Reasons I Was Meant to be a Mom
After Mother’s Day – hillbilly brawl and all – I realized that there are some reasons I was meant to be a mom.
Am I saying I am “meant to be a mom” like “oh look at me, I am so great – I shit rainbows when I put on my soccer mom uniform!!”? No. No I am not. Am I implying that I am better than others, or that people should learn from me? Unless you want to take some of my tricks and tweak them to use yourself, I am by no means the standard by which others should judge their behavior. I have more flaws than Carter’s got liver pills. Does this mean that I am on a mission to pop as many little bastards and bastettes out of my hoo-haa as I possibly can before my eggs dry up and/or my uterus falls out? HELL NO.
Do I mean I was put on this Earth for the sole reason of raising children? No, I don’t mean that either, I just mean that some things are now natural to me.
Reason #1: I have no problem getting picky kids to eat
Yesterday at the party my mom threw for my grandma, my cousins came in with their two kids and while all of us ate exactly what was being served, they served their kids a separate meal. I was actually pretty offended (having cooked the entire meal that was being served myself), but was also appalled that they would teach their kids that value. When it came time for dessert, they even went out to their car and brought back a box of donuts – our cake and custard cups were apparently not even good enough for their picky eaters.
Pookie is an incredibly picky eater and even she was shocked by this behavior. But then again, maybe it’s because working with her pickiness to get her to eat healthful meals, and to be polite when at another person’s home, is relatively easy for me. I have learned to hide tofu and asparagus in alfredo sauce and noodles. I cover fruit with strawberry yogurt and three servings gets eaten easily. Even tonight, I baked carrots, peas, and corn, into ground chicken – she gobbled it up. I have no tolerance for “I don’t want that, give me something else.”
Reason #2: I am OK with the fact that I stay at home
It is true that I am constantly struggling with finding some purpose to my life outside of Yo Gaba Gaba and the world of Barbie, and I still lament the days of graduate school and career goals.You could also probably consider me to feel pretty isolated and a little depressed for some of the days because I have so little interaction with the adult world. But I am still OK with the fact that I stay at home.
I like my life. I get plenty of sleep. I homeschool, and that is probably the most rewarding thing that I have ever done. I write when I can, read when I want, and plan stuff for us to do outside of homeschool and the daily grind. We go out to lunch most days of the week to try and deal with the isolation thing, but then I am usually confronted with a terribly narcissistic and judgmental society. Today was another one of those days. Again at Natural Cafe, we were standing in line and someone nearby us decided to loudly describe why her life is much better than mine. It was about 11:30, so she and her friend were quite obviously on an early lunch break, and the rest of us in line clearly have no concept of “lunch break” or “work schedule.” The one who resembled a dwarf said in her pithy and nasal tone: “wow, there’s a lot of kids here today!” And then the other with an ass the size of Texas and something of a partial beard replied “yeah … I could never feel my life was fulfilling at all if all I did was stay at home and pop out little kids like this all day.” Then they both laughed.
Clearly the nasal-toned dwarf and the gargantuan-assed she-man are so miserable in their own daily struggle to make cubicle life fulfilling that they have to pit themselves against the crowd. I could have just as easily stood in line with my own SAH friends and talked about how unfulfilling my life would have been if it was defined by someone else’s schedule, and how being a slave to a corporate world that will eat you up and spit you out quicker than the blink of an eye is the most miserable thing a person could do, but I don’t need to do that because (unlike those women) I am perfectly OK with where I am in life.
Reason #3: I know an unhealthy situation when I see one
Sometimes when it’s just us, we tend to ignore the unhealthy, or tolerate it because we have learned to let it not affect us. But when little children are involved, it really isn’t as easy as “ignore and it’ll go away.”
Through this entire Mother’s Day nonsense with my Trailer Trash Mom, I have realized just how unhealthy this situation is for the under-18 crowd. I knew it was unhealthy before, but for some reason it didn’t really ‘click.’ The Mother’s Day Gala of the Century that my mom had planned turned out to be pretty lame. I was expecting a trailer trash brawl, when really all I got was a lot of people being fake. The most climactic thing that happened during it was that an hour and a half after we were supposed to eat, my Trailer Trash Mom was still dicking around getting place settings set up, so we just said “we are eating now” and she slammed her fists down on the table. This is much like my husband’s family, though – all that drama, shit talking, false promises, gossiping, and hurting people’s feelings beforehand, but when everyone comes together they just pretend as though nothing had happened. My aunt that didn’t invite us to my cousin’s graduation party claimed that our invitation was the one that got jammed in the printer. My Trailer Trash Mom kept saying “I’ve got some more money for you…” only to never actually give it. And the cake incident was carefully swept under the rug as no one was really interested in staying to chat after the meal was over.
I was resolved to walk away and not look back before the actual Mother’s Day Mayhem, now I am firm in knowing this unhealthy situation when I see it. Emotional abuse and dysfunction is so unhealthy for kids to be exposed to, and tolerating it sets just as bad of an example.
Reason #4: I Constantly Fret Over Making Things ‘Special’
As I do every morning, I made breakfast. And as I always do when I make pancakes, I made pancake shapes. They usually don’t come out, but I always do anyway because the effort is what seems to get the most appreciation. After my mom’s stupid, anticlimactic party, I agreed to go bowling, despite the fact that it was the last thing on my list of things I was interested in doing. It was a day that my husband was actually home, and spending time with us, so – again – I wanted it to be special and filled with activities everyone would enjoy.
So there they are: the reasons I was meant to be a mom. This wasn’t one of those cute and pithy posts about finding puke and pretzels in your hair, like you’ll find most of the time you search for a blog about being a mom; in fact, I’m sorry if that’s what you were looking for. There are a hell of a lot of reasons why I was not meant to be a mom too. I ‘aint no mom blogger, so the list is all kinds of big, and I’m sure I’ll compile it at some point, although it would look something like: I swear, I drink a lot, I don’t take shit from anyone, and I cannot stand those kid’s shows like Cayou and Good Luck Charlie. But I’m OK with taking a card, a homemade plate, a shopping trip, and a Mother’s Day mimosa for the troubles I have listed here, which is exactly what I got.