The Best Kind of Crazy

Three Year Old: “STOP sharing your snack with me!”

One Year Old: *continues sharing*

Three Year Old: “MOOOOOOOOM! Leighton is SHARING WITH ME!”

Me: *blank stares*

Three Year Old: “This is NOT the time for sharing!” *loud, ear-piercing shrieks*


I’m in the thick of it, ya’ll. I’m in the trenches of motherhood and every day, I’m run down to empty as I attempt to parent these two toddlers. I feel like a crazy person. Things go from zero to epic meltdown in a matter of seconds while the girls push each others’ buttons and test the limits with me. I mean, freaking out because your sister is SHARING WITH YOU!? That just doesn’t make sense.

We’re at the point in our lives where getting out of the house means asking the oldest to get her shoes 132423 times before she actually retrieves them from the closet. It takes another 57 attempts at putting on said shoes because she insists on doing it herself. Meanwhile, the youngest has scaled the banister and is halfway up the stairs while hanging onto the outside railing – part baby, part monkey style.

My van is a mess, and I can’t quite figure out what that smell is. By the time we’re all buckled in and ready to go, I’m breaking a sweat so I crank the radio to drown out the cries and blast the AC vents toward my armpits because I’m pretty sure I forgot to put on deodorant today.

There are animal crackers and used tissues on the front seat and a movie rental that has been sitting there for at least 4 days because unloading the kids and dragging them into the store to return a single DVD sounds like my worst nightmare. Likewise, I don’t want to grocery shop with them so the spilled goldfish serve as my lunch for the day.

The oldest complains her milk is yucky but refuses new milk. The youngest can’t quite verbalize her wants and desires so she resorts to hitting and biting. Disciplining a one-year old for hitting and biting is getting me nowhere so I put myself in a time-out instead. It goes on and on.

But you want to know the craziest part? I want another baby. Like, not tomorrow or anything nutty like that, but sometime in the near future I’d like to start thinking about it. Does that make me certifiably insane or what? Because as fast as she can throw a fit, my three-year old turns around and asks me to braid her hair for the first time or to take a picture while she makes funny faces. She will randomly say, “Happy Mother’s Day, I love you, Mom!” even though that day as come and gone. She calls her sister “sweetie” and “honey” when she’s not screeching about sharing her snacks. The baby, who really isn’t even a baby anymore, gives kisses and hugs and seems to be learning new words every day. She loves to sing and dance, and I’ll take all the crazy that comes with toddlerhood if it means I get a million more moments like that.

These kids drive me to the brink day in and day out but I don’t know what I’d do without them. They’re my biggest challenge and greatest accomplishment all at the same time and I’m constantly amazed by this motherhood gig. It really is the best. Stale crackers and all.

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