Sometimes I feel like I’ve got this parenting thing under control.
And other times my three year old daughter drops her pants and pees like a racehorse all over the back porch during our Memorial Day BBQ.
Lately I’ve learned that whether my children decide to act like hellions or angels has very little to do with me. Seriously.
I know this because I’m the same mama all day, every day, but which kid I get on a daily basis is just about as reliable as the weather.
Will I get my Shirley Temple daughter who sings like a cherub and pats my face and tells me with her baby voice that she “lubs me more dan cupcakes”?
Or will I get the holy terror who tells the deacon at church “When I get home imma rip this dress off so I can be nekkid and poop ALLLL MAH POOPIES out!”
Who knows? It’s a coin toss.
Will I get the son who smiles with his eyes and uses “yes ma’am” and “thank you sir” and holds my hand in the parking lot?
Or will I get the unpredictable oversharer who informed his preschool teacher that sometimes he can’t sleep at night because his mama told him serial killers grab children from their beds?
(I never said that. EVER. EVAAAR.)
Luck of the draw, folks. Who knows which kid will show up. It’s just a lottery, I guess.
Statistically, things work out this way.
Some days one kid is great and the other is a nightmare. That’s manageable.
Some days the math works in your favor and God smiles down upon you and both children are PBS cartoon angels.
OOOOHHHHHH some days.
Some days you’ll be dragging one child by the foot through the grocery store while yelling at the other kid, “IF YOU OPEN THAT CAN OF PRINGLES I WILL THROW YOUR PUPPY IN THE TRASH CAN!” (Not realizing that the entire store thinks the puppy is a flesh and blood creature of God, as opposed to the piece of one inch tall plastic crap that it is.)
Some days we lose big.
And of course, some days we will win.
All I’m saying, parents, is if you are having a winning streak, don’t you dare get cocky.
Don’t. You. Dare.
Your kiddos will knock you off that high horse quicker than you can say “dead bird in a back pack”.
And if you’re on a losing streak, parents, listen to me.
LISTEN. TO. ME.
Today I found out that my daughter sneaks into a room in our house, puts on a pull up, poops in it, throws the poop in an actual garbage can, and puts her panties back on like nothing ever happened.
Tomorrow I get to apologize to our cleaning ladies for the fact they’ve been cleaning HUMAN FECES out of a trashcan on a weekly basis.
And I am dealing with the shame and confusion over why they never mentioned this to me.
Like, is this just what they accept from the Backstrom family?
POOP IN TRASHCANS?
You might be having a rough week, but it could be worse.
You might be having a great week, but it could turn quickly.
Your kids might be angels right now, but you never know where the next mystery trashcan turd in your life will show up.
Stay humble, my friends.