Motherhood Slapped Me Upside the Head Today

I feel that I have written a good amount of mushy gushy posts about my love of motherhood to adequately convince any reader that I do in fact love being a mom.  Enough so, that I feel justified in writing this not-so-positive post.  Because its not a bowl of cherries every day. Just so you know, I love my kids.  I'm thankful for them.  I'm very blessed.  Yadayada.

It always happens when I am feeling like I've got it all together.  Just when I think that someone should really take note of how I've bathed, fed, cuddled, kissed and admired my children.  I even got my room clean!  Sure Addison had a slight fever, but I smooched and loved on her, gave her Tylenol and tucked her into a cozy little nook on the couch with a semi-educational cartoon on.

I got lunch done in time to make sure we could all eat and make it to the Orthopedic Surgeon for Layla's checkup.  I even snuck in a few bites of lunch for myself over the pot in the kitchen, wooden spoon style.

I managed to make going potty sound like fun to Donovan, instead of convincing and bribing him into doing it without a tantrum.

I was so together that I had just enough time to lather on some foundation and a smidge of mascara.... which is where it all started to go awry.  I knew 5 minutes in the bathroom was too good to be true.

hang on, gotta throw some pizza dough together...

So there I am, peacefully applying some makeup, when I notice that the toilet is running... the one Donovan had flushed my razor down two weeks ago.  The toilet that I had already had a plumber over to fix.  So thinking that its just a tiny clog, easily fixed by a quick plunge, I walk over, stick the plunger in and  gently but firmly try to coax new life back into the camode.  I still do not know how it happened but one measly, lady-like plunge and what should arise but "Old Faithful." In my freshly, touched up face.  Cue horrified shrieking, and blindly grabbing for a towel.

Now, before I go on I need to tell you a little about my 2 year old son.  Evidently, God thought it would be amusing to give me, the mother of 3 docile, girly daughters {who would not approach anything dangerous with a 6 ft. pole} a son.  But not just any son.  The Tasmanian devil edition 2.0.  The Tasmanian Devil edition that auto-updates when he sleeps.  I am convinced of this.  As soon as he drifts into adorable blondie, squishy cheeked slumber... he installs all the latest mischief, downloads, and re-starts. Truth.

For the last couple of weeks, and this very afternoon, while I was naively typing this, thinking he was actually asleep at nap time,  he has been having the time of his little life.  Where-in he painted with my makeup all over the bathroom, flushing entire {ENTIRE} rolls of toilet paper, drawing on walls, coloring with black sharpie on the counter, fridge and coffee pot, finger-painted with toothpaste, etc. etc. etc.

Which brings us to, post toilet water clean up, pre-discovery of my makeup all over, running out the door to the Orthopedist.  As I carry my feverish little lovie out to the car, I notice some strange white marks on my van door.  My brand new van door.  I fervently pray that it is sidewalk chalk, run my finger over it and realize that it is in fact scratched in swirls that would make Van Gogh proud.  So I turn to my son and ask if he did it.  Donovan, being a very honest little boy says "I dwaw with a wock Mom!"  Lets skip ahead past my reaction shall we?

We come to the ortho, with all my kids in tow, and one 4 year old in my arms, to make sure Layla's growth plate is healing.  Lest you think Donovan is the source of all the excitement in my home, let me clarify.  2 weeks ago, Layla fractured her elbow.  2 days later, she is doing magic for Donovan and "makes a penny disappear....."  I casually mention this to the X-ray tech, just so she isn't concerned when she does the X-ray.  To my utter disbelief, they tell me that the penny has probably started embedding itself into her arm and they have to remove the cast early and recast....

Which brings us to right now.  Typing this.  An unsuspecting woman, who is writing about her children {whom I love to the moon and back},  who while she writes more things happen. 

The moral of the story: Layla is not allowed to hang out with Donovan anymore, and Donovan is not allowed anywhere alone.  Ever again.  Oh and, even if he is really quiet and seems to be sleeping.... he isn't.

Yes.  Today I got slapped upside the head by motherhood.  Hopefully tomorrow it will be cherries again.