Things I Used to Do Alone




1. Just picture it; you finally get to take that nice, hot shower you have been thinking about taking all morning. You get in, oooohhhh, the water feels so nice! You start washing your hair. At this point your head is covered in lather, and your eyes are closed to prevent the scalding of the eyes by the shampoo. You hear the door open and you think to yourself, "Oh, he must be coming in to try to catch a glimpse of my hotness" (that does happen at your house, doesn't it?). Then you feel the curtain open. The cold blast of bathroom air seeps in and you think, "Damn, couldn't he just wait till I get out of the shower?” You rinse your hair just as the snickers begin. You start to think "You asshole, you sneak into MY shower, and now you’re going to laugh at me? I know things just aren't where they used to be, but DAMN! I have given birth to 5 of your offspring, the least you can do is keep your damn giggles to yourself!” You get your eyes cleared of all the poisons, and then you realize...your 2 year old is laughing at you. Awesome. 


Now in the days BC, that stands for "Before Children" for those of you who don't know, I could shower by myself. Heck, I could do lots of things by myself. After the shower debacle, I started reminiscing about those days. The days of getting things done. The days of low blood pressure. The days of using my "inside voice".

2. Pee. I used to go to the potty by myself (or as my 4 year old says: "Mom, are you going POOP or just PEE?"). All mothers, and most fathers, can agree with me. Once you have children that are mobile, you will NEVER use the john by yourself again. I swear they have a sixth sense about it. If you have more than one, they conspire against you. "Mom is going to the bathroom. I will cut her off at the pass, you sneak in and wait. No WAY is she doing this alone!" Now, if you have one under, let's say, the age of 3, it gets even better. PITA loves to inspect "things". He will stand in front of me, squat down, and watch; patiently waiting, for "things" to come out. He finds it fascinating. I find it rather disturbing. If you are lucky, he won't laugh at you AND you will get a courtesy flush, whether you need it or not. He can also be quite helpful in the sense of handing you paper when you need it, and he has also been known to hand me some "feminine products", again, whether I need them or not. Poor boy thinks Aunt Flo stays for 2 week visits.

3. Cooking. I truly enjoy cooking. Turn on some good music, have a nice drink, do a little dancing, and know that you are going to put a delicious meal on the table. Now if I can get supper on the table without wanting to stab someone with a fork, I consider it a success. I don't mind when Mini-Me wants to help, she is actually quite helpful, until I hint that she may be doing something wrong, then all bets are off. The joys of a tween-aged daughter I suppose. It is the circles of tag around the island, the "MOM, can I have some apple juice, NOW?” the "What are we having for supper?" and the responses of “Eeeewwwwww I don't LIKE that!" (tough shit), and all five standing right behind me while I'm standing at the stove that irritate me the most. They are all very fortunate that they haven't taken a knife in the eye. Sometimes I miss the days of being in the kitchen by myself with a beverage, cooking a nice meal for me and Farmer Bob. Which we in turn would eat, together, while the food was still warm and not cut up into little pieces.

4. Cleaning the house used to be a fairly painless chore. I used to be able to get up on a Saturday morning and within a couple of hours, BOOM the house is clean. Now cleaning the house is a lot like wiping your butt before you are done pooping. Mostly useless. I have gotten better about delegating this work to the cohabitants of this house especially since I now bribe them with money, but there are just things that "help" is just not needed with. We all have those things that we just want to do ourselves. Things that we want done right the first time. These things for me are sweeping (by broom) and laundry. I swear the house can be empty, but the minute you get the broom out and make a nice clean pile of dirt the kids come in and proceed to deliberately walk right through it while kicking their feet up to their ears. Now all the particles have been redistributed into every nook and cranny previously untouched by any dirt and inaccessible by broom. Now only retrievable by vacuum. Shit. Now I HAVE to get out the machine. Not that I dislike running the vacuum, some days it is the only exercise I get, but PITA has a secret love affair with this machine. A love strong enough that he will make some woman VERY happy someday. If I leave it unattended for just a second, his Fred Flintstone feet start peddling and he is mounted on that thing like a rider on a horse. He can push the lever to tilt it, push the button, and away he goes. Normally this is not an issue, but his complete disregard for any articles on the floor is just not good for my poor, very violated, vacuum.

5. Shopping. I like to shop, but there is nothing recreational about doing it with littles. If I take the older ones, it is the constant battle of explaining to them that I am NOT buying them any more clothes, or another video game. We don't need any more damn Barbies or legos, shoes or hot wheels. With the younger ones it is the battle of just leaving the store with the same kids you came in with. The constant stream of ”PITA, sit DOWN in the cart!", "Trouble, get OUT of the rack!", "Mouse, pay attention to where you are walking!", "FOR GOD'S SAKE, QUIT TOUCHING STUFF!!!!" By this point my blood pressure is so high, I forget half the shit on my list, mostly because PITA dropped my list on the ground somewhere along the way. This only means that the battle continues the next day. Do I dare attempt it two days in a row? Son-of-a-...

I love my littles with every ounce of my being. I know that no matter how frustrating they get, it is better to pee with company, sweep the floor twice, and never buy everything on my list. They won't be little forever, and before I know it I'll be back to showering uninterrupted, my vacuum will be very lonely, and I will only be hoping I can buy Barbies and Legos, shoes and Hot Wheels.

This was originally published on You Know it Happens at Your House Too.


More About Tara: Tara of You Know it Happens at Your House Too is the mother of five young kids, wife to one hard working farmer. She is the sometimes hilarious, sometimes serious, usually sarcastic writer of the amazingly popular (in her own mind) blog You Know it Happens at Your House Too. In her free time she enjoys wiping butts and noses all while picking up Legos and Polly Pockets. If she ever had a moment to herself she would go pee, then relax with a nice, cheap glass (bottle) of wine and any movie starring Johnny Depp. She has completely forgotten what it is like to do anything alone. Tara lives in Kansas with her husband, Farmer Bob, and her five children. You can also find her ignoring her kids on Facebook and Twitter.

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