I almost cracked this morning.
Legit, straight jacket, get thee to a nunnery Ophelia, cracked.
I was depositing a check into the ATM, an action I have done countless times. An action that is so simple, a trained chimp can do it.
But there I was, outside the bank.
And the machine had so many questions. Pin number? Language choice? Deposit? Withdrawal? Did I want a receipt?
Easy, routine questions, with answers I actually know. But this morning, I sat there, dumbfounded. Shocked at the slow reaction time of my brain.
Then it happened.
I started to laugh. And not just a giggle, a full on, no-holds-barred, belly laugh. I sat in my car laughing for at least 6 minutes. I laughed so long and so hard, I scared the baby.
After 3 consecutive days with all of my children, I am questioned out.
These kids are like little sponges, small but powerful and mighty supercomputers. They all are little Johnny 5′s yelling at me, “Input! Need more input! Input!!! INPUT!”
I am their Encyclopedia Britannica. The first source of all their knowledge. And I am tapped out. I’m tired of talking. I’m tired of answering. I’m tired of questions.
Because there is a six year age difference between my oldest two, I’m slowing discovering that the questions asked of me are on two different levels of my consciousness. The 3-year-old asks general questions about life . . .
“Where do lollipops grow?”
“Will I be big like Daddy one day?”
“Is Daddy your brother?”
“How your ’gina (short for vagina) work?”
“Where did I grow?”
While the 9-year-old asks questions of fact . . .
“Do I have soccer tonight?”
“What did you pack me for lunch?”
“Do I have to read everyday this week?”
“When does so-and-so get back from sleep away camp?”
“Can I play with my cousin on Wednesday?”
This huge difference forces me to recesses of my brain I didn’t know existed. If the average human only uses 10% of their brain, I’m pretty sure the average mom is forced to use more. Where the hell is Alex Trebeck when you need him?
Of course, like every mom, I want my kids to be well rounded, inquisitive and knowledgeable. I answer all their copious questions with as much of a straight face as I can keep and to the best of my knowledge based upon their level of understanding. But, MY G-D . . . I feel like I am on the longest job interview EVER!! And I don’t see the end in sight.
No one likes interviewing for a job. Personally, I’d rather have a root canal—it’s quicker and less painful. If you are interviewing for a job that means one of two things: either you are out of work (really high pressure because you need a job) or you hate your current job (also very high stress).
But here’s the thing about the job interview that is Motherhood . . .
I ALREADY HAVE THIS JOB!
My resume has been checked and is on file. Background check? Done. You little animals have my DNA. References? Ask your father.
But the incessant questions will continue, no matter what.
They will always have questions for me.
Maybe about quantum physics or my past, or their future, or what color is made when you mix red and white . . . and no matter how much I’d like to hide in the closet with my headphones on listening to Prince’s Purple Rain album in its entirety, on repeat . . . I can’t.
At least not today.
Because they asked for Chicken and Dumplings for dinner and I’m gonna make it.
I just need to ask my mom for her recipe.
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