Unrealistic Dreams are the Best Dreams

I always figured that I would be some kind of Super Mom when I had kids. When my mind wandered into 'Mommy Land' (which, at the time, I thought was REALLY far away), I imagined myself, smiling and happy and surrounded by my kids. I would enjoy cleaning the house and running the kids to their various practices and recitals and classes. I was going to love to spend my days cooking and always have a hot meal ready for my husband when he got home from work. 


My family was going to be the kind of family where we sent out annual Christmas newsletters, complete with pictures, to our friends and family. My kids and I would enjoy spending time with each other, going to museums and reading and travelling all over to various places that were both educational and fun. My husband and I would avoid the mistakes that my parents made and would be able to handle arguments with civility. Our wedding would've been beautiful and our honeymoon would take place in some place like Europe or some tropical isle. 


And now that I look back on that mindset that part of me still clings to a little bit, I realize that I must have been smoking crack. 


My wedding was small. Very small. My husband and I went to the courthouse in April 2011 and got our marriage license. Our wedding took place the same day, only not at the courthouse because the Justice of the Peace was on vacation. Instead we got married by a marriage celebrant at an apple shed outside of Lovingston, Virginia. The only attendants were my mom, my dad, their chihuahua, Lady, and some random guy that came into the store to buy a bushel of apples when we were saying our vows. Our cake was an ice-cream cake that we picked up at Wal-Mart on our way out to his parents house to tell them the news and to pick up a three year old. My husband and I were very happy to be married (and still are) but we're planning to have an actual ceremony in the future. 


As for me being the happy little housewife? Ha. 


I still can't cook much other than macaroni and cheese and other things that I can just throw in the microwave, though the hubby is slowly, painfully teaching me how. I think he's determined to turn me into some master chef (which I don't think is going to happen, sorry dear). Most of the times our little cooking classes end with me being banished to the living room and him doing most of the work. I also hate cleaning. I always have, so I have no idea why in my fantasy world I thought I would transform into a Susie Homemaker. Dishes are my mortal enemy and I am so short that I have to stand on a step stool to get clothes out of the washing machine. 


Oddly enough, one thing that I imagined regarding my relationship to my husband is actually true. We actually handle our arguments with civility. We don't raise our voices. We talk to each other (sometimes with a bit of an attitude, but we're not perfect) and if one of us starts getting too upset, we leave the room and come back to the situation with a cooler head. Though I admit, I snap a little bit more than he does. Especially when he decides to count all the gray hairs on my head (and pull them out) or he finds a pimple that apparently is absolutely BEGGING to be popped. 


But the real thing that threw me for a loop? The whole kid aspect. 


Little Miss (as the three year old shall now be affectionately known as) is absolutely terrifying. She has the ability to make me laugh, cry and pull my hair out in a matter of minutes. According to my mother, this is normal in most toddlers, but I think she must be superhuman. She can go from happy to a full out tantrum over the tiniest thing (this morning, it was over the fact that I said she should eat her cereal from the box, for God's sake after I already poured it for her in a bowl) in a matter of seconds. All of my very unrealistic ideas of child rearing went right out the window with her. She's stubborn as a mule and listens about as well as a brick. Trips to fun, educational places end with meltdowns and stares from other parents as my toddler screams about how she just HAS to go on the slide just ONE MORE TIME, even though we're now running late to dinner/meeting my husband somewhere/etc. because she kicked me in the face while I tried to convince her to put her shoes on


Don't get me wrong, please. I love her with all of my heart and soul. I love cuddling and spending time with her - as much time as I possibly can. But good Lord, what was I thinking when I imagined motherhood to be a breeze?!


I guess I'm wondering if I was the only one with highly naive imaginings of motherhood/wifehood (is wifehood even a word? Probably not). Deep down, I know I'm not, but part of me is convincing myself that I must have been delusional. 


Well, not must of.