Well, we’re back home again. The Dr. is off on Wednesday, so no paperwork was processed. We’ll try again tomorrow.

Shawn and I are sitting in a La Quinta hotel room waiting for the head to tell the foot where to go next.

When he was put on disability the lady at HR said that all he had to do was fax in the release from the Dr. and he’d be good to go. We should have known better.

When we arrived in Fontana we faxed off the release. Then we waited. While we waited we swatted flies and ate our lunch.

The guy who assigns trucks came back from wherever he had been and told Shawn he needed to call the HR lady and find out if he had to have a drug screen before he could assign him to a truck. He still had a truck for him in San Leandro, but he can’t assign it to him officially yet.

Of course, by this time it’s 4 pm Omaha time and the HR lady isn’t answering her phone. It just goes to voice mail over and over and over again. Shawn left at least three messages. You’d think that she would have called us back this morning when she got in, but no, of course not, us sitting here isn’t important. She has better things to do than return phone calls from people who can’t do their job until she does hers.

So here we sit, back at the hotel room, waiting for the Dr.’s office to open. They’ve been faxed three copies of the “approved” release form to two different fax numbers.

What this means for me is that I have to sit here in the hotel room and drink hotel room coffee when there’s a Starbucks within sniffing distance. Sometimes life just isn’t fair.

I love my girls, really I do. If you asked them they’d say yes they know that I love them, and then they’d roll their eyes at you. As much as I love my girls I don’t always love being a mom.

Now don’t get me wrong, I do love being a mom. It’s something I always wanted to be. When I was little I would tell my Mom that I was going to have kids, but I wasn’t going to have a husband to boss me around. Obviously Shawn changed the last part for the better.

So just for you, and in all honesty me too, here is a list of what I hate about being a mom.

Not having any privacy. With my girls being almost 11 and almost 6 1/2 you’d think they’d realize that I don’t need help getting dressed, going to the bathroom, or taking a shower.

An hour before dinner time hearing, “I’m starving and I can’t wait.” Translated that means, feed me in the next five minutes or you’re going to wish you had blinders and noise canceling headphones. At this point I grab a bs chicken breast throw it on the foreman and whip up chicken quesadillas, no sauce. That last part is important. When served with about 1/4 cup of sour cream it makes a semi-healthy meal. The problem with this is that SuperChic picks out the meat and leaves the rest behind while Rapunzel cleans her plate, sour cream included.

Laundry. I know, I know, I have to do laundry whether I have kids or not. My problem is that I can’t keep up. A few weeks ago I washed and folded (getting it all folded at the same time is huge) ALL the laundry. Shawn and the girls even put it all away for me. Fast forward to five days later and SuperChic has no clean clothes. You know those shows where the kid goes through their clothes item by item looking for “just the right thing” and everything that isn’t “right” gets chucked? Well that’s what SuperChic does. EVERY DAY. I can’t keep up.

Cold feet and hands. I hate it when the girls climb in bed with me and put their cold hands and feet on me, because they don’t just put their hands on my arm. Oh no, they lift my shirt and put their hands on my belly or back or in my armpit. Talk about waking up quickly and unhappily.

Homework. I hate fighting with the girls over doing their homework. Even if I stay calm, they end up in tears. Let’s just say I get lied to on a regular basis about the amount of homework. What’s worse is when I’m asked for help. I don’t mind helping, that’s part of being a mom, but I am not going to do your homework for you. Oh, and if you ask for my help and I tell you what you need to do, don’t tell me I’m wrong.

Finding food, everywhere. I’m not a huge fan of letting my girls starve so I don’t get why I find half eaten pieces of fruit/sandwiches/crackers/etc. all over the house. I hate cleaning their rooms because I’m always afraid of what nasty thing I will find. Oh, and the hidden stashes of candy wrappers. Those are almost as bad, because I never know where I will find them. DVD cases, between pages of a book, inside rarely used bowls high up in the cabinets, inside pillow cases, inside backpacks/folders, and thrown inside the covered cat box. At least they’re not sticky.

Whining. Oh how I hate whining. SuperChic has it down to an art. She even knows when she’s doing it, because if you tell her to stop using her “Whiny Voice” she does.

Tattling. This has been what precedes most of SuperChic’s conversations lately, “I’m not trying to get Rapunzel in trouble, but….” Ugh, it’s annoying.

Lying. When I ask them who did something and they both say “not me.” When I ask them, I know it wasn’t me, and Shawn isn’t home to have done it, that really narrows down the list. Once I asked if Tito did it and they both said yes. And they wonder why I don’t always trust them.

Puke. I can handle dirty diapers without complaint. Puke on the other hand, I hate. I clean it up after everyone. Me, Shawn, the girls, the cats, the dogs. The only pet we had that didn’t puke was fish. When the girls are sick I cover their pillow with towels and give them an empty trash can. It’s easier to rinse out the can than scrub four feet of carpet.

Repeat. If I could remove that function from Rapunzel’s cd player I would. I hate listening to this over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. I get that you miss KK, but listening to “your song” over and over will not magically bring her back to California.

Lack of personal space. Just because you’re standing next to me doesn’t mean you have to be touching me all the time. You don’t like it when I do it to you, don’t do it to me.

Fighting. With two firstborns I deal with this a lot, and I don’t always deal with it well. Especially when in public. I get that you both want to sit by me, but I am going to pick whichever kid that will cause the crying to stop the fastest. Which usually means SuperChic sits by me, even when Shawn is home. Lame, I know.

Arguing. Everything I say merits argument. EV-VER-RY-THING. It’s time to eat dinner = what are we having? = chicken = I’m not eating that = Yes you are. Go to bed = it’s not my bedtime yet. No you can’t have/do _______ = but you (insert Whiny Voice) promised.

And Finally, the zinger. Realizing that my girls are just like me.

So what do you hate about being a mom?

Ok, we all know what everyone is going to be talking about tonight so I’m just going to state my opinion. If your opinions are different than mine that’s ok by me, but please don’t leave mean comments. I don’t really want to discuss my opinions farther than what I am about to write.

First, I am not registered to vote. I registered once when I was 18, but none of it made any sense to me. When I was pregnant with SuperChic Illinois was going through an election year. I was on bed rest with no cable, I watched a lot of campaign crap. And I do mean a lot. The people I would have voted for, for Senator and DA, were both elected.

Second, this year there were a lot of different things to consider when voting. I really wasn’t sure which way to turn in the beginning. Generally, I’d vote Democratic, if I voted, but I wouldn’t have voted for Clinton. I think she could do the job well, but now isn’t the time. At first Obama was my choice. As I said I would usually vote Democratic.

Third, as the election got farther and farther along I realized that, in my opinion, McCain was the better choice.

Fourth, I would vote for the better candidate, no matter their affiliation. This weekend I found out my parents vote the same way. This made me feel much better, because I thought that if you registered Democrat you HAD to vote Democrat. I now know that this isn’t true.

Fifth, by the time I realized that I really had an interest in this election and that I actually had the desire to vote, it was too late. I don’t know what it was about this election, but I do know that it had nothing to do with the actual candidates themselves, but it just felt different to me.

I think it has more to do with a maturity in myself that wasn’t there in the past. I’ve grown a lot in the last six years, but this last year has definitely been a big change for me. Maybe it has to do with being 30 next month, maybe it has to do with being happy with me. Whatever it is, I plan on embracing it.

And finally, next election I plan on being registered, and I plan on voting.

Can I just add that this was not the post I planned on writing. It just happened.