One, Two, Three... RANT!

A rant, you ask? Yes. A rant.


I had one of these a little while ago and it felt so good I thought I'd have another one...


I want to be a child.  At some point in my life I wanted to grow up and be an adult and do adult things like stay up late and eat cookies whenever I wanted and drive a car and do what I wanted, when I wanted.  But I recant.  I take it back.  I was wrong. 


I am choosing this day to regress.  I'm hanging up my big girl panties and donning a nice, warm, cozy diaper.  Sucking my thumb in a corner with my blankie is too terribly inviting.  Heck, being a fetus floating around in my own urine (that's what amniotic fluid is - baby urine) sounds good to me right now.  For the length of time that it takes me to peck out this blog post I'm completely committed to being the biggest 43 year old cry baby you've encountered possibly ever.  And if you don't like it....blpssssst.  It's my blog and I'll cry if I want to...


Who the hell did I think I was thinking I could handle this whole "being a grown up" gig?  What a joke!  And for those of you who let me - how could you!?!  It must have been clear from an early age that I wasn't cut out for this.  And yet, did you stop me? Nooooo!  You left me to careen pell-mell towards this insurmountable task of being a grown up. 


And then you all attended my wedding like you thought I could handle being a wife!  I couldn't do the dishes with my sister without it turning into an all out war.  Who thought I could handle being in a close, cooperative relationship like MARRIAGE?!?  And worse.  I was permitted to have children!  What on earth led all of you, including God, to I believe I was a remote candidate for this role?  Are you kidding me!  There were plenty of signs that I shouldn't be allowed such high levels of responsibility!  I have yet to keep a plant alive!  Seriously.  What made anyone think I should be allowed to carry little human beings out of the hospital like I did?  They really should screen people better before they allow that to happen.  And I know sterilization is a controversial topic but in my case, I think I was a good candidate.


*breath*


And another thing... the books are wrong.  The parenting ones.  They are wildly deficient.  Even the ones that contradict each other have that in common!  (And don't get me started on how many differing opinions there are about how to parent! Tell me please how we are expected to wade through all the info and settle on one method?!?  I propose we just rotate through them on a weekly basis to cover all the bases.  Barbara Coloroso on Monday, What My Parents Did on Tuesday, Dr. Phil on Wednesday, Dr. Dobson on Thursday, Whatever The Hell Feels Right on Friday and then Saturday and Sunday let the Wolves have them!) 

But I digress...  the books are deficient because they haven't addressed one fundamental problem in this whole parenting dilemma.  MY INSANITY!  The fact that there are more times than I care to admit that my own ability to grow up, be mature, be unselfish, be patient, calm and loving and perceive the right way to parent is TOTALLY @#$%*  UP! (excuse my language...).  The books (at least the ones I've picked up) give lots of great advice on what to do with and for my kids but I need great advice on how to survive when I feel like my head is going to pop off if I hear "MOOOOM!" one more time.


And another thing... that saying "more is caught than taught" (the idea that kids learn and pick up more from watching us than what we verbally teach them).  I hate it.  I despise it.  That means that all the squabbling and fighting and whining and the generally annoying things my children do IS MY FAULT!  Who can live with that knowledge? 


Now before you all rush to your keyboards to reassure me that my marriage of twenty years is an inspiration, my children are wonderful, I'm doing a fine job and I shouldn't be so hard on myself - don't.  Don't bother.  This is a rant and I will simply put my fingers in my ears, hum loudly and not listen to anything you have to say.  Because today I choose to regress, hug my blankie tight, shit in my diaper if I want to, moan, complain, and generally be annoying because at 3:15 my pity party ends. 


And like every other screwed up wife and mom like me, I'll pull up my big girl panties, put away my blankie, stop whining and get on with this undoable job.  I'll pretend I know what I'm doing.  I'll try to solve the world's woes for one child, keep the other two from killing each other, talk about kindness and loving one another. I'll make dinner, help with homework, monitor screen time, make them eat their vegetables, take them to hockey, get them to bed at a reasonable hour and meanwhile be a loving, devoted wife.


But for now... WAAAAAAA......


Jesus,


Good thing you have a knack for the "impossible" because me and this whole wife and mother thing is right up your alley then.  Have at it. I love you.


'til next time,

Dianna