I may be writing this whilst angry.
I just experienced one of the 700,000,000 times that I am unable to do anything official without my husband’s “permission”.
Previously it was over the phone.
Me to CSR: I need to blah blah blah to our account
CSR: Your name?
Me: Corinn and I proceed to answer all of the security questions correctly,
CSR: Oooooo, I’m sorry. I can’t give you that information because your name is not on the account. Read more
“No one else will ever know the strength of my love for you. After all, you’re the only one who knows the sound of my heart from the inside.”
I have seen this quote so many times and it reminds me of those memes that show expectation vs. reality.
Not to diminish the sweetness of the phrase. I love it. I have lived the reality of it. I love my children with a fierce, overwhelming love over which I have zero control. I am amazed at it sometimes. The largeness of it, the protective nature that takes over without my control.
There is another phenomenon of parenting that also never ceases to amaze me, almost as much as the depth of my love for my children.
The sheer audacity these people have whenever I close the restroom door. Apparently the privilege of hearing my heartbeat from the inside entitles these people to demand entrance into that specific room whenever I enter it for whatever reason. At that moment it is imperative that they know if I believe Pluto should still be a planet, where have all the grapes gone, do I know of any friends that live around us, or if I think we could go get new shoes immediately after my shower.
Thankfully after the age of two they do not just bust in, but that has been replaced with knocking on the door and a full conversation through the door. My favorite is when they are talking to me over the shower noise and I have to turn off the the shower to hear the burning questions.
“Why don’t you just ignore them??,” you may ask.
Because. The one time I do not answer someone will be bloodied and broken, the house will be on fire or we will be under a mandatory evacuation that actually does require my assistance.
Not to minimize the importance of Pluto’s status in the universe, but I feel like my opinion on that matter may be able to wait until I have dried my hair.
Someone asked me yesterday, “So, what’s your house like with three sons?”
My answer? “Loud.”
Very, very loud.
This morning so many things were going on in the short two hours I have been awake.
Item one: We are getting ready to go somewhere. I had to yell over the Dude Perfect that was blaring from the TV for everyone to get ready. Thanks to the recent change in seasons, no one could find pants that fit. No one. My jeans must have shrunk since last season — they were making this terrible muffin top. Dumb dryer.
Evan came in wearing a pair of jeans that were size 14. He wears a 10. When I told him they were too big he proceeded to get another pair that fit better. Also size 14. Given the wailing that ensued from the first pair of too big jeans, I just tightened them (thank you person that invented the adjustable waist. You should receive the Nobel Peace Prize) and rolled them up.