Flip This House!

1462247514287503332346

just another episode of the mama who flips out:

today is Sunday.

on Thursday night, i bought two 16 count boxes of go-gurt. today i look in the refrigerator and an ENTIRE box has been decimated to 3, THREE!!!! the only people who eat them are Kendi and Laila. Laila takes them for school lunch and doesn’t really bother with them at home. the boy, on the other hand, who wears size 32 pants and men’s medium shirts and size 8 1/2 shoe, eats them like he’s breathing. i can’t afford that.

Boy. you cannot eat an entire box of go-gurt in ONE effing day. One day! yesterday while was working apparently, also today is my solitary day off this week. i had intentions on studying for Microsoft MOS 77-423 (Outlook 2013) and maybe catching up on TV and dying my hair at best.

but i have instead, swept and washed counters and Swiffer wet jetted floors and cooked waffles and bacon and repeated myself way too many times when instructing children to clean up after themselves.

I AM MUFUGGING TIRED.

i am. i just want to run away. or send them to live somewhere with monks or ex-military types that will wake them up in the middle of the night to scrub toilets and baseboards with toothbrushes and the like. i don’t want to mommy right now. i barely want to ADULT for my own damn self, and you ingrates steadily looking at me with doe eyes when i proceed to go off so sharply that i can feel the veins popping out in my neck.

just do your job little kids. do your damn jobs. go to school. make decent grades. do what the hell i tell you to do. keep your living areas passably clean. that’s pretty much it.

the grown one is at work, but she’s just as bad as the rest. she spent $80 yesterday on Google app purchases. EIGHTY FUCKING DOLLARS! how do i know? because i borrowed $80 from her last week and transferred it to her card on yesterday morning. and when i checked the balance on mine, i saw hers pop up at $0.00 this morning. so being a mom, i clicked on her transaction history, and that’s what i saw. it wouldn’t really make a difference EXCEPT i just paid your cell phone bill on Friday.

*pause*

i’m going to let that resonate with you parents out there.

I JUST PAID YOUR CELL PHONE BILL YESTERDAY.

yeah, so i’m in my room.

sipping on Wild Turkey American Honey and coke.

i’m done.

What About My Sons?

What About My Sons?

Am I the only mother who feels like her children aren’t scared enough?

Like I’m not teaching them survival skills?

I have two sons. Twins. One has a socio-emotional learning disability where he doesn’t pick up on social cues. It’s hard for him to get sarcasm or read tones of voice. What happens when the person who he believes is supposed to “help people” approaches him and he doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to do? He is big for his age. And much like #MichaelBrown, described as a gentle giant a lot… Very loving and extremely sensitive. In a stressful situation, he is frequently all over the place emotionally and physically. I know at only 11 years old, he and his brother should have the luxury of being children. I take pride in the fact that my kids are still kids. Adult things and conversations don’t interest them. They play hard. Their play involves lots of Imaginext action figures, castles, Nerf guns, wrestling moves and super hero movies. They are great little boys.

So what do I do? What do WE do? I don’t want to terrorize my children. I do not want to see their eyes fill with fear or wariness when walking down the street. This world snatches childhood away on so many levels and so quickly now. I want them to be able to be little boys, not little black boys, for as long as they can. They don’t see the ugly, they don’t see the injustice, I don’t want that for them. But how can I love them and protect them and not show them how to be? I’m torn. I cannot fail them. But I don’t know the answer. It’s not supposed to be like this. They are children. They are not expendable.

We watch the news in horror at the fighting in Gaza, weep over the slaughter of innocent lives worldwide. Schools full of girls kidnapped, tiny bodies and bones broken in the streets, casualties of wars fought for centuries. What about my sons? What about the carelessness with which police officers sworn to protect and uphold the peace at all times use excessive force to shoot down black children in America? When does it end? What do I do to protect my beautiful brown babies from this unfortunate unnecessary reality? I need an answer. I need a conversation. I need rules and repercussions for this disrespect and disregard for our babies’ lives. It’s basic. My children deserve more than lying dead in the street for hours. Who does that? Where is the humanity in that?

I Did That.

image

Most of the time, I don’t know what I’m doing.

And half of that time I’m certain that I’m doing it all wrong.

I don’t make dinners from scratch every night.
Doing homework makes me irritable.
I know my stress levels make me a crabby mom sometimes.
I raise my voice more than I should.
I don’t always want to cuddle.
They watch too much television.
My answers to their questions are sometimes way too blunt.
They don’t drink enough water.

I have more negative self talk about my parenting than any other aspect of my life…

My kids are weird and I tell them so. Annoying. Their social skills seem askew to me. Sometimes they get me so frustrated I could launch myself into a wall. But I don’t. I am attempting to raise good people, release good souls into the world. I want them to understand that the way you treat others is more important than being treated by others. I want my children to be kind, show empathy, be mentally strong and have hearts that they don’t mind sharing.

But somehow, by God’s grace or good genes or magic, these kids thrive. They possess imagination out of this world. They love big. They smile a lot. They have lots of personality. No, they aren’t perfect, but they are loving and smart and funny. We laugh a lot. We aren’t traditional. We don’t have everything we want, sometimes don’t even have everything we need, but we survive. With love.

We are a family.
Built by me.
Procrastinating, introspective, unassuming, messy me.

I did that.