I think I deserve a gold star. I managed to stay sane while raising kids. It’s the toughest job you’ll ever love. As I watch the next generation, it looks hard.

I’m staying with my daughter and two grandkids, ages 3 and 5, both girls. I’m exhausted in a few hours, and must recuperate to tackle the next project. Even my daughter is in awe, “I can’t believe you did this five times!”

I think back, yea, how did I do that?

We were headed over to my daughter’s home — where she is moving from condo to house. My daughter was driving, my husband was shot gun, and I took the seat in the second row, between the two car seats that held my grand kids.

The three year old was crying, telling her sister, “stop counting out loud,” all the while massaging the skin on my arm (her comfort thing). My daughter offered to change places, but I told her, “I can do this, I’m experienced.”

I thought about the years of mothering, the time learning to be patient in situations of meltdowns and squabbles. When you’re a mom, you don’t have any hobbies, or leisure time, there’s not much “me” time. It’s a true sacrifice. I remember the times of aching arms, holding a child, or trying to remain calm amidst cries. The chaos, the mess, the disorder that happens when you are out numbered and any one of your children are strong-willed.

My daughter shared a story when my son and his wife were in town. Her brother turned to his wife and said, “My sister used to be fun, too bad you didn’t know her before she had kids.” 

What happens when you have kids? Women stop being fun I guess. There’s a scene in a movie , “Say Anything,” where the brother, Lloyd played by John Cusak,  says to his sister, played by his real sister, Joan Cusak (mom with a kid):

“You used to be fun. You used to be warped and twisted and hilarious… and I mean that in the best way – I mean it as a compliment!”

Sister: “I was hilarious once, wasn’t I?”

Right now I am quickly typing this post before the kids get back from the pool. I let my husband take on that project. I escaped to Walmart to buy a new sports bra and a chocolate bar. I never knew Walmart to be the great escape.

The kids are back, and hungry. The three year old likes the tacos I brought back, the five year old wants a quesadilla (which I didn’t buy.) I ask her what she likes to eat — her favorite foods. (She’s kind of picky.)

“Is there anything you like to eat?” I asked her. (in my nice pleasant granny voice)

She whimpered  “all I like is garbage” —  More tears. Sobbing. — “I like ice cream.”

I guess I like garbage too.

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