It’s been awhile since I’ve sat at this computer writing to anyone who will read. Partially because we really DON’T live a very interesting life, and I run out of things to say, but also because this life is crazy.

Having a “crazy” life in parenting terms doesn’t really mean the same as having a crazy life pre-kids. Not by a long shot. It’s just that crazy is the only descriptor that works for it. Isn’t there a quote floating around, *supposedly* by Albert Einstein that says something like “‘crazy’ is doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results”? It’s so, so apt for parenting, even if old Bert didn’t say it.

I get up in the morning, usually after being up FAR too late with my children, or sometimes to escape my children, and I say the same thing: “today is a new day”. But that’s where my particular brand of crazy begins. Because while it may be a new day, I’ll be doing basically the exact same things I do every day, and hoping against hope that today will be less hectic.

For example, every meal that I feed my children goes exactly the same way. Because I feed them. And because they seem to think that’s something I do for funsies, and not because they need the sustenance they’re both oh-so-sneakily handing off to whichever 4-legged friend will participate in the game. But I keep feeding them the same way, mostly because that’s not really optional, but I keep hoping against hope that today will be the day they calm the eff down. If we could survive with zero food, I’m guessing half of the moms in the world would just be like “eh. We’ll skip food for this ridiculous stage and pick this back up when they’re 11 or 12, when they’re ready to develop an unhealthy relationship with comfort food, like I have.” In fact, I’m sure of it. But here I am, gearing up to ask these heathens what they want for lunch.

I also do the dishes, like some of you out there. Occasionally. And every time, I’m like, this is it! My house will stay clean for forever because I did one load of dishes. I consider buying a cape for the occasion, because doing a load of dishes with small “helpers” in the house seems super human. Then breakfast, lunch, ¬†dinner, snacks, other various dish-related nonsense happens. And since I’m too busy wrestling food from an animal or scrubbing a child that felt like food was actually finger paint, the dishes remain unwashed. Then, night rolls around and I stare around my house, wondering how this could’ve happened. Where did all these dishes come from? ¬†How could I have let the house implode in just a day? Oh, wait.

You see, I really am an intelligent person (most days), but parenting and existing are things that don’t intermingle that well in my mind. I can’t seem to figure out how to do this parenting thing without losing my crap completely. I look at people with older children and I don’t understand how they made it that far without being locked in a padded cell for a bit, you know, just a little respite.

Just admit it, it doesn’t sound that bad to you, does it?