The Quest for Patience: Adventures in Being a Bonus-Mom
If anyone finds my patience, please return it. It seems I’ve misplaced it somewhere between "Do I really have to?" and "But I did that last year!" As the bonus mom to my boyfriend's kids, my days often feel like navigating a minefield of whining, dramatic sighs, and the occasional eye-roll symphony.
Take, for example, the simple task of doing dishes. You’d think I'd asked them to solve quadratic equations with their toes the way they react. “Just one dish?” is met with a performance worthy of an Oscar—sudden fatigue, existential despair, and the classic, "I did a dish last time!" as if last time wasn't a month ago.
Then there’s the homework saga. Every assignment is a new episode of “The World Is Ending and It’s All Because of Algebra.” I’ve tried to make it fun, I’ve tried the stern approach, and I've even tried indifference. Spoiler alert: none of them magically inspire academic enthusiasm.
And let's not forget the room cleaning—or as they call it, "destroying my creative expression." It’s a delicate balance, trying not to laugh as they argue that their floor-drobe (you know, the wardrobe that’s supposed to be in the closet but has somehow migrated to the floor) is actually a modern art installation.
And God forbid I ever use anything that belongs to them. The chorus of "That’s mine!" could shatter glass. Whether it's an iPad, a phone, or even the last cookie in the jar—everything suddenly becomes a treasured possession the moment I lay a finger on it. But let's get the facts straight, kiddo: that iPad? Mine. That phone? Also mine. That snack you’re clutching like it's a gold bar? Yep, you guessed it—mine too. It seems in the world of parenting, what’s mine is theirs and what’s theirs is off-limits. Who knew that borrowing a pair of scissors could spark a territorial dispute worthy of a UN intervention?
Despite the theatrics, these moments come with their own set of lessons. For instance, I’ve learned that patience isn’t just a virtue; it’s an art form, possibly involving some deep breathing exercises and a hidden stash of chocolate*. It's about picking your battles and sometimes just embracing the chaos.
Navigating bonus mom parenting isn't for the faint of heart, but it does come with its rewards—like the unexpected hugs, the whispered “I love you”, and the moments when they teach you something new (like how many days you can wear a shirt before it's "officially dirty").
So, to all fellow bonus parents out there, keep your sense of humor handy and maybe lower your standards just a smidge. After all, if you can’t find your patience, you can always find a good hiding spot until they’ve done the dishes.
*code for wine 🍷
