The Good and Bad of Free Slurpees...and other thoughts on Being a Mama.

I drew a picture today, pencil on paper...something out of nothing. Maybe I'm alive after all. The thing about trying to do it all "right" is that so much of the time I feel like I am going through the motions, set on "auto" mom, waiting for something, or someone, to slap me up beside the head and say, Wake up!
Yesterday was not such a good day.  I had the boys by myself, something you'd think I'd be able to handle as their MOTHER, but for some reason (PMS? My personality? Me?) just being with them made my blood boil.
Once I had that saying in my mind, "Being with my kids makes my blood boil" I felt better. It was such a good description.
They didn't start out heating my blood, even though it was 100+ degrees. The good thing about that was it was free slurpee day at 7-11. I had never participated in this before, because, as an adult, I rarely get a slurpee, but kids take you back, let you experience all over again the joys of some perfectly sweet and refreshing mixture on a hot hot day.
So I played it up a little,  HEY GUYS!! TODAY IS 7/11 (big long explanation of July being the 7th month, day 11 yadeyada) SO WE CAN GO GET FREE SLURPEES!!
My poor children, although excited because of my tone, didn't know what to make of it because, I later learned, they had NEVER HAD A SLURPEE. Fail number one as a mother for the day.
Because I had never participated in this lovely event before I really didn't know the rules. Was there a particular size you had to get? Whattya do, just walk in, fill your cup, and walk out? Really?
 It was pretty crowded around the colorful square dispenser machines, and not wanting to look like too much of an idiot I grabbed the smallest size cups available and filled them up.
It was on our way out, right after I said, "Thank you," to the ragged cashier, that she responded, "Ma'am, those are not free slurpees."
Number one, I do not like to be called Ma'am. Especially by an old woman. Secondly, why don't they post some damn rules so we don't get arrested for shop lifting right in front of our children and everyone?
Anyways. It sort of went down hill from there. We went to Wal-mart, and Savers. I haven't done the Savers thing in forever,  and I really like it. How awesome is it to look for little treasures, and when you find one, it's like $1.99??? Plus it's recycling, and helping The Boys and Girls Club. Once you get accustomed to the smell, it's guilt free shopping at it's best!
I got the boys a whole bag of clothes. They played with the toys (OK, that's a little disgusting) and they kept asking me to buy them those bags of absolute trash little toys they put together. I held fast.
Come to think of it, even after coming home, making dinner, and cleaning up, everything was going ok. They watched a movie while I put together the new closet organizers I got (my closet looks uh-may-zing, I'll have to post), and then it was bedtime. And that's really where the good times end.
My husband and I have been talking about this for years now: I like to do things last minute. Slurpees! Wal-mart! Savers! And entire closet re-model! All after an eight hour day of work. The problem is that after all the fun is done, I'm done. I have about two  drops of emotional energy left, and putting a six and two year old to bed takes more like 7 hundred million gallons.
We started the bedtime hoopla at eight and they weren't done talking and asking questions and peeing and telling me they needed a bowl because they were going to throw up (lie) until about ten-ish.
You know, right about the time I wanted to shoot myself.
Instead I cried and I told God I hated being a mother.
I think part of my grief is that I thought I'd be good at this shit!
I thought I'd be all nurturing and soft and love singing my kids to sleep. Instead, Ethan tells me, "Mom, I'll read Noah this long book, because I know you are too tired. You can read the short one." (And by short one, we're talking the toddler one word on each of the five pages of the book, book).
Mercy.
I loved getting read to as a kid. My dad would read and read and read. And I always said I was going to do that too...
I think what is some of the only redeeming grace I see right now is how quickly my kids come back to me. How even after I come completely unglued, just a few minutes later they are right at my feet again with a new something they must tell me,  or Noah reaching his hands up and asking, Hold me.
At that point, it's wrong for me to dwell. As much as I can, I throw it behind me, listen with both ears open to my chatty six year old, or reach under those doughy arms of my two year old and bring him close to my face, breathing in his fleeting littleness.