Thursday, April 21, 2016

Raising Rugrats

I'm participating in the Blogging from A-Z Challenge again this year. Today's post is brought to you by the letter R.


The greatest and hardest thing I've ever experienced is motherhood.  Cliche, I know, but oh so true!  Many times I've foolishly let myself believe I have this whole parenting thing figured out.  I hit a stride where everyone is happy, things are good, and then bam! Speed bump!  Someday I might finally accept that parenting is an ever-evolving entity that cannot be mastered. Until then, I'll live in my happy little world of denial and pretend I know what I'm doing.

It doesn't help that my two girls are so completely different.  Because of that, and the fact that they're over 11 years apart in age, I've had to reinvent the wheel more than once in regards to parenting.  What my oldest daughter responded to, my youngest ignores. Where one played independently, the other wants someone to play with all the time.  They both have big personalities, which I've always loved. As toddlers, my youngest keeps us laughing with her dance moves and singing and overall diva princess type behavior and my oldest had the most hilarious sayings and mispronunciations.  There are some words we still mispronounce like she did as a kid because it was so endearing.  One loves dolls, the other loves art.  One would rather be indoors all the time, the other is the complete opposite.  They're like night and day, but they each bring something special into our family and have their own type of quirky sweetness.

Navigating parenthood with a teenager and a toddler simultaneously is enough to drive a person to alcoholism, but somehow my husband and I maintain our sobriety and a smidgen of our sanity.  For my part, I can't think of a single thing I'm doing that anyone would consider "good parenting".  I yell too much, I lack patience, I often threaten to sell my kids to gypsies.  I guarantee I'll never write a parenting handbook, that's for damn sure.  Unless it's a "what not to do" manual, in which case, I'd be a screaming success.

Raising rugrats isn't for the faint of heart.  But through all my shortcomings and failures, through my kids' meltdowns and breakdowns, in spite of the stress on my marriage and the strain on my bank account, I wouldn't change a thing.  My daughters make each day worth waking up for and wear me out so I sleep like the dead at night.  I won't be winning any Mom of the Year awards anytime soon, but I don't think I've screwed them up too badly.  And if all else fails and they wind up mentally unstable, I'll just blame it on their Dad.  

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