I HATE HOMEWORK!!

 

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“I HATE HOMEWORK!!!”

That is NOT my kiddo shouting that from the rooftop…that’s me screaming it across the neighborhood as I run from the house in terror!

I hate who I become during homework sessions. I hate the wide eyed beast who stares back at me urging me to have a couple glasses of wine to numb the pain. I hate having bad thoughts about my child, the school and the teacher! I hate ripping my hair out in clumps because I can’t gouge out the eyes of my kid instead. I HATE HOMEWORK!!

Finland has the right idea – preserving the sanity of the parent, and the peace of the home environment, by ensuring no outside work infiltrates their airtight fortress. Why in heavens name can’t the rest of the world follow suit?? They would be doing a great service to mankind – and our children’s ears would be free from colourful curse words.

I am convinced my neighbors think I was born under the ass of a donkey . I clearly have no decorum. I do not respect myself, my child or my husband once I start cussing about the damn homework. I am like a tin of Pringles, once I pop, I just cant stop! By the way,   the neighbors are such lovely, quiet people. Never hear them or see them…except on the odd occasion when our paths cross as we head to our cars. Funnily enough, they never look overly thrilled to see me. Now that I think about it, the quick “hello” they give always looks like its done out of terror, and not because they are being “friendly”. Oh well!

My hubby thinks I cuss too much. I keep telling him that I have a lot of shit going on in my head because I am a woman, which means I get stressed very easily. What the hell does he want from me…I don’t ask him to do the homework, so he needs to cut me some frigging slack. My husband is concerned that my cussing is a sign that I am stressing too much. What he doesn’t understand is that my cussing IS my stress relief! A couple “Fucks” here and a couple “Shits” there (not literally obviously) is like breathing a sigh of relief. Cussing releases that ‘feel good’ drug, dopamine, and once all the cussing has been expelled, then you can light a cig and bask in the afterglow.

I am convinced the teachers are secretly out to get revenge on parents because they have to put up with our bratty kids all damn day. They sit around the staff room planning on ways to fuck us up. I am not sure why they have to be so evil, considering they get gifts on Teachers Day, Valentines, Christmas AND the last day of the school year! These teachers are spoilt rotten as far as I’m concerned. I have decided that the teachers ain’t getting shit from me this year! Then again…I am sure I could find a shitload of unfinished homework and wrap it up with a big bow. Hmmmm…

Don’t get it twisted, I know there will be unfinished work left over from school…but why the FUCK does it have to come home??? Why cant it stay at school where it belongs. The kid ain’t going anywhere and neither is the school. Homework doesn’t need to follow her home like a stray puppy! If the school could adopt a more family friendly approach to academics, I think my relationship with my neighbors wouldn’t be so strained. My kiddo would think I was super cool and my hubby would stop stressing about my over-usage of curse words.

With all of this homework and additional stress, when do kids find time to be just that…kids? When do they get to play and enjoy being outside instead of spending more hours concentrating on even more work? When do I get to enjoy being a mom? When do I enjoy spending time with my kid? I have my own work to do, but yet, I have to come home after a long day to do even more work. At which point in the evening do I get to de-stress and relax? And my hubby wonders why I fucking swear so damn much!

Cut the parents some slack, and understand that school life, just like work life, should be a separate entity from home life. Relationships can blossom and bloom in a more wholesome environment where outside stresses are no longer playing an integral role in the destruction of the family unit.

By the way, have you heard….

I HATE HOMEWORK!!!!

 

 

I_hate_homework_by_melloncolliebaby

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Its Ok to admit when you’re NOT ok

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We all have our personal issues… demons that we wrangle in the deepest recesses of our minds.
Mine? … I question my ability as a mother each day. Friends tell me I’m doing great and I’m managing just fine. Truth?… I feel like I am floundering in a raging pool of perpetual hormones. I’m tired, strung out and in no mood to even have another human being anywhere near me.

I get irate when I hear “mummy” uttered more than three times. I lose my cool when I can’t be left alone for thirty minutes simply to think. I have no patience for stupidity or ignorance. I become distressed and tense if there is uncontrollable mess in my space. I am an impatient, neat freak introvert who has issues with noise and excessive energy.

I ask myself if I am a direct product of my childhood…but while my father was the noise control police and my mother was the neat freak, there was a sort of balance where my childhood was fun yet I was expected to have responsibilities. I would never say that I was screamed at or punished as much as I scream and punish my child.

I berate myself everyday when I hear about parents playing games, snuggling up and doing fun projects with their kids. I wish I could do that…but I just can’t bring myself to. I am tired and I need to have some ‘me’ time. I want to be left completely alone with my own thoughts. Being a parent is more like being an acrobat. I am juggling to keep our life afloat from a financial side. I am wearing the trousers and fighting the current with the rest of the crabs. I carry the stress of my day to day existence like a backpack full of rocks. I can’t for one second take it off and rest because there are neverending bills to pay, groceries to buy and incidentals to worry about.

How can I truly be a parent and fulfill my duties as a mother with the burden I carry day in and day out? I lay in bed tossing and turning praying for the sandman to blow sleep dust in my face….to no avail. I worry about the future…I can’t help it. I try to meditate, I try to pray and I sure as hell try to “let go and let God”. Some days I’m on top of the world and the rest of time I feel like the ground is crumbling and my fucking backpack is dragging me down into the pit of despair.

I don’t want to be the screaming stress- head mom who makes her child cower in a corner. I don’t want to lose my patience over a simple spelling error because I’m freaking out over the expensive school fee and questioning if I’m sending her to the right school. I don’t want to turn into a red faced raging bull if she spills a cup of juice or refuses to eat the food prepared because I know how much I spent at the supermarket, and I can’t afford anything to be wasted.

Ok fine… I admit it…I’m NOT Ok! I may appear strong like an ox and resilient like a mule on the outside…but I cry into my pillow under the cover of darkness and die a little each day. I have lost my youthful sparkle and I can feel myself withering. I’m scared….there I said it…I’m scared I made a mistake being a parent! Judge me if you will…but I’m scared I will ruin my child and her childhood because I’m spending more time trying to make ends meet. I’m trying hard to make sense of my own purpose in this universe while trying to to raise another human being in the process.

I don’t expect a lot and I don’t desire much. I simply ask Life to intercede and help me. Help me to remain calm while the boat is rocking, stay focused while I try to find a secure foothold in the storm and stay strong while the burdensome backpack tries to weigh me down.

I know that this too shall pass and sun will shine on me once again…but for now I say to anyone fighting their own personal demons: the first step to fixing a situation is admitting there is a problem…its Ok to admit when you’re NOT Ok.

To eat or not to eat

Even though I am currently reliving my youth through my blogging adventures, in reality I’m really a mummy. A mummy to a no-eating, stubborn, back chatting little monster who is showing signs of being the ultimate diva.

Ok…so she’s not a monster all the time. But she sure as hell makes me feel like one when I have to turn into the demon mother. Sometime I wonder why we can’t just birth adults who will simply leave home as soon as they’re born. I know its harsh to say, but let’s face it, this parenting thing is tough…and it gets tougher as the years progress. You sit on the toilet pondering life and then it hits you that for the next 18 to 20 years of your life you are entirely responsible for the person you deliberately birthed. Phew! That’s a hard pill to swallow sometimes. Especially when they reach 5 years old and you realise that you still have another 13 years…which means you didn’t even make a dent by bringing them this far.

Each child is different. Some are short, some are tall. Some are skinny, some are chubby, some run fast, some like to play dolls, some dance and some are cry babies. But one thing makes them all the same…they love to eat! Well…not all…my daughter put the ‘picky’ in picky eater. Actually no…a picky eater eats more than my child. My child just downright doesn’t eat. If it doesn’t look the way she thinks it should, if it doesn’t taste the way she remembers it and if she so much as smells something which is out of place, then she refuses to even look at it. My child’s 5 senses are sharp as a tack and there is no tricking her with hiding medicine in juice or blending vegetables to disguise them as tomato ketchup. Oh no… my child with her super human nostrils can smell a rat a mile off and she won’t be duped or coerced into allowing anything past her lips to “just taste it”.

As a child (and as an adult) I loved food! I would eat anything and everything…except mushrooms and onions (despise that stuff…its horrible). I enjoyed spicy food from a young age – Indian cuisine being my favourite. My daughter refuses to even try the mildest dish on the menu – I question if she’s really mine at this point.

I offer her fish fingers, chicken nuggets, pizza, fries, KFC. I offer her Chinese noodles, rice. I offer her pasta dishes, meats, seafood. I even go as far as offering her cake and ice cream. Most kids go crazy for that. Not mine. She is very particular about the type of cake she has and the ice cream better be the right flavour of chocolate…if not then I might as well throw it out because she will not be eating it.

Other parents have offered advice, and many say she gets too many choices,I  should let her starve. “She won’t starve herself because she must eat”. I’m here to tell you that my kid is a super human being born from another planet…I have tried everything from ignoring to coercing, from forcing to bribing. Nothing works! If she doesn’t want to eat, then she will spend days not eating. But get this…she doesn’t  lose weight, she’s as healthy as they come and the doc says she’s perfectly normal. Normal?? Normal by which textbook, because last I checked, kids at age 5 actually like to eat…especially sweet things.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my little monster. I wouldn’t exchange her for the world. There are those moments when I get a little worried, and I wonder if she’s really from this planet.

Being a mum without a mum…

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Being a mummy has taught me a lot. I wish my mummy was here to see me following in her footsteps.

Many can relate to this, and understand how difficult it is to be a mum without a mum. As I was scrolling through facebook I came across a link for a blog entitled, ‘Being a mum without a mum’ (see link below). Normally I scroll past these links, completely uninterested…however, the title of this particular one hit a chord.

My mum was one of those – the one who everyone wished was theirs, the one who was cool and took the time to listen without judgement. She was the mum that had the best snacks and had ready supplies of candy for all the neighborhood kids. She’s the mum who always had a recreation room in her house so that everyone could hang out and feel comfortable. She was the mum who kept up with the latest songs and dance moves, and wasn’t afraid to get into the groove – no matter how embarrassed I was. She was the mum who called everyone ‘darling’ and ‘sweetheart’ and had her arms open for an immediate hug. She was the mum who listened and paid attention to every story and took the time to remember every name.

A day certainly doesn’t go by when I don’t yearn to be someones daughter again – to be the one wrapped in a big hug and to be told that everything is gonna be just fine. To bring me a glass of water and rub my head when I feel unwell. To wipe my tears when I feel upset. To be my confidante and keeper of secrets.

Being a mum without a mum is probably one of the hardest things I have had to face. So for those of you who have a mum – cherish her, love her, hug her, tell you adore her everyday. There is going to come a point when you will no longer be someones daughter – instead you will be someones mummy – and that is when you realise how much you miss your own mum.

http://www.selfishmother.com/being-a-mum-without-a-mum-2/