I won't grow up

Here's a secret about me (not a secret if you know me in real life): I have a tendency to get more carried away by my children's games, toys, and crafts than they do. It's not uncommon for John to find me in the playroom coloring long after my kids have moved on to the next activity ('cause it's just wrong to leave a coloring book with a half-colored picture).

I have also been known to overtake the decoration of doll houses, the dressing of baby dolls, and the construction of block cities. And God forbid a child try to collaborate on MY paintings. Also, please don't forget to wash your brushes between colors because I hate when the paints get muddy.

So lately, I've been sewing doll clothes for Paige's dolls, nevermind that she'd be just as happy, if not happier, playing with naked babies. And, true to form, I've gotten just a wee bit obsessed with the task, often to the neglect of my actual parenting duties, like playing with the children and, er, feeding them.

But there are 4 "major" (i.e. well-played-with) dolls in the household and only one pair of doll pajamas. And only one party dress! How is one to have a proper dolly tea party if only one doll has appropriate attire? To remedy this situation, I've been working hard to expand the doll wardrobe with some vintage sewing patterns I bought on Etsy and Ebay (because who needs groceries?).

So even if my children are running around naked because I can't be bothered to dress them, by gum their dolls will be dandy.

See?

A poem, by Mean Mommy

I just took a look at Google Analytics (which I never do, cause I totally don't care how many readers I have) and decided to check out which keyword searches have lead internetters to Mean Mommy. And reading through these keywords, I realized they tell the story of my life, in a vaguely poetic, essential kind of way.

So today, I thought I'd share my life...in a poem:

My Life in Keywords*

do you know the mommy game?

accidentally put baby's head in ceiling fan
baby fell and hit cheek
3 month old baby falls on tile floor
feeling guilty toddler bruise

nasty mean mommy

how well you know the mommy
20 and have gray hairs
crazy requests at McDonalds
italian bon bons

wild, mean and squeaky clean

outgrowing a mullet
waking to a bat in my room
losing teeth in my dreams

why are mothers so mean?
my children are driving me crazy

(*yes, these are actual keyword searches that have lead readers here. Blush.)

August is the cruelest month

Some say it's April. But no.

August means temperatures in the 90s every day; insufferable humidity; a tighter budget (I get paid on a 10 month schedule); the start of the fall semester; astronomical electric bills; swarms of mosquitoes in our yard; and no vacations or holidays.

The older kids are 3 weeks into school and just starting to complain about homework and waking up early. Mitch is stir crazy, particularly with his partner in crime away at school all day, and is getting into all kinds of mischief. He's totally sick of me and asks every single day when school starts (not til September for him, helpmeJesus).

It's too hot to play outside, too boring to stay inside, and we're running out of ideas. And patience. Especially me...my patience is all but depleted, and I've become a sweaty, frizzy-haired, ponytail wearing, tank top sporting superbitch of a mother.

I can stand nothing but silence. If the children are doing anything but sitting quietly, my nerves get jangled. The noise, noise, noise is more than I can take on top of the cabin fever and the suffocating heat. And Owen and Mitch are the kings of silly lately, with all of these inside jokes that make sense to no one else but send them into convulsions of laughter, laughter which escalates into hilarity, which leads to Mitch leaping gleefully onto Owen and knocking him to the ground, which turns into someone getting hurt, which becomes a fight, which ends in tattling and tears and yelling, and people getting sent to their rooms. And when they come out of their rooms, it starts all over again.

And it's only August 2nd.