This week I am totally putting up my adult time out card. I am waving it above my head like that drunk chick at the soccer who has no idea who she is barracking for but she is waving loud and proud and probably slightly off balance before falling off the chair and embarrassing herself. That’s me.
Some weeks I just don’t want to adult. I don’t want to make all the decisions, I don’t want to think about what is best for everyone and I don’t want to feel responsible for everything that needs to be done in order for the week to run smoothly. Can’t I throw myself on the floor and use that whiny voice now, please? Or maybe I can cross my arms, storm loudly out of the room with a huff and slam the door like my 4 year old has started doing. I was sure that wouldn’t start till at least 9?? Who was I kidding?
How am I meant to work out week in, week out, what needs to be done for our family, but also for me, the adult? The adult situation is to successfully each week ensure the routine of every member of the family runs smoothly and transitions effectively. How is it me that is responsible for all of this? Isn’t there someone else who I can call or text and they can just confirm that it is all good over here. Weekly decision making and scheduling program are being emailed as we speak. And if they could send over the dusting and vacuuming fairies that would be just super swell. And a small money tree wouldn’t go astray either.
On a day to day basis, the adult situation goes something like this. I wake up when the alarm tells me too, well maybe snooze is hit twice, but I think that is pretty good considering. I already have the kids’ uniforms ironed and ready to go (totally go me!), school lunches get done (usually while asking 28 times to put your shoes and socks on), school run paced out to allow ample time to see given artworks and craft done from previous day, chat to a few school mums and get to work. I even handle fairly well as an adult at work too even though I work with my husband and that right there allows for a fair amount of silliness. By the end of the day when homework, bath, exercise and bedtime is done I can proudly say I handle the adult day to day life. Although, usually around 4pm both my husband and I turn to each other and ask who took out the meat or is there actually anything to eat in the house for dinner tonight? Eggs for dinner again kids!
The problem is, you then have to turn around and do it all AGAIN! Like, every single day. Who arranged all this serious adult stuff and how did I get here? Don’t you just wish you could go back to that time when all you had to worry about was that your mum woke you up and had turned the heater on for you early, or what time you came in for dinner from the backyard? Or just being told what the weekend plans were catching up with cousins or friends. Now it is me who has to decide everything and make sure everything is preempted. The adult role requires you to be on top of laundry, dishes, uniforms, sports stuff, news presentations, science projects, birthday presents, bills, house cleaning, gardening and let’s not forget to squeeze in going to work. Oh shit, and yes the grocery shopping.
I love the little creatures so dearly and sometimes I embrace the chaos and mess and hell, sometimes I join in the chaos and mess. But sometimes I am tired. Sometimes I don’t want to be the adult. I don’t want to have to make responsible decisions, be the narky one constantly whining at everyone to get ready, barking for the 15th time that they really need to get out of the bath because dinner is almost cold.
After dinner tonight and the kids had been allowed to watch television, later than normal because surely on school holidays I can have 20 minutes to sit, I asked the kids to go and put their milk glass in the sink and brush teeth. As with the other 43 commands I had thrown at them all day, it was greeted with the same response. I’m not doing it, no (make sure you said that in your head with the full whine happening) Followed by more wails and groans and all round drama. So you know what I did? I threw myself on the floor and behaved just like them. It actually felt surprisingly good. The kids were shocked and then sort of giggled about whether mummy was being funny or was totally about to lose her shit. I explained to them like I have probably around 732 times previously that do they think that mummy should do that next time they ask for an afternoon snack, or help with getting their jumper on, or helping to get that toy off the shelf? We laughed of course and said no that would be so silly of mummy. And then we laughed some more. Mummy really is very funny sometimes. It must have been in that moment somewhere that my adult time out card flicked out of my pocket and I can’t find it anywhere. I have heard that replacements are quite hard to come by too.
Now just rewind that last bit and reread it every night for, what, let’s say, the next 10 years? Ha, ha, ha. Who am I kidding.