There I was, biking through the city center with two screaming kids. Moments like this test every ounce of my parenting resolve. My youngest pedaled in the front seat, legs flailing, arms swinging wildly—he was overtired and furious. Behind me, my older boy pounded my back, howling for reasons unclear. Ready for school? Absolutely.
Table of Contents
As a mom of two energetic boys, I know the joys and chaos of parenting firsthand. Many fellow moms nod in agreement: it's not always easy. Some days, I fantasize about gently tucking them behind the wallpaper for a breather. I'm ashamed to admit it, but it's true. Yet, these two are my greatest loves—I'd walk through fire for them.
Unlike some, I occasionally daydream about life without the constant whirlwind—not that I'd trade it. My busy life with them is everything. But on days they're with their dad, I get rare peace. I know they're having a blast, which eases my mind.
In the early months post-separation, I'd cry amid Duplo towers and toy car garages. The house felt eerily quiet. Evenings, I'd swear I heard their cries—until reality hit.
Months later, I'm embracing solo time. No partner needed (though one might be nice eventually)—I've got this. Those days mean sleeping in (my body clock disagrees), leisurely breakfasts, self-care, errands, shopping, wine, festivals, and great company.
Of course, I miss my boys constantly. But I cherish the recharge. Does that make me a bad mom? Guilt creeps in.
Read also: motherhood is tough, top 10
Noud (nearly 4) and Mees feed off each other. Apart, they're angels; together, it's a different story. Noud craves new challenges. Moody days signal he's outgrowing home play. Next week, he'll trial preschool mornings—hoping it channels his energy positively.
They adore each other: Mees shadows Noud like a monkey, mimics his screams, gets comforted in tears. But after 15 minutes, tensions rise. Noud can't resist interfering (with good intentions), driving Mees wild.
No matter how often I intervene, it escalates. Mees snaps, I snap, Noud stomps and yells. I stay calm externally, but Mees wails.
Time for fresh air. Noud bikes, Mees in the stroller. Halfway, Noud quits. "Keep pedaling," I urge. "Home soon—I've got the stroller." Grumbles ensue until his pedal snaps off. He tumbles into nettles, erupting in welts and screams. Comfort fails; he demands a carry (impossible with stroller and bike). He flops down. Mees fusses, tossing his rabbit repeatedly.
After failed soothing, I walk on—he'll follow. Nope. One hand on stroller, the other hauling the bike. Mees ramps up; Noud snails behind, sobbing.
We make it home. Evening brings more battles: teeth-brushing, scab-eating, throwing, sibling hits, screams, hair-washing, bed-staying. By lights out, "mama" echoes in my ears.
Noud's ready for school. And honestly, so am I.
Image used via Shutterstock
