I haven’t decided what kind of mom I am yet. Which is sad, because I’m about to start emptying the nest, so the Big Family Years are coming to a close, and I still haven’t found myself yet, apparently.
What kind of mom am I, anyway?
I am not a crafty mom. Just get that straight.
But I just want to be an ordinary mom.
Not the kind of mom you see on cable TV (really, people? THOSE are the real housewives of Dallas? Um, not from this perspective). Not the kind of mom you see in the movies (unless you are talking about Mom’s Night Out, thank you Patricia Heaton for nailing it once again!).
Definitely not any of the moms you know on Pinterest! Seriously, I don’t do crafts!!!
When I read biographies from Back In the Day or talk to the Older, Wiser Generation, it seems like motherhood used to be much different than it is for us. Radically different.
Back In the Day Moms were concerned with feeding, clothing, sheltering, and keeping alive their progeny. Not much else. If they were in a higher social class, education was a priority, too. But seriously, I don’t see them obsessing about any of those five priorities. Just getting the job done.
So if the young person became an adult (stayed alive) who could provide for himself and his family (feeding, clothing, sheltering) and even contribute to society (education), that was a big WIN. Backs were slapped, mothers were congratulated, pride was encouraged, retirement was earned. That was the standard for you have arrived.
The Older, Wiser Generation added a certain level of comfort to each of those basics, but they remained the same. A stocked pantry, clothing appropriate for casual and formal events, a home with a guest bed, and high school diploma were ideal. That’s it. You have arrived.
Where in the world did we come up with this Torture By Motherhood we see today?
Now we have to feed locally-sourced or home-grown organic meals, dress our children from etsy boutiques, convert a former textile plant into an “eclectic shabby” house, and unschool our children into an Ivy League scholarship.
Don’t get me started on Pinterest.
Do we have so much free time, friends, that we turn to self-torture?
Is life so hard being the richest 1% that we simply must one-up our neighbors for validation?
The poor Ethiopian children weep for us.
I have decided to be a radical, new mom.
It’s a superhero name. It’s a mom who resists the powers of social media and the pull of competitive parenting to just simply rear the children then sleep soundly at night.
Ordinary Mom plops something edible on the table and collapses in her chair to eat it, whether or not the progeny give it two Cutthroat Kitchen thumbs up.
Ordinary Mom embraces her curvy-fit, lycra-loving jeans, coffee t-shirt (0r coffee-stained-t-shirt) as the uniform of the day.
Ordinary Mom cleans what causes illness and shuffles the clutter around the best she can, turning a blind eye to unrealistic house expectations.
Ordinary Mom makes the doctors’ appointments, passes out the vitamins, and decides for herself what vaccines/oils/diets are right for her, with no apologies.
Ordinary Mom teaches her children that education is important, not grades.
Ordinary Mom divorces her success from that of her children, recognizing they are growing up to make their own decisions, live their own lives, and achieve their own dreams, not hers.
Ordinary Mom is so radical, so different, so unbelievably awesome that I want to be her some day.
As soon as I can find the t-shirt on etsy.
I’d love to keep in touch!
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