Mommy is very, very unhappy

The first thing that hits me is the smell. Waves of strongly-scented MAN perfume emanate from the bathroom.

Nervously I approach the doorway and peer inside. Blue gel whirls around the white marble, swooping and clumping and creating dramatic lines. Then I spy the can of gel shaving cream precariously perched on the side of the tub.

“CJ!!!!!” I shout.

He sidles in, a half-smile on his face. “What mom?” He asks, feigning innocence.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” I gesture my arm toward the blue mess. “You KNOW you’re not supposed to do this with daddy’s shaving cream,” I add. (This is not the first time).

He looks at me smugly. “Well, you should have put it up HIGHER.” he informs me.

Riiiight.

I finish cleaning up the shaving cream (gak it reeks!) and move on to laundry. I pile dirty clothes into the laundry basket and head downstairs.

ARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Pools of neon color form sticky patterns on our light Berber carpet.

Orange and green and red and pink… in splotches and speckles and big muddled messes.. across the entire family room and onto our couch.

What IS this stuff?

Then I notice the brightly colored wrapper of a Push-up Popsicle lying on its side, a pool of melted goo coming from its open end.

“CEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

He sits on the couch swinging his legs and watching me as I scrub the at the carpet, cursing under my breath.

He knows better than to even try to get up. Mommy is very, very unhappy.

And the truth is, mommy is more than just unhappy. I feel like laughing hysterically, screaming maniacally, and sobbing all at once. On days like these all I know is that I don’t know how to be the mom to this child.

 

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