Holy balls. Welcome back to school over here has meant fevers of 104.5, boycotting packed lunches, and early morning screaming about sock-on-foot placement. September, I really really don’t think I like you.
Right now I am, as my mother says, in the weeds. I mean this both literally and figuratively because while my three crazies are screaming at me from eight different directions, I have weird alien plants growing though piles of rocks and on top of concrete all over my yard. But guess what—I only have so much time and energy and since I am trying to raise the next Naked Cowboy, WWE Superstar, and mullet gymnast—ain’t nobody got time to tend to the grass. Oh well.
I think there is this assumption that as your kids get older, life gets easier. But I am not sure that logic applies when you keep adding more kids to the equation. These three at these ages, OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT WOW WOW WOW I AM NOT EVEN ON THIS PLANET MOST DAYS. And a friend of mine had her first baby recently. What a fucking time to be alive. One baby, two parents (dad home on paternity leave) and a community of well-wishers and dinner providers. People are stopping over to bring her coffee and muffins and pats on the back to support her during this big life change. A season of love. BUT WHAT ABOUT ME, GUYS?! Now, if you are using the pastries as an excuse to get a newborn baby sniff, I get it. I respect it. But, if you are bringing the muffins because you feel like she needs them—-I’m gunna need you to take your Martha Stewart ass back to your car, take a left, and another left, and then a right—-and come on down to my house because she don’t need no muffins with her one barely awake baby and daily visitors. I NEED THE MUTHA FUCKING MUFFINS. Yup, ME. Nothing brand new here—might even seem like old hat. But it’s this clusterfuck-of-three not-new kids that really feels muffin-worthy. I would like to take my time machine back to June 2013, when people were dropping off chicken parm and cupcakes and gift cards for my cute little new-mom ass and I wanna say, “NO! GO AWAY! SAVE THESE!!! Freeze these and give them to me in six years when my two year old is throwing bottles of orange juice at my face while my four year old has his ankle stuck in the street sewer drain and my six year old is yelling at me that “it’s so hard to be the oldest and you would never understand”, even though I AM the oldest, and I DO understand, and IT CAN’T BE WORSE THAN BEING A MOM OF THREE WITH NO MUFFINS!!!!!
But I mean other than that, I’m great over here. It’s great.