons taste the best according to the coloured poo being produced. Arts and crafts have become impossible with the seven-year age difference. One wants to do crafts that require in depth instructions while the other needs arts and crafts to be uncontrollably messy. My eldest son who has autism needs crafts that require nothing sticky, smelly, or soapy. My toddler loves all three of those categories and is the king of messy. I give up it is not worth the battle ensuing in my home resulting in world war three. I tried my best, I think Pinterest moms are full of poo. They probably made the crafts while their crotch goblins slept.

I made a list about healthy food we would experiment with. Reading every article about autism friendly meals, toddler friendly meals, meals for carpenters was originally a great idea. Light bulbs going off in my mind I laid out plans to feed the boys of my home with great intention. We would become a healthy family. No junk food or sugars, and we would try more vegetarian friendly meals. I promised myself to cook wholesome meals no more going out to eat. My Amazon account became littered with bento boxes galore. Tupperware heaven and best laid plans aside all of it did not work out. It lasted two weeks at the beginning of the summer. After exhausting days with the boys I caved. We travelled on weekends to stay busy somehow we never packed enough to keep our children fed. My eldest son didn’t like how apples tasted, how bananas felt, and hummus looked like barf. The youngest is a phenomenal eater but his name should be Crumbs R Us. Our vehicle this summer became shameful. We caved for minutes of sanity, and we got junk food. My husband had no follow through with not getting food from the gas station because of forgotten lunch. My expectations of boys listening to be healthier has been lowered dramatically. Although we did not eat all junk all summer, for the most part we did eat home cooked meals. I tried new recipes and became aware of the contents in our food. The Guinea pigs that are my boys have claimed that I have seventy-eight percent accuracy in pleasing them. That states I did something right this summer.

I really did want to be that great mom everyone raves about in the PTA meetings. Missing the target greatly was a misfire this summer. I am envious of the perfect moms I see on social media. It’s not all bad though we did laugh, we walked everywhere, and we had daily dance parties. Even though screen time was “slightly” uncontrollable, we did read daily. I counted our reading logs we read eighty books this summer. Not quite one hundred like I planned but close. My eldest son obtained a library card and has steadily been reading novels. My toddler was outside and exploring the world at his pace enjoying the Earth as it should be. I’m exhausted from the summer and need school to start. Kudos to the teachers that make it from September to August with my tiny humans you are the MVP’s. I sit here wondering is this parenting in a nutshell? I am wondering is parenting jumping off a cliff with tiny humans and still making it to the bottom with no chute. Feeling eager to have the first day back to school and first day to daycare happen I am sad that I feel summer was a loss. My eldest son tonight told me that he had the best summer. I wonder what I’m missing from a parenting point of view to see it as a loss when he sees it as wonderful.

Written by Ali Johnson

Where Are My Lost Marbles?

In the last two weeks I’ve stayed offline from blogging and doing lives on Garden of Loves Facebook page. I normally take great joy in blogging its great therapy. It tones down the millions of thoughts that annually run through my head. Anybody that lives with anxiety and depression knows that the constant thought process can be exhausting. It never ends with worrying or making up the worst case scenarios possible. On top of this in the last two weeks I have been challenged with motherhood and marriage.

In my life I try to balance myself with my kids, partner, and limited social life in order to stay half charged. By comparison to this is placing a cellphone on charge with five percent battery never fully turning it off. Eventually I slip up and forget to recharge my mental battery until it goes into complete shut off. For the last two weeks I rested myself at five percent with hopes that my system would not fail. However, I was wrong and lesson learned last night I broke down.

It began last week with my partners work troubles. I fully understand my responsibility to emphasize with my partner when he is stressed with our only means of income. The silent contract that is between us throws off the balance ever so slightly. One can only listen to the same problem numerous times before anything else can be handled in life. My partner is married to his job. I have never given him flak for this more so it can be draining to one’s system. As the side chick to his job I have to sneak in other needs: this requires mental skills. When his work becomes “flaky” other things in our life goes downhill, chaos is following close behind.

Following close second to lose your shits town is the communication a parent is required for special needs parenting. I do love the essence of my child. Getting hit with the double whammy of dual special needs leads me to mental and emotional exhaustion. Paying the toll to decipher; doctors appointments, IEP plans, 504, and lastly ignorant school boards, hello ladies and gentleman you have found the mamma bear in desperate need of hibernation. We have IV treatment for my sons juvenile arthritis in just three days, you would think that is sufficient allowance for leave of absence from school. Each phone call getting more repetitive than the last one leaves me looking and feeling like Willem DaFoe during the Boondock Saints scene of his character losing his mind.

This sums it up beautifully.

This line up of events seems like all fun and games until the gross slimy Gastroenteritis decided to cozy up to boys of the home like a bad ex fresh outta prison. It started with the biggest one, went through the toddler, gave me a run for my money, and lastly it made itself well at home in my eldest sons body. This is not my finest hour in motherhood nor the events that gave the last straw this week. Our house was blessed with bodily fluids I truly thought could not come out of a human being. Lacking slumber required for mental longevity was given the boot by the rampant bio hazard living in our home. My mental zen slipped with each night of throw up and poop and unspeakable amounts of laundry. Four nights this went on my partner slept soundly through it all. Thinking that looks could kill I hope my eyes were like laser beams in his subconscious. This week as he slept so peacefully he was a jerk face to me.

My exact stare to my sleeping partner. I may have done the hand action to.

The toddler’s flu brigade was not the end all of missing my marbles. It came last night. My anxiety decided to go into overdrive. Each thought of new and horrible events driving the of mind. Twelve o’clock came and try as I might sleep would not come. I was over tired and could not shut off. I watched the alarm clock creep to one am, and then the small voice of my nine year old says “Mom I pooped”. For the next few hours of the night finally ending at five in the morning could only be described as a shitty night. No literally a shitty night, poozaganza, the merry shits. Never in my life have I cleaned up that volume of fecal matter. My house smelled, my couch got it, my sons bed got it, the wall got it, places unmentionable got it, and I completely lost my marbles. I tried to wake my partner for parent duty. What I can describe as his statement ” do you need a diaper because you can’t handle poo.”

There is a moment in marriage that one will question if this the time to smother your significant other. Other than when I was in labour; he sleepily stated you can take a taxi, have I thought about his instant demise. Lord was with him last night because he lives today. He should say thanks for being so lucky to survive the raging wife who now has been covered in every bodily fluid possible. I’m so grateful he got sleep tonight because at five am the toddler awoke. It was apparently party time for the young human, I cursed whatever universal law that was testing me.

The toddler felt five am to seven am granted the greatest time to practice loving head butts and boogie picks. His wrestling moves greatly improved in the wee hours of the morning. I got up and wrote on my whiteboard ” Do not wake me for anything. It IS MY DAY OFF” I stood by those words today and my partner honoured them. I still took care of my eldest son by setting up his bed in the tub, I feel better now that I took time to charge my batteries. My Willem DaFoe Face wiped clean off my face and I still love everyone in my home.

Written by: Ali Johnson