Live in the moment. Cherish these early years. They grow up so fast. It doesn’t last long. It doesn’t get easier. You’ll miss these years when they’re gone.
Okay, I get it. I know I’m supposed to just soak in these days because they’ll be graduating from high school and getting married in the blink of an eye. Yeah, I live in the moment and often enjoy the company of my children, especially during the summer. My wife is a teacher and I’m a stay-at-home-dad, so that apparently makes us about the luckiest people on earth because we got to spend this summer with our two- and four-year-old angels. We’re so #blessed.
But it needs to be preschool. Cuz I’m done.
I’m done sending my son to time-out before 7:15 am because he can’t seem to figure out that there are, in fact, 14.6 million other toys in our house, so he doesn’t need the ONE TOY his sister is playing with.
I’m done planning library trips, zoo visits, special lunches, and enriching day trips, just to have one kid crying uncontrollably and the other devouring all of the snacks within five minutes of arriving.
I’m done watching Trolls. When the trainer at the gym plays “Can’t Stop the Feeling,” and you roll into the fetal position, twitching and crying, instead of diligently completing burpees and push-ups, you’ve seen Trolls too many times. I can’t remember the last time we watched the adult profile on Netflix while the sun was out.
Speaking of the gym, we go there now just to shove the kids in childcare for an hour. The only “break” we get is when we work out. Can’t our break just be a quiet moment reading the paper and drinking coffee? Seriously, I’m done.
I’m done eating lunch in 68 seconds because my kids can’t decide if this is a day when they like yogurt or not. Or if this is yet another day where they torment each other by waving spoons in each other’s faces. When the only quiet, peaceful meal you’ve had all summer was at Chick-Fil-A (thank you, sound-proof playground), then you know it’s time for preschool.
I’m done with snacks. Yeah, I mentioned snacks already, but I’m really done with snacks. Everywhere we go, we need snacks. In the car, we need snacks. At the park, we need snacks. Shopping for snacks, we need snacks. Can’t I just hook an IV to my kids and pump through their veins liquefied Goldfish mixed with Honey Nut Cheerios and milk and be done with it?
I’m done running errands with two kids. The car seats, the crying, the teasing, the car seats, the whining, the fighting, the car seats… And it’s partly my fault! Sometimes I run errands just so I can lock them in car seats for fifteen minutes and not worry about them hitting each other or running with wild abandon down the stairs.
I’m done with nap time being a war between rational expectations and toddler avoidance. If you’re rubbing your eyes and yawning at 4:15 pm, then you need to take a nap. If you fall asleep each night while the sun still has three more hours to shine, then you need to take a nap. Why do my toddlers have FOMO?! Guess what? You’re not missing anything exciting. Mom and Dad are just watching The Chew. Take a nap.
I’m done with toddler tyrants. Stop telling your sister she can’t sing “Itsy Bitsy Spider.” Stop saying “WATER!” when we’ve been teaching you for what seems like twenty years to say, “Can I have water, please?” Stop crossing your arms, kicking your feet, and saying no when we leave the house. We give ten warnings, ask you to potty six times, and remind you to grab one toy. We do this every. Single. TIME. It should not be a surprise, nor does it require a full-fledged freakout.
I’m done being an on-call personal chef, a 24-hour event planner, a prison warden, a referee, a tour guide, a financier, a head-on-a-constant-swivel preventer-of-toddler-death-by monkey bars, carrots, Ohio drivers, each other.
It needs to be preschool. Someone else needs to care for you, even if it’s only for three hours. Cuz I’m done.