Goober goes back to school tomorrow! Whoo hoo! Is there any booze left-over for a toast? No, damn. It's not that I don't enjoy my daughter's company, really. It's just that...uumm...I appreciate it more when there's less of it?..No, that still sounds mean. Meh, whatever, I'm mean then.
I know, I know "Treasure these moments, for they are fleeting" and "They grow up so fast and you'll miss these days when they're gone" and so on and so forth, but the truth is I can only stand so much. I am not cut out to be a full time mom. I look forward to my children growing older and gaining more independence. I'm impatient and selfish and I would rather read a book than play Barbies. The idea of homeschooling is laughable for me. It's been more than 2 weeks since school has been out and bad weather has forced us to spend most of it indoors in our very small house in our very small town. Goober is the kind of person who needs large spaces. There is simply too much of her to be contained. Too much energy, too much imagination, too much emotion, too much volume. I don't want to stifle her. I believe in the idea of self expression and acceptance, but in practice.....fucking sit still and shut up for 2 god damned minutes! The child is simply incapable of silence.
"Go and sit on the stairs! 5 minute time out."
"The time doesn't start until you're quiet."
"You know why you're here, when you're quiet the timer starts."
"I want my blanket!"
"I want my Grandma!"
"I don't like Mommy!"
"I hate my life!"
"How much longer?"
"Five minutes. You haven't been quiet yet so no time has passed."
"How much longer now?"
"Don't let Mooch touch my puppy!"
"I'm Sorrry, I'm sorrrrryy! I looove you. Can I get off now?"
"I don't know HOW to be quiet!"
For the love of God child shut-up. Can you really not shut the hell up for one minute? Apparently not. It's like that scene in Fierce Creatures where Kevin Kline is holding a gun to Michael Palin's head, ordering him to stop talking or die and he just keeps on rambling, while Kevin begins to scream "He would rather speak than live!" and it's hilarious. Goober is like that, only less hilarious.
All Christmas toys and games aside, the best laughs are still produced by rolling around with the girls: swinging them in the air, spinning in circles, flying, flipping, wrestling and such, and that is as it should be. But again, I'm only human, and my endurance runs out long before theirs does. I am left a worn out shell, seeing spots while trying to catch my breath as they fight and whine and cry for more. I lay panting on the couch, thinking about how different they are. Goober is a tightly wound coil of power. Her small frame contains springy muscles and sharp bones. Playing with her hurts. I didn't notice her growing so strong and quick. Long flailing limbs and hard jabbing elbows are all the more apparent when I compare them to Mooch's squishy softness. My baby is so soft and mushy, with chubby padded knees and hands that lull you into a false sense of security. I get swallowed up by her perfect yummy skin and can't resist gobbling her chubby cheeks and round tummy. Then, once she has lulled me into a false sense of security with her harmless ways and clumsy movements and I have dropped all of my carefully built, Goober-proof, self-defence mechanisms...she head-butts me right in the nose with her rock solid forehead. Ouch.
We have played house, had tea-parties, watched movies, played cards, twister, board-games, play-doh, Barbies, School, painting, colouring, dress-up, Store, tobogganing and tag. Not to mention having baked cookies, read stories, made music, put on plays, built forts, given make-overs and played computer games and I'm out of ideas.
So bring on the public school, please God I need a vacation.