Because your child is not the only one on the block completely terrified of losing her teeth. I didn’t lose a tooth until I was well into 2nd grade and all of my friends already resembled jack-o-lanterns. Needless to say, I could not wait until my chompers started falling out. This means I was completely unprepared for the terror my own child felt at the prospect of losing her first tooth.
When it comes to the first, I get it. If I woke up one day with a loose toe and it just fell off a few months later, I suppose it would alarm me. By the third toe – especially after I had clearly seen that new toes kept growing back – I think I’d be all “Oh, another toe just fell off. Sweet, I needed some more cash.” Not my kid.
Last night, right after bath time, the third tooth fell out. What was the reaction? She burst into tears so hysterical that she literally gave herself a bloody nose. She gave herself a bloody nose, people! And since her mom is just the tops, I took a picture of the poor kid in full on bloody hysterics.
The good news? She’s currently got five wiggly teeth.
Because my children are full throttle into their new after school routine:
Step 1: Get yourself into a state of undress. Pants are optional, shirts are forbidden.
Step 2: Fill every container you can find with dirt, grass, and, today, a grub you discovered.
Step 4: Study the grub and insist Mama look at it for an extended period of time.
Step 5: Mama fills herself a generous portion of wine because you are now covered head to toe in dirt. And now you need a bath. And you HATE baths. In fact, you have sobbed during EVERY bath this week. Wine gives Mama hope that maybe tonight’s bath will be different. Wine makes Mama care just a little bit less when it’s not different at all.
Because tonight’s dinner is mac and cheese. Literally. I didn’t realize we were out of milk until it was too late. The one element of nutrition in this meal, gone. Mama’s dignity, gone. The mac and cheese, gone. Apparently my kids dig carbs, butter, and cheese. I wonder where they got that from…
Sure we have a few weeks left until the equinox, but, essentially, summer’s end has come. As a gal who has spent the last two months reveling in sunshine, lazy mornings, and pool time, I don’t welcome it. In fact, the end of summer leaves me feeling like a discarded teenage girl who has been unceremoniously dumped by the love of her life.
Remember that girl in high school who was desperately in love with her boyfriend, ditched her friends to hang with him exclusively, and could be spotted writing his name in hearts on her notebook? Remember when he dumped her and he was no longer the dope dude she was going to marry some day, but the evil bastard who needed to be destroyed? I’m that girl. The ex is summer.
Sure, I could make myself feel better by thinking of all the joy that fall has to offer, like hay rides with the kids or a wardrobe that hides the effects of the sangria and s’mores I indulged in this summer, but I’m not ready to move on yet. In order to give fall all of myself, I need to get over summer. Fall deserves that much.
So, allow me to channel my inner angsty teenager and focus on all the nasty shit summer has put me through.
Putting My Kids Into a Hot Car
Trying to put my three-year-old in her car seat on a hot July day has done more damage to my back than any amount of winter shoveling ever could. No matter how long I run the air conditioner, the seat is still too hot and that kid contorts herself like a Cirque de Soleil acrobat in order to wriggle herself free of my grip. This is especially awesome when some impatient dipshit thinks it’s a good idea to wait for a parking spot inhabited by someone with kids.
There’s nothing like the first flying insect of the summer season coming into your house to make you long for an icy, barren January day. You know what was in my house this summer? A cricket. Apparently a cricket in the house is considered good luck, but when you see a bug the size of a small rodent spring across the room at you, it’s a tad disconcerting. Plus, I had to catch and release the damn thing because the Internet told me I’d face several years of bad luck if I killed Jiminy Cricket.
There are certain things people ask of you only in the summer months. One of those things is going camping. Oh, it’s summer you say? So it sounds like fun to you to erect a shelter the size of a powder room, cram into it with your entire family, and wake up damp, cold, and uncomfortable? Thanks for the invite. Now I get to choose between being labeled a diva or lying awake at 4 a.m. convincing myself that I can hold my pee until dawn.
Summer heat always arrives with it’s douchey counterpart, humidity. I don’t know about you, but I never feel quite as confident as I do than on a day my hair grows exponentially larger with each passing moment spent outdoors. Add to that enough sweat to make people wonder whether I’ve peed my pants, and I feel simply irresistible.
Who, other than a vampire, hates long days of sunshine? Parents who like watching Netflix with a glass of wine in their hands at 9 p.m. It doesn’t matter how opaque their blackout shades are, my kids are not sticking to their 7:30 bedtime in the summer months. This means that when I’d typically be considering a third glass of wine and one more episode, I’m getting someone a third glass of water and begging them to read the next book on their own.
I feel ready to move on already. All I need is for fall to swoop in with a pumpkin latte and summer will just be somebody I totally never stalk on Facebook.
Because since 2 a.m., the girls have had 3 fevers, 2 nose bleeds, and 47 bouts of sobbing over mouth pain due to the 137 or so sores in their mouths and throats (a rough estimate). Furthermore, one of them wants to chug the entire contents of the Tylenol bottle while the one with the actual fevers has refused to take any medicine since 10 a.m. Both are troubling. Since the poor monkeys were so miserable, Mama let them watch YouTube videos all day, which she now wonders is a torture tactic utilized by the U.S. government. If it is, it should be banned along with waterboarding. Oh, and it’s the last official day of summer vacation. Cheers!
Because you are not the only one who has a teeny little piece of you not hate when your kids are sick. I’m not going to go so far as to say I like when my kids are sick. I’m not a goddamn monster. But I am a mom of two cold WASPs who are not cuddlers. Except when they are sick. When the internal temperature of my girls rises above 98.6, they suddenly want to snuggle up with some blankets, a lovey, and their mama. Currently, both girls are rocking strep throat, and, while I’m not going so far as to withhold the Tylenol, I am getting in every single cuddle I possibly can until the fever breaks.