Motherhood is…

Something different every damn day.

Today (er, tonight) it’s going to bed knowing my morning is going to be a complete shit show.

We have to leave by 7:30 am for a soccer tournament.  At this moment, the uniform shorts are MIA.  I’ve been warning my 13 year old since yesterday evening that she needs to find them, that I’m NOT going to look for them*, that I HAVE to leave on time because I’m the team manager and have to get the team checked in.  She has repeatedly responded by assuring me they are somewhere in the house and she’ll find them.  She just headed to bed, and told me she’d find them in the morning before we left.

Early morning.  Missing shorts.  Tight timeline.  What could possibly go wrong?!

Am I supposed to just find the damn shorts at this point?  I’m honestly asking, because I have NO DAMN IDEA.  I told her I wasn’t going to look for them, so????  But if they’re still missing at 7:28 tomorrow morning, I’m going to wake the neighbors and likely psychologically scar my kids for life with my screams of, “I TOLD YOU TO FIND THE DAMN SHORTS I TOLD YOU I WASN’T GOING TO LOOK FOR THEM I TOLD YOU I TOLD YOU I TOLD YOU!!!!!!!!”  And then my husband, who I really do love and usually even like, is going to say something like, “Whoa, Anne.  Calm down.  You’re really overreacting here.”  And then I’m going to go completely blitzkrieg on his ass and say really horrible things about how he’s gone 12 weeks a year because he hates us and has no idea about my constant finding the uniform/cleats/ shin guards saga and maybe he should just move to a yurt in Uzbekistan and just get out of my effing way.  Which is all horrible and not really accurate (well, the 12 weeks a year thing is, but it’s really not because he hates us).  Truth be told, we’d miss him something fierce if he permanently relocated to Uzbekistan.

So, tonight, motherhood is wishing I hadn’t said, “I’m not looking for the shorts this time.”  Because now whether I look for them or I don’t, I’m screwed.  Either I find them and she knows she never has to take anything I say seriously, or I don’t find them and the ensuing drama blows the roof off my house.

In the process of writing this, I had a minor panic attack about the damn shorts.  And decided to look for them.  In the process of looking for them, I discovered hella stinky gear in her soccer bag and now the washing machine is running (what a fun bonus!!!!).  I know where the shorts are, but my kid doesn’t know that.  Still, I suppose this means I’ve caved.  Come 7:28 tomorrow morning, if she hasn’t found them herself, I can point her to them.

Upside:  I won’t have woken the entire neighborhood with my yelling.

Downside:  I’ve once again enabled my child.  And she’ll likely have to live at home forever because I’m a horrible parent.  Is this exaggeration?  Probably.  But is this the way it feels in the moment?  HELLS YES.

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*Harsh?  Maybe, but fuck it.  I can be the savior and find shit damn near all of the time, but occasionally I reach a breaking point and become frustrated with the fact that my people cannot simply put their stuff where it’s supposed to go.  Shin guards in the tote.  Dirty uniform in the dirty clothes basket (this one is, apparently, a REALLY radical concept).  Cleats by the back door.