Good and Perfect: This is My Real Life

Do you ever see a good idea shared on Facebook or Pinterest and temporarily lose awareness of what your real self is actually capable of and determine that you will implement that good idea in your home? Like the color-coordinated laundry chart that hangs on the wall where you do kid laundry this day, sheets that day, and adult laundry another day? Or the great idea for organizing kid toys where it is easy for them to pick up and nothing ever looks messy? And you always have order in your home?

Or maybe you hear a sermon or read a blog where you are reminded that the laundry and the mess isn’t so important but it leaves you motivated to do all of those special family bonding activities that you are going to do every single Saturday afternoon ? Or you feel super convicted about playing on your phone and decide that from now on you will put aside all normal human emotions and temptations and just be the most awesome mom EVER? Forever and ever and ever, where you do all the fun things and your children are respectful and the laundry isn’t ever a concern because they are mature and responsible enough to do it on their own (because you did a great job instilling that in them)? Maybe it’s just me, but I have those little momentary lapses in reality all the time.

And maybe our time when we were working to become licensed foster parents was a teeny bit like that. We were attending training classes, doing all kinds of prep work around our house, and I was reading books upon books about foster care. SURE, I was speaking words out of my mouth like “I know this will be so hard, but we are ready for it,” but I’m not gonna lie, the actual moments that I was living out in my mind were not the hard ones. They were the ones where the kid we took in gave her valedictorian speech and thanked our family for the difference we made. Or about how we were so inspirational that someone would write a good book that would eventually become a movie like The Blind Side. And in the future when you were watching your sporting events, the camera would cut to us when the commentators were talking about our feel good story after our former foster kid just scored again. And we would be sitting there all smiles, with his biological family, whose lives had been restored and we were all best friends cheering on our star athlete. It would be just like that.

I think comparison has always been a thing, but these days social media really has a way of painting an unrealistic picture of other people’s realities. So in the spirit of vulnerability, I wanted to give you a glimpse into my world, where things are constantly messy, nothing is Pinterest-inspired, and not a soul would spend a day here and think us worthy subjects of an inspirational movie. Many people have told me that they love my kid stories on Facebook and I always say that I wish I could take credit for being a creative person who makes up funny stories so that other people can laugh. Only I am not even a tiny bit creative. I just have some funny little personalities in my home, and these stories are just my real life.

True story, we got family pictures made last fall when J was with us. Josh thinks family pictures are one of the layers of hell, and we knew it would be a terrible experience, so we bribed them all with a trip to the dollar store if they would give us 15 minutes of cooperation with no fake smiles. Because that is actually our real life and not-so-much the great family picture that was a result of our bribery.

But we do try, and every morning begins for me with coffee and the best of intentions. Most days I have a few quiet minutes after Adri goes to school before the younger three wake up. These quiet minutes are when I believe that the day will be one filled with patience and fun, and that the messes will be few and will all be cleaned up. The younger three are 3, 4, and 5 with only 18 months separating the 3 and 5 year-old. That’s a lot of little people that have the same kind of needs right now and basically I run a little preschool once they wake up. And I am very thankful that they all three play well together, but I ask them frequently if it would be possible for their fun to be just a little less loud. The noise in my house is absolutely through the roof, all the time. And the talking is constant. Everyone talks and has questions at the same time. I take a deep breath and dive into breakfast every day, hoping that this will be the time that I don’t feel like screaming before I sit down with them. But when three little people want oatmeal , never mind, cereal, and milk – no wait, water, or their banana to be peeled, and then a napkin because of a spill, and then to go to the bathroom, and then help unzipping and rezipping and washing hands, and all of this with constant chatter and a loud noise level… it sometimes leaves me with a little twitch.

Normal morning at my house: the little two made up a game where Emory sat on his bum holding Scooby Doo and L drug Scooby Doo and Emory all around the downstairs.

But the other day the three amigos were playing sweetly and I decided to call my local phone provider’s customer service line from my cell phone to report that our landline had been out for a couple of days. (YES, we are one of the last families in America to have a landline, there’s a reason, and it’s another story for another day). Of course, when the kids are playing sweetly and you call customer service, things immediately go haywire. I’m fairly certain there is a law of physics that says that this will always happen. It was no different this day. I called customer service, but got connected to a computer, not a person.

Computer talking to me: “We do not recognize the number you are calling from. Is the number you are calling from the same as the one on your account?”
(Kids come running through the house)
Me: “Stop running!”
Computer talking to me: “I’m sorry, I could not understand you. Is the number you are calling from the same as the one on your account?”
Me: “NO”
Kid that was running: “Huh? What mommy? Did you say no to me? What did you say no about?”
(Me waving hands and mouthing to move away because I am on the phone)
Kid: “What are you saying no about? Were you talking to me? I didn’t ask you anything.”
Me: “Just go away, I’m on the phone.”
Computer: “I’m sorry, I did not understand your answer. Is the number you are calling from the same as the one on your account?”
Me (in a slightly raised voice): “I WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK WITH CUSTOMER SERVICE”
Computer: “Okay, you would like to speak with a customer service representative. The current wait is 37 minutes.”

My reaction was something similar to Clark Griswold’s when the Christmas lights wouldn’t work. Don’t judge me. I have a history with customer service frustrations.

These are the runners. You can see the guilt all over their cute little faces.

So my kids got these little boogie boards for Christmas which are basically tablets to doodle on and they have provided hours of entertainment. The problem is that now they have decided that they want to write stuff, but none of them actually know how to spell. So what do you think that means? “Mommy, how do you spell love? How do you spell dog? How do you spell I like to eat cucumbers?” All of these questions at the same time while I am confusing who is spelling what word and then just making stuff up because since they can’t spell they can’t read and it’s not like they even know if I tell them something wrong. Well, Cooper is obsessed with his cousin’s dog and drew a picture so I texted it to my sister, and she was like “Ummm, bagel Murphy?” WHATEVER Jennifer, it was supposed to say “Murphy is a beagle." That was the most understandable thing that came out of that morning doodle session and I just need you to decipher it appropriately and appreciate the effort. Gah.

The older two go to a half-day 4K program that starts at 11:30, and we are always running late every day because it doesn’t matter if I start lunch at 10:15, someone will poke and someone will need one more thing and I will probably not be able to find one of their coats. But every time I get in the van, I have to take a deep breath. Because it goes the same way EVERY. SINGLE. TIME…

Kid #1: “Mommy, will you turn the music up?”
Music turned up.
Kid #2: “Mommy… mommy… mommy…”
Music turned down.
Me: “What is it?”
Kid #2: “Watch this…”
Me: “I can’t turn around to watch you do something silly while I’m driving.”
Kid #1: “Mommy, I can’t hear that song.”
Me: “I know you can’t, because your sister was calling my name so I turned it down.”
Turn music back up.
Kid #3: “Mommy, (inaudible)? Mommy, (inaudible)? MOMMMMMYYYY.”
Music turned down.
Me: “Yes?
Kid #3: “Can I play the iPad when we get home today?”
Me: “I don’t know.”
Kid #3: “What does I don’t know mean?”
Me: “It means that I don’t know if the answer is yes or no.”
Kid #1: “Mommy, I still can’t hear the music.”

Do you think I’m lying? Because I am not lying. Ride with me one day and see if you still think I’m lying.

So have that scenario playing in your head as you picture with me what my Friday was like a few weeks ago. Just as I was pulling into the school building, after eleventy billion “mommy mommys” on the way, all three of the littles had to go to the bathroom. All three. I already felt frazzled from the ride and constant words behind my head, so I whipped into a parking space and unbuckled the two who were about to start school and told them that they would have to tell their teacher and go as soon as they got into their classroom. I walked them up and mentioned to the assistant at the door that these two needed to go to the bathroom. In the meantime, I hear the third one yelling at me from inside the van that was parked just behind me. Apparently his situation had become an emergency and I could see him kicking his little legs. So I hurry back to the van and tell him that I will move as quickly as possible. I start backing up and hear a bump behind me. The bump was much less startling than the lady in front of me who was gasping with hands over her mouth. In my rush, I had failed to look behind me and had backed right into a parked car. So while little man was kicking his legs and moaning about his bathroom emergency, I got out of the van to apologize to the sweet little grandmother whose car I had just hit. She was very gracious as all of the onlookers were staring and gasping. I told her I would give her my information so that we could get her car taken care of. While I was grabbing a pen and paper to write down my info, the assistant yelled out to us and asked if she needed to go get Dr. Patterson. Which kind of sucked because I was already embarrassed enough and then I had to explain who I was. Dr. Patterson is the principal of the school, the person who comes out to deal with situations like this where there is a bump-up in the parking lot, but he was in Columbia that day and I was able to tell them that… because he is also my husband. Oy. It was a fun way to introduce myself to the grandmother of my kids’ classmate.

After info was exchanged, I sent Josh a hurried text and got the heck out of there just in time to make it to a ditch up the road so we could take care of the bathroom emergency (the three year old had been patient enough… you gotta do what you gotta do unless you want to add to your crappy day by cleaning out a car seat). When I finally looked at my phone again, I realized I had created a bit of unnecessary stress for my husband because apparently the text I actually sent only said “I just hit a lady.” So he’s in Columbia wondering if I had hit someone with the car? With my hand? Had I finally gone off the deep end? He was sending texts to try and get these questions answered at the same time that I was parking by the ditch taking care of the bathroom emergency. Eventually he called and I straightened the story out and said a few choice words to him as he giggled at me. Because THIS IS MY REAL LIFE.

The three amigos aren’t the only part of my day, but my oldest leaves for school in the morning and isn’t always a part of the chaos. She is 8 now and is a very perceptive child, so it isn’t unlike her to sense when things are a bit stressful and offer to help in some way. Earlier this afternoon she asked if she could be excused from the table early so that she could go work in her room. It’s nice to have at least one who is old enough to know what needs to be done around the house without being told. Only, when I walked upstairs, it wasn’t exactly like that. Her room was a mess and there were Barbies all over her floor.

Me: “I thought you asked to come upstairs to work in your room?”
Adri: “I am.”
Me: “ummm, so what are you working on?”
Adri: “You know how like most of the Barbies were naked and half of them didn’t have their heads? Well I decided to dress them and match all the heads to the bodies. So none are naked now… well, except for this one who I couldn’t find clothes for. But they all have their heads.”
Me: *crickets*
Me: (in my head) “Well this is just fantastic. Your room is a disaster and I don’t think you’ve read at all this weekend or worked on your project that is due, but your Barbies are clothed and have heads now, so let me check that one thing off of my mental list of things that I was concerned about. “

And then sometimes in all of the noise and chaos you just get so frazzled and your head is spinning that you make stupid mistakes like dropping the salsa as you are going to put it into the refrigerator. Except in my house, it doesn’t gently spill out onto the floor. When I drop salsa, I do it in such a way where it shoots like a rocket all the way up the wall and onto my ceiling. HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN? I don’t even know, but fortunately I had just recently finished a workout where some of my stress had been relieved and in this instance I was able to laugh instead of cry. And laugh is what I did, while I sent the picture to my friends as my sweet husband cleaned it up (he’s a good man).

Currently I have a to-do list that includes putting away laundry, paying the bills, meal-planning for the week, making a grocery list, cleaning out my closet, and beginning to work on the items for the upcoming consignment sale (and who I am kidding? I will sort and tag those clothes two days before and gripe the whole time about how I will never wait until the last minute again). There’s nothing inspirational going on around here. My home is a circus where I am the often-inept ringmaster that is just trying to manage the chaos. If they are fed and bathed (on a day that is bath day, because who in the world has time for that every single day??) and I have not cried, then it has been wildly successful. This is my real life, people. There’s nothing orderly or inspirational about it, but I love these kids and this fun and crazy ride.