The saying never cry over spilled milk should be changed to :
Never cry over spilled wine.
I understand milk is valuable too, mostly breast milk that took a lot of effort to pump. That stuff is liquid gold. But after a series of unfortunate Mommy incidents , you need the wine like a baby needs the milk.
No, you don’t …. I just tell myself that.
Asher is very goal oriented. If you give that kid a rake and some gloves and tell him to make a leaf pile, he does. Tell him to clean his room , he does it. Actually no, that takes more effort on my part. We are working on that.
Yesterday he saw me cleaning the counter with vinegar and water.
” Smells like pickles, can I have a pickle?”
After enjoying his pickle he grabbed a sponge and asked if he could clean something.
I began to rack my brain for things that I didn’t want to clean myself, but he could. I’m such a great Mother.
“Why don’t you mop the bathroom floor?”
” No, that’s for girls. Can I clean my play kitchen?”
Because that’s different. Cleaning a kitchen in manly, but the floors are pushing it. Dully noted.
Well that does me no good.
” Sure buddy.”
After doing that he proceeds to ask me every 3 seconds what he can clean next. My idea of child labor and a bit of a break was out the window. There were puddles of vinegar water all over the kitchen, bathroom floor and dining room. Our house is so tiny it didn’t take long for me to wipe everything up.
There. Mopping accomplished for the week. Now the house smelled like a pickle factory and Matt was sure to gag coming in the door from work. What can I do to mask this smell?
Oh , yeah I could make dinner. We do need to eat. I’ll make a pot roast. Pot roast goes well with wine. Just like cereal, tuna and anything else that you can put on a plate.
Adah has been super fussy lately. I blame it on teeth, but I mostly blame it on being a girl. She has been moody and irritable. Early PMS. She has lived in the ERGO and thankfully she loves to be on my back. With her strapped in I start dinner.
It’s 4:37 . It’s acceptable in my book to have 3 oz of wine while making dinner. Especially after you take the said vinegar bottle from your 5 year old and he tells you :
” You are so mean. You’re like the meanest Mom ever.”
Great. Thanks. It’s my goal in life to make you miserable. That’s why I’ve hidden the Oreo’s from you on top of the fridge.
Sometimes in a moment of weakness, I buy a pack of Oreo’s. I literally have to hide them in a place the kids would never look. Somewhere high, out of reach.
Unfortunately for me , my children have their Fathers keen eye for details that no one else notices. I didn’t notice he noticed until I heard a crash.
I had my wine sitting on the island in the kitchen while browning my roast. The aroma was wafting through the air , covering up my hippie ways , as my dear daughter lifted her foot at just the right time and knocked over my over 4 oz glass. At this time it was 4:47 and it was then acceptable to drink more wine than I cook with. And I did cook with it.
I turn around to find Asher ON TOP of the refrigerator, Oreos in hand.
Are we on the set of Hunger Games or what? I mean I know I’m trying to teach you to do things yourselves and work out things as a team, but dang. Screw this. You could break your neck and you already spilled my wine.
” Asher, please get down.”
” I can’t.”
Oh yeah. How would he get down, I don’t even understand how he got UP.
Not only are Oreo’s bad for my children’s health. But they also have the potential to break a limb.
He got down and apologized for acting like a Zoo animal and for telling me I was a mean Mommy. We hugged and I took the Oreo’s.
Not a response he had hoped for while quoting his very rehearsed apology.
My sweet younger brother was here throughout this whole ordeal. Probably planning to never have children and looking for ways he could escape out of our house without me noticing . But he didn’t. He started a fire for me, as I am completely incompetent in this area. And a lot of other areas.
He bounced Adah on his knee and tried to distract the children so I could at least take three bites of pot roast. He was in that moment, and quite often my helper. Matt was working late, as per usual these days. And I’ve been a walking zombie filled with coffee in the mornings and wine at night, if it isn’t spilled.
He was something I could not be in the moment. Calm. Patient. Kind. Because he was outside the situation. But in it as well.
Isn’t that how our Father is in us? He is very present to help us in our moments of weakness and strife.
He is what we are not. He fills in the gaps.
He is patient. He is slow to anger.
He is the perfect parent to me. He hides the Oreo’s so I won’t get fat and I won’t break my leg.
Sometimes when we protest:
You are a mean God. The meanest. You didn’t give me what I wanted.
He sits back ready to hug us and he keeps hiding the Oreo’s.