Why I hate mother's day

See these two ladies?

At the charter school they go to, they are required to memorize a poem every grading period to recite in front of the class (this, strangely, has no affect on them.  at their age I would have broken out in a nervous sweat and probably started to cry).  The kind teachers try to match the four choices in poetry to the time of year.  In December there were verses on Christmas, Veterans Day there were ones all about soldiers... you get it.

Well, because I am Mom-Extraordinaire, I kinda forgot all about these memorizations.  Until last night.  When they were due the next day.  Great parenting, right?  Anyway, the girls pull them out, choose a poem and start practicing them while I am trying to bathe Mr. Wyatt and get the Stubborn Porter-Pot to please just clean his room already.

 **this pic was actually taken last night, after his bath, while I gave him his nightly rubdown.  He is extremely ticklish and belly laughs the entire time**

To fill you in, earlier in the day I had a total of seven giggling girls parading around my teeny living room, working on their dance for the talent show this week (six performers, one spectator).  I also was the only adult home and had my two rascal (and rather disobedient) boys running around.  And then I got it into my head to paint all of the girls' nails a neon color to match their neon costumes.

Long story, short: I got every last extra-child out of my home by 6:15.  And I had no plans whatsoever for our dinner.

We ate cereal.  Don't judge.

Fast-forward to the poem memorizing.

I finally get Wyatt to bed, then Porter goes in the baby's room and pulls him out.  One, Two, Three... "Why did you do that, Porter?"

"Because I want to play with his blocks."

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six...

"Did you get your room clean?"

"Yes."

No, no his room wasn't clean.  "Go clean it up the right way please."

All during this Piper and Adi are following me around, competing for my sole attention in hearing them recite.  I sit down on my bed between the girls and we start again.

Wyatt cries, Porter runs into his room and shuts the door.  "What happened Porter?"

"Nothing."

"Why is Wyatt crying?"

"He was touching my tools so I pushed him away."

Back to bed Wyatt goes.  Back to "cleaning" Porter goes.

Meanwhile, the girls have broken out into a full-on cat fight over who gets to write their poem on the white board (we have two).

I send Adi into my room to practice while I sit on the couch next to Piper, with the promise that I will be right in to hear hers.

Adi is scared to be alone in my room with the door shut.  I have absolutely no idea why.  The girl is afraid when I take a shower at night and Orrin isn't home.  Also to go in the garage in the middle of the day to get me a roll of paper towels.  Big chicken, this one is.

"Adison!  Just do it."  This was not said in my nicest voice.

Porter comes running by with marker all over his hands.

"Porter, what is that on your hands?"

"Nothing." (Why do kids think this line will work?)

"Why aren't you cleaning your room?"  He turns around and runs back to his room.

"Mom! Please listen to me!"  Whiny Piper voice has made it's appearance.

"I am now focused solely on...  PORTER GRANT MERRILL!  GET BACK IN YOUR ROOM AND PICK UP YOUR TOYS!"

Notice the all-caps?  Once again, not in my kindest voice.

"But it's cleeean!!" He is now jumping up and down in frustration.

I can see the floor of his room from the couch.  "Nope, it's not.  See the clothes on the floor?  And the toys?  And is that your sister's purse?"

"AAAARRRGGGHHH!"  He stomps away.

"Mo-om!" Piper's whining.

"I'm scared!  I'm scared!"  Adi in the bedroom.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

That might have been me.

Very loud sigh.  Deep breath in, long exhale, and rubbing of my head.

"Ok, Pipes.  It's all you."

"Motherhood

The dearest gifts that heaven holds,

The very finest, too,

Were made into one pattern

That was perfect, sweet, and true;

The Angels smiled, well-pleased, and said:

'Compared to all the others,

This pattern is so wonderful

Let's use it just for Mothers!"

And through the years, a Mother

Has been all that's sweet and good

For there's one bit of God and love,

In all true motherhood."

Well, hello guilt.

"Hmmm... that sounds exactly like me, doesn't it Pipes?"  I may be a bit sarcastic.

"Um, sometimes..." This girl could be a politician.

"Ha! I don't think I'm exactly 'all that's sweet and good' tonight, am I?"

"Well, maybe you should work on that."