A Turtle Life

Today was the Pterodactyl’s last day of preschool before summer. It was a Beach Party, except we didn’t do it at the beach, so the only water was inside of the water balloons, and the only breeze was the occasional kid sneezing.
But it was cute, of course, with big hugs and smooches from the preschool teachers and a bunch of 4-year-olds arguing about who got the biggest goody bag.
“Another year!” said my friend, Mother of the Year. “It goes so fast!”
“You think so?” I asked. “Because really, I’m not finding that.”
It’s true! Oh, the years pass quickly, I suppose. It’s already June, tomorrow’s the Fourth of July and pretty soon I’ll be perusing the dregs of the Halloween costume display at Target trying to talk the Diva into being a Goth Witch with pink hair.
But the days! The hours! The minutes till bedtime! It’s a grind, I tell you, and maybe I’m just a grumpy shrew, but I think more than a few of you know exactly what I’m talking about.
If the Tyrant poops in her underpants one more time, I swear I’m going to start giving her Immodium. If the Pterodactyl doesn’t stop calling me Pee-pee-head, I’m going to give him a soapy mouth. I mean it. And the Diva - she’s pretty fucking perfect - but really, she loses every single thing she owns every single day. How am I supposed to know the secret spot where she hid her yearbook so that I wouldn’t find it?
And this daily routine! I am Sisyphus, I tell you. The kitchen is clean every morning, and then suddenly my checkbook is stuck to the counter with maple syrup glue. All of the Tupperware has been organized, and then it’s all being used as hospital beds for Webkinz. I finally fix the hinge on the storage ottoman, then Pterodactyl draws a blue ghost on it that honestly looks like a smiling penis. And no, Sharpie ink doesn’t come off of leather.
I count the hours until naptime, which only give me 1/3 relief as only 1/3 of the brood naps. Then I count the hours until 5 pm when I can have a glass of wine - and yes, I know, that’s a problem all its own, and I’ll deal with that another time - and then I count the hours till bedtime.
I really, madly, desperately love my kids...so why do I hail bedtime as something akin to the Rapture?
Well. On that note, Tyrant just did it again. She’s dancing through it, but I’m going to clean her up. It’s nap time.