5 Things I Can No Longer Do Quickly
A week or so ago, I was trying to prod E to get changed so that we could make a Chipotle run. It was a cold, rainy, day, and she was wearing a tutu skirt and a tank top, which is otherwise known in our house as her “daily uniform.” I needed her to put on something that resembled pants. This is what happened:
Me: E, go put on a pair of pants.
E: No, I don’t know how.
Me: Yes, you do. You dress yourself every day. Here, I’ll even pick a pair out for you.
[Hands her a pair of jeans.]
E: I can’t do it BY MYSELF!
Me: Yes, you can. Now. Go. Get. Dressed.
Now, at this point, any sane parent would have just grabbed the pants and helped her almost-five-year-old get into them. However, fueled by exhaustion and miserably hangry, I irrationally turned this into <cue newscaster voiceover> Pantsgate 2014.
Me: E, if you don’t get dressed right now, you’ll go to bed with no TV tonight.
E: No!
Me: YES!
E: You’re being MEAN! I don’t want to wear PANTS!
Me: You have to wear pants. It’s freezing outside! And I want to GO EAT. Get dressed!”
E: Noooooooo! I don’t want to go to Chip-oh-tay! I want to stay hoooooommmmmme and playyyyyyyyy with my Barrrrbiieeeeeeeees!
At this point, she throws herself onto her bed in a spectacular display of dramatics. I continue to offer vague threats. She continues to resist my parental powers. I tell her no TV until she’s 30.
What I lost sight of that day is that when you become a parent, you have to resign yourself that you will never, ever, be able to do anything quickly. Ever again. Ever.
In the time it took me to argue with her about putting on some seasonably appropriate garb, I could have simply helped her get her pants on, strapped her into the car, and been enjoying my first bite of that deliciously spicy fajita bowl. So, in hindsight and for your enjoyment, I present: Five Things You’ll Never Do Quickly Again Once You Become A Parent.
Leave the house.
Once they start forming their own opinions, the once-simple practice of getting kids dressed to go anywhere enters a new interplanetary dimension. They’ll decide, of course, that the shirt they’ve worn 75 times before is now “too itchy.” They’ll decide that the only shoes that could POSSIBLY be worn to church/school/Grandma’s that day is the pair of muddy Crocs that are lying in the sandbox in the backyard. Or, they’ll decide they have to poop as soon as you strap them in the carseat, despite having asked 15 times if they had to use the bathroom beforehand. They’ll be climbing in the car and realize they absolutely MUST HAVE their collection of stuffed mermaids before they leave – all six of them. You get the idea. Need to be somewhere by 3 p.m.? Start getting them ready at 7 a.m. You MIGHT get there on time.
Cook.
My kiddo’s been “cooking” with me since she was about 2 years old. At first, she would just stir and pour, but now that she actually has a handle on how things work in the kitchen, her favorite expression has become, “I can do it by mySELF!” She has her own kid’s knife, and loves to help me chop vegetables, and just about everything else that is choppable, for that matter, even if it’s not real food. She also wants to measure. And pour. And stir. I love that she is developing some mad cooking skillz at such a young age, but this takes patience on my part. Lots of patience. With a capital P.
Clean.
“Can I help? Can I help? Can I help? Can I help?”
Ever try to clean the house with a toddler or preschooler? Enough said.
Go to bed.
You’re tired? That’s cute. Each night, no matter how exhausted you are, no matter how seductively that pillow-topped mattress is calling your name, you must first do battle atop Mount Tired. In our house, this usually means a few hours of playtime after dinner, then bath, then snack, then story, then, finally, bedtime. While I do love my snuggle-bunny time with my sweet girl – and I know it’ll come to an end all too soon — some nights, I just want to Go. To. Bed.
Shop.
You need milk, bread, juice and some cereal. Pre-kid, you could zip and zing with laser-like focus to specific aisles, bing, bang, boom, D-O-N-E. Today, as soon as my kiddo hears the phrase “grocery store,” she asks, “Can I get a cookie? Can I get a cookie? Mom, can I get a cookie there?” Sure, you can get a free cookie that is larger than your head and filled with 50 grams of sugar right before we eat lunch. NO PROBLEM. Thanks, grocery store people, you’re the best! Sorry, I digress. Regardless, trips to the grocery store now involve a stop at the deli for a piece of cheese, perhaps the aforementioned oversized cookie, a look at the live lobsters swimming in their own poo-infested tank, stopping to sniff all of the hand-crafted soaps in the beauty section and, of course, restocking all of the tuna cans she “organized” while I was digging through my coupons. You get the idea.
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photo credit: Teecycle Tim via photopin cc