10 Ways My Kids Are Driving Me Crazy. As a dog lover, I always tell people that God made puppies so cute because they’d never survive if they weren’t. The peeing, the all night whining and the razor sharp teeth can make us question why we’d ever want one in our house. But then there’s that oh-so-soft puppy fur, those soulful eyes and that tiny snore that melts our hearts.
The same applies to kids: they have their moments of cuteness because if they didn’t, the planet might die out.
I’ll never understand why moms are so reluctant to admit their kids drive them crazy. I think it’s our right; one that should be exercised at every opportunity, lest we explode. If hearing other moms’ frustrations is your jam, read on 10 Ways My Kids Are Driving Me Crazy:
That sound: that God-awful, toe-curling, nails on a chalkboard whining is what’s driving me to an early grave. Whining is the perfect example of “it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.” If you really want to meet scary mom, the one whose smile is as genuine as the clown from IT, start whining. Ask for a cookie in a normal voice and I will politely hand you one, maybe two. Whine about “never” being allowed to have cookies, and “why don’t we ever have the cookies I like?” and “can I please have one before I DIE of starvation” and I will haunt your dreams.
My kids have this really annoying habit of demanding three square meals a day. Everyday! And as if that’s not bad enough, they will often refuse to eat what’s been made for them, even if they ate it yesterday.
“But I bought the 48-pack of cherry yogurt because you said you loved it!”
My oldest child is a vegetarian, except for chicken fingers, McDonald’s cheeseburgers, ribs and anything else she deems to be delicious that particular day. Because she doesn’t feel the need to inform me if this is a meat-eating day or not, mealtime is lots of fun.
Given the choice between parading through an alligator farm wearing a raw chicken suit and grocery shopping with my kids, I’d take the former. Grocery shopping is a good way to get them to choose and eventually eat (sometimes, maybe) the food they’ve selected but most times it’s not worth the hassle. My kids couldn’t sneak up on a dead person most days but at the grocery store they turn into stealth operatives worthy of CIA recruitment, secretly filling the cart with items essential to their next mission. Then we get to the checkout and I begin the dance of trying to snatch LOL dolls, 24-packs of Snickers, orchids, Christmas decorations and Depends undergarments out of the cashier’s hand before she rings them through.
Monday: Please let me join the hockey team.
Tuesday: Please buy me new skates.
Wednesday: Please drive me to practice at 7:00 am.
Thursday: Please sign me up for goalie lessons.
Friday: Please take a day off and book a hotel for this out-of-town tournament.
Saturday: Please give my friend who lives in the opposite direction a ride home.
Sunday: Please don’t make me go to hockey, I don’t like it.
There’s something about bedtime that makes my kids move at the speed of molasses, ask deep questions about the solar system, drink seven glasses of water, and examine their feet. In our house, “Do not go gently into that good night” is not a line from a famous poem, but a God damn battle cry, a mission statement. I would not be surprised to find out that there are secret cameras all over my house and that I’m starring in a reality show called “Making Mommy Cry.”
If you love chiseling dried toothpaste off the side of a sink, picking boogers off the mirror, picking up damp towels and wiping pee off the side of the toilet (I have girls, HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN?), then parenting is for you! Our bathroom, unfortunately, is like a dangerous and forbidden galaxy, a place not even Han Solo would venture into (even if meant seeing Princess Leia in her gold bikini!) Sometimes I think burning it down would be the easiest solution.
Their television shows
Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse than SpongeBob SquarePants, my kids discovered these live action, so-called comedies on channels targeted directly to them. You know the ones, where the girls are annoyingly perky, the boys have perfectly coiffed hair and the parents are clueless. And then there’s the cartoons. I love talking animals as much as the next gal, but the theme songs on repeat makes me want to start breaking things.
Dishes piled next to an empty dishwasher, clothes on the floor next to the dresser, coats thrown over the chair beside the closet… these are a few of my craziest things. I’m not a neat freak, nor am I winning a housekeeping award anytime soon but the clutter… The clutter is what makes me want to get in my car and drive away. Forever.
Their complete and utter lack of logic
“Mackenzie taught me how to tell time by looking at the sun.”
“Really? Mackenzie is six, I’m surprised she knows that. Okay, so what time is it?”
“Midnight? But we’re walking to school. It can’t be midnight.”
“MACKENZIE TAUGHT ME HOW TO TELL TIME BY LOOKING AT THE SUN!”
10 Ways My Kids Are Driving Me Crazy. If you have more than one child, they are guaranteed to do terrible, unspeakable things to each other, such as breathing in the other’s presence, or looking in the other’s direction. They will engage in silent and not-so silent warfare and you will curse your decision to procreate with the heat of a thousand suns. Then you will strap them in the car for a road trip and things will get worse. But at least the car is clean, they’re enjoying the snacks you packed and no one is whining. Oh, wait….