A little parenting honesty...

I have three children.  They are all boys.  They are 10, 7 and 3.  (screw the oxford comma).  When we go out in public, I inevitably hear, "Bless your heart"  or " Momma's got her hands full today", "Phew, I bet they keep you busy!!!"

It is all very true.  They are exhausting.  I am tired.  Always. tired.  I am always rushing to get to one sporting event or another.  Sometimes we eat in the car.  Drew always has to snack in the car.  (the good news is, if we get stranded for a long period of time, we could survive for DAYS on the goldfish he has dropped in the floorboard).

I love them.  So much.  Yet sometimes I dream of dropping them off at school and driving straight to beach and starting a new life as a beach bartender.  I could be tan and blond and carefree, making margaritas and daiquiris all day long.

But then reality sets in and I remember that Jimmy wouldn't be able to survive without me and they would all be sitting around in filth wondering where their underwear and socks are and when someone is going to start cooking dinner.

So, I continue on.  Refereeing  the fights.  The, "he won't stop looking at me".  The, "he got more pizza than me.".  The crying.  hitting.  punching.  The messes, the spills, the stickiness.  The fact that the bathroom ALWAYS smells, no matter how often I clean it.  The underwear in the kitchen, the socks under the couch (that's where they are!).  The fact that I have to inspect them to make sure they shower and brush their teeth.

I can't type anymore, everyone is being very quiet and that's worse than the screaming.  Much, much worse.