Before I start in, let me preface that I love my kids, and they were very much planned for, even the one who was conceived three months ahead of schedule. But raising children is not a fucking picnic, and not for the faint of heart. So love them to pieces or not, you're gonna find it helps to have an intact sense of humor, including sardonic, ironic, and downright rude remarks. If you can laugh while hiding your grimacing in the low moments, at least you'll survive it.
There, now that's out of the way.
So here's my thesis about Saturday morning cartoons. We all remember them fondly, whether we we're the children or the parents, back in the day. It even makes the idea of Saturday sound good. In hindsight, that's because selective memory has taken place, and we only remember the glorious Saturdays where all was well with the world, and peace on Earth reigned for two or so hour.
What our parents forgot, and we will thankfully forget too, is the Saturdays where it's too early in the morning, a child is sobbing by the side of your bed, and you turn hopelessly away in hopes your spouse will handle it (don't lie, we all do this), realize you're not gonna get out of it so easily, and then blearily open your eyes.
If you were a morning person, you'd probably open with "Why are you crying?", but I'm not, so I will confess my first thoughts are "Why do my eyes hurt? How goddamn early is it? Where is [husband]?", so I basically blurt out "Ok, wait. Mommy is still waking up." Not gonna lie: I'm kinda proud of myself. It could have been worse.
After about a couple of minutes of blinking into awareness, a small face shiny with tears comes into focus. It's the four year old, because of course.
"What's wrong?"
"My cowsie! *sobs*"
"Your what?"
"My cowsie toy! It moos!"
"We have a cow toy?"
"Yes, and it moos *sob* and I want it!"
"Is this the cow toy you were deathly terrified of?"
"It's my cow *sob* and I want it, *sob* and I can't *sob* find *sob* it!"
"Honey... Could we have breakfast?"
"*fresh sobs* Noooo! Cowsie is lost, and I want it."
"Buddy... You know mommy. Mommy needs to pee when she wakes up. I'm just gonna go pee, and then we'll find cow"
"*sob* Ok."
This is big, by the way. Two years ago, the only way I could have gotten to pee would be to carry him with me and sit him on my lap whilst peeing. So I race to the master bathroom before he changes his mind.
It's 8 am. I pee, and then gather my kiddo. "Fine, let's go look". We go downstairs, to his room (Did I mention I preferred it when my kid would refuse to ascend the stairs, calling from the bottom of it?). It looks like a tornado raced around the room. A toy box worth of hand puppets and stuffed animals is on the floor. There might be assorted other toys.
"How long have you been up?"
"A little?"
"Hmm... Ok, kiddo. Where else should we look?"
"The closet?"
"Yes. The top?"
"Well, I'm glad you didn't look on your own" ... because this is the kid who has also figured out the small step ladder, btw. I know because I caught him up on it. Last year.
I get the aforementioned step ladder in his room, and I take a look atop the closet.
"No. Sorry. No cow here."
"*sob* Cowsie is lost, and sad!"
"Buddy, there's one more place I can look, but I really want to have breakfast. We can't look on an empty stomach."
"*big sob* Okay."
I toast some frozen waffles. I make some coffee. I leave the kids (my fellow night owl, aka, my daughter, having woken too) with food, and go look in my daughter's room, aka "The Forest of Lost Toys"*. Surely enough, "cow" is hiding in the bottom of her toy trunk. I get it out, and present it to my son.
"Here's cow. Safe and sound."
"*squeezes cow, who moos ominously* Yay! *drops down cow* *runs off to play*"
Here, I could have said "God damn it!", or bellowed "Come back and take your cow!!!", but I silently contemplate just how long it will take my son to master turning on the TV on his own, figure it may take another year (thanks, husband, for springing for the indecifrable universal remote), and refrain from sighing. Instead, I look at my 7 year old and say "I should just get my coffee now."
Unaware of what a victory looks like, she just keeps chewing on her waffle. After all, it's only 8:35.
*This may or may not be the room's official title.
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