Therapy

Get up. Walk to the TV room. Put Nick Junior on. Take the sippy cups out of the dishwasher. Fill the sippy cups with way too much apple juice. Feed the dog. Change a diaper.

That is the first 20 minutes of my day almost every single day of the year. Bombs are launched in Korea, miners are caught miles in the ground, the New Orleans Saints won the Superbowl, no matter what, that is how I start my day!

I'm a mom. No, I take it back. I am my children's servant. That's what should be put in the dictionary under mom, “child servant”, on some occasion “child's maid, child's counselor and child's nurse”.

Basically I have become my own worse nightmare.

The big stamp I once thought I would bestow on this earth has become a mere spec of dust, if that.

My children have watched 4 straight hours of TV today.

My three year old son taught himself to cock a BB gun today and is explaining to his 2 year old brother that's it's dangerous.

Not exactly the Tuesday morning I had envisioned.

Oh and I spent 40 minutes singing Christmas carols to my 2 year old on the toilet doing number “2”..... or as he refers to it “fishies”. Stunk.

Ok, so this is my therapy. I figured this computer can't judge me for not “liking” my kids most of the time or for secretly wishing I was on a beach somewhere where the only decision I had to make was salt or no salt.

This is my attempt at letting go of the image I had beautifully painted of myself as a mom and accepting the television screen that is is.

I hope my captions help some of you understand and accept their reality show a little more.

Stay tuned.

Cheers!