Part of me believes that there are just some parental inevitabilities, you know, universal truths that our own parents experienced and no matter how hard we try our best to be different and unlike our own parents we fail.
Because kids are kids, whether they've got an Atari Joystick or a Nintendo 3DS in their hand. Or they're wearing Cavariccis or Cavariccis. Again.
There will always be a trail of clothes on the floor. And wrappers dropped exactly where the lollipop was opened.
In some ways, this constant is comforting. And not just beause I'm way too tired to play Sherlock Holmes.
There's something reassuring about humanity knowing that we left crumbs on our mother's precious carpet and so do our kids. The crumbs might now be from organic bunny cookies and not the Keebler variety, but fancy pants cookies and those other ones jacked up on high fructose corn sugar that taste really freaking good crumble all the same.
No matter how creative I try to be, I still end up sounding like my mom, which as I'm learning, isn't such a bad thing.
I constantly remind my children to put things back where they belong, or "If you had put it back in the first place then you'd know where it is now" which hearing as a kid was so incredibly eyeroll-worthy but now makes perfect sense, so much so that when it does happen it makes me unreasonably happy. I'm not quite sure how my mom stopped herself from doing some sort of audacious "I told you so!" dance.
I don't have quite the same self-control.
And the crying for absolutely no apparent reason, well for other than a major injury, grief, or missed opportunity for mommy to make out with Ryan Reynolds sends me into a spiral that manifests as the dreaded "I can think of about 40 other actual things to cry about like children who have no food at all and wouldn't be crying because you cut their hot dog at the wrong angle," which is a lighter version of my parents' "I'll give you something to cry about" which I never actually understood what the hell they were talking about until now.
It's no wonder I was sent to my room to ponder such things on a regular basis. And if I didn't go on my own, I would have received their assistance getting there, a handy service I too offer my own kids.
There's plenty that I do differently than my mom, if only because I've got more resources, support, and drive thru Starbucks at my fingertips than she ever did.
But even with all my fancy nursing tops, self-warming baby bottles, and strollers that can practically drive themselves, we're still moms who just want our kids to pick up their crap and for god sakes put it the hell away.