I love my boys. I really do. But...

But let's be honest here.  Sometimes they drive me nuts.  I have been with my boys for 76 hours straight.  And right now is one of those times.  If you asked them, the feeling is probably mutual.


[Disclaimer (or not really, but you know what I mean): Boys, when you read this someday, if the first time you read it you don't yet have kids...take it with a grain of salt.  And when you have kids come back and read it again and I only can hope you somehow understand and don't take it personally).


Like I said, I love my boys.  And I love being with them.  And I love teaching them and having them teach me.  I love it when they make me laugh. 

But let's face it.  Parenting isn't always that idyllic.  When it comes down to it, they are kids.  And they are boys.  And they are growing and learning and making mistakes along the way.  And so am I (well, I am pretty sure I am done growing, but the other two are sure true.)  And I have to remind myself of those facts on a regular basis.

I have a tremendous, tremendous amount of respect for parents who can and choose to stay home with their kids.  I am not one of them (either who can or would choose to).  I am the first to admit that patience is about the furthest from my "strong suit" as anything could get.  In fact, let's call a spade a spade and call it what it is, I am horribly impatient.

Not always the best combination when you are the mom of three young boys.  Boys who don't always listen, or clean up, or listen, or follow directions, or listen, or eat their dinner (even if it's really good), or listen, or appreciate all they have, or keep a straight face when they are being reprimanded, or listen.  Did I mention listen?

You know, sometimes, when you say, "Just stand there so I can get a good picture."  You really wish that is what they'd do.

And sometimes you tell them not to wrestle in their grandparents' living room, right by the glass table, but they do.

 And sometimes, when you say, "Just wait one second."  You wish they would.

Or even something as simple as "Please, really don't eat that snow.  It was plowed from the alley, so there is a good chance there is dirt, salt, and pee, not to mention many worse things in it," you might mean it.

I know we all were like this at some point.  But when you are in that moment.  That, "You are driving me crazy!" moment, it's hard to remind yourself that this is normal, that they are normal, and that we're all doing as good a job as we can do.

Thet just because they don't say "thank you" when they open a gift without being kicked under the table doesn't mean you are parenting horribly.  And that when they open a gift and say "awww, no" under their breath doesn't mean that prison time is in their future.  And that not eating their dinner completely doesn't mean their muscles will atrophy tomorrow.  And that forgetting time and time again to put their laundry away isn't a reflection on the value they do (or don't) put in the work you to do clothe, bathe and feed them.  And that their lack of listening doesn't mean a complete and total lack of respect, but maybe just a teeny one.


I love my boys.  But parenting sure can be exhausting.