This Crazy Ninja Mom

I'm a mom, so I must be crazy, right? I mean, who on Earth would voluntarily sign up for the disasters of child rearing? Don't get me wrong, I love my little hell raising munchkins and would go complete momma bear on anyone questionable within remote distance of them. But they are hell raisers. How is it that a kid can turn a clean, tidy, and organized living room into an episode of Hoarders in 10 seconds flat? Where in the world do these toys keep coming from!


And the smells... don't even get me started on the foul odors that have a habit of wafting from my 2yr old's rear as he grins and denies there is poop. I'm of the mindset he believes there is a magical poop fairy that dirties his diaper and he is completely without blame. Or a sense of smell.

I have two boys, this means a constant barrage of legos and little green army guys. Beware intruders, I have my own security system a la kid patrol. If it weren't bad enough that I have two boys, my husband makes number three. He. is. just. as. bad. He is also the answer to the above question of where all these toys keep coming from. He is absolutely 100% re-living his childhood through them. Every lego, every little green army guy, every toy weapon.

What exactly is it that makes me crazy then? I want more. Nature has a funny way of smoothing over the horrible experiences of pregnancy, the disastrous delivery room mishaps, and those miserable first few weeks of zombified parenting. Oh I remember everything clearly - how awful each of those experiences were for me, but also- now that I've been over those hurdles twice I see and remember the majority of good occasions. There would be a lot of only children if we didn't have this little memory numbing buff after childbirth.

And this concludes your brief introduction to this crazy ninja mom. Oh! Except the ninja part. But that's pretty much self explanatory. I'm a mom so I must be a ninja to do everything I need to do and still function. And I have boys, so we play ninja a lot.