“Can I put Mr. Potato Head’s ears in my butt?” A story on Embracing the Chaos.

I used to be your typical type-A personality—someone who had to have everything planned out to an effing T. This initially helped me as a mother, at least in the planning stages… until it drove me insane (literally; hello, post-partum).

I mean, there is definitely a certain amount of organization needed in the day-to-day care of little beings who eat, poop, and later question and demand around the clock. But too much of it takes away from the fun of just hangin’ with these wackos—who, like it or not, bring you back to the present moment time and time again:

3 y/o: (Sobbing at the breakfast table.) “I don’t waaaant my butter to melt… it’s too melty.”

Me: “It’s not a big deal. Why are you crying?”

(Sobbing intensifies.)

“Uh, ok, here’s some more butter. Look, look, not melted.”

3 y/o: (Sobbing replaced by giddy laughter.) “Mmm. These pancakes are super yummy, thank you!”

1 y/o: (Throwing leftover food on the floor, including bottle of milk that splatters everywhere.) “Out, out, aaaaaaahhhhhut!”

Breakfast is finally cleaned up, and I’m rushing to get 3 y/o to school. 1 y/o refuses to put shoes on. In the meantime, 3 y/o strips off clothes and starts a naked dance party. 1 y/o follows suit.

Slowly but surely, these kiddos have whittled me down to your average scatterbrain. No matter how hard I try to stay organized—you should just see my suburban-mom-cheese-ball giant refrigerator calendar—sh*t happens. I lose my keys (did you know that those car remote thingies cost a ton to replace? I do now.) I ding up my car. I shrink my husband’s clothes. And lose my new expensive night guard. They’re little things, really, and I’m learning to forgive myself for them. Because you know what happens when I beat myself up over all my inadvertent mistakes? I make even more of them.

Case in point, the downward spiral of the iPhone fiasco:

The other week, out of nowhere, my iPhone stopped working. No phone calls in, no phone calls out, no particular cause. (That’s another thing: I seem to have never-ending problems with my phone—cracked screen, no sound, you name it. Sometimes I can’t even find it for days. Of course, I also have kids constantly handling said phone, so you do the math.) I lost precious hours trying various internet-suggested solutions, working myself up into a tizzy. Eventually, I had but one choice: to rush to that all-important technological Mecca, the Genius Bar—and en route, I got a flat. I mean the tire practically burst on the expressway, and I was stranded with no freaking phone (not a working one, in any case).

I’m going to spare you the boring details of how I got in touch with and “rescued” by roadside assistance, and skip to the part a couple days later when I got a speeding ticket while trying to ferry my reluctant daughter to school—on my own street, nonetheless.

It is what it is.

What’s the lesson behind all this mayhem, you ask? I’m not a 100% sure, but I think that’s just how my life is right now, and I have to accept it: it’s nuts, it’s chaotic, it’s fun and intense and exhausting and utterly unplannable (calendar, be damned).

I love my kids more than anything in the world. And my husband. And my cat. And my family and friends and neighbors and community. And my writing and TV shows and exercise and books—my cup runneth over.

This hasn’t always been the case—not even close. So, instead of trying to keep chaos at bay, shouldn’t I just be thankful for it? Shouldn’t I accept that at this time in my very full life, mistakes will be made?

I think while it’s good to try and keep track of all the moving parts, we also need to leave room for the madness. For me, this includes impromptu dance parties and King Kong-level meltdowns. Lost phones and poopy pants. Parking tickets, booboo’s, and questions. Lots and lots of questions (just from the 3 y/o so far, thank gawd):

“Mommy, why are you wearing a diaper?”
“Umm…” (Because my insides gush out of me once a month, sweet-pea, and yours will too one day.)

“I hope he lets me play with his toys this time. Why does he only let the boys play with him?”
“Umm…” (Internal sobbing.)

“Mommy, can I put Mr. Potato Head’s ears in my butt?”

BIO:
Jessie Kanzer is a stay-at-home mom of two little girls (and a cat) in Dobbs Ferry, NY. She spent years pursuing on-air dreams, writing for ad agencies, and lamenting lost opportunities. Now, she is finding her voice as an authentic writer and human. You can follow her on Twitter and Pinterest, where she really has no idea what she’s doing.

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