quick rant:)
Moms... we need to stop it. Especially us who stay home. Our house does not have to be immaculate at all times. EVERY TIME someone comes by to drop off something, i get this overwhelming urge to apologize for the pile of clean towels waiting to be folded on my pool table.
They dont care! And if they do they are an asshole and shouldnt be your friend. We live and work in our houses, and the results are constant piles of projects that we need to do our job properly.
I am making it my mission to never again apologize for the state of my house unless someone just threw up or it smells like dirty diapers.
I saw someone from my church make a lengthy apology to the teenager they paid to babysit the kids that all of the laundry wasnt put away. So now we dont only have to keep everything up for our friends, we care what kids think too??!! If that babysitter wants to make an extra buck, she should probably fold and put away the towels. just sayin...
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
The Mommy Wars BS
It’s so tempting to get riled up by the Mommy Wars, isn’t it? The Time magazine cover story about attachment parenting, Are You Mom Enough?, featuring a beautiful mother in skinny jeans with her preschool-aged son hanging off her boob, is infamous by now. It made me, along with the rest of the mom's on the internet, explode with righteous indignation. Mom enough? How dare they! This isn't an effin contest! But, wait ... what if it is? And I don't even own skinny jeans! The story also made me think about what I wanted to teach my kids—I mean really teach them. I’m not talking about the trendy must-dos that crop up each year about feeding and sleeping and discipline ect..no, I’m talking about the things that I want to imprint on them (for life) when my breasts are covered and my skinny jeans are in the wash!
Here’s my wish list:
I hope I raise children who say “thank you” to the bus driver when they gets off the bus, “please” to the waiter taking their order at the restaurant, and holds the elevator doors when someone’s rushing to get in.
I hope I raise children who lose graciously and win without bragging. I hope they learn that disappointments are fleeting and so are triumphs, and if they come home at night to people who love them, neither one matter. Nobody is keeping score, except sometimes on Facebook.
I hope I raise children who are kind to old people.
I hope I raise children that realizes life is unfair: Some people are born rich or gorgeous. Some people really are handed things that they don’t deserve. Some people luck into jobs or wealth that they don’t earn. Tough shit...I want them to learn that if they study hard and work harder they too can have riches! (and I don't necessarily mean money)
I hope I raise children who gets what they want just often enough to keep them optimistic but not enough to make them spoiled.
I hope I raise children who knows that they're loved and special but that they're not the center of the universe and never, ever will be.
I hope I raise children who will stick up for a kid who’s being bullied on the playground. I also hope I raise children who, if they're the one being bullied, fights back. Hard. Oh, and if they're the bully? I hope they realize that their mother will cause them more pain than a bully ever could!!
I hope I raise children who relishes life’s tiny pleasures—whether it’s a piece of music, or the color of a gorgeous flower, or Chinese takeout on a rainy Sunday night.
I hope I raise children that are open-minded and curious about the world without being reckless.
I hope I raise children that do not need to affirm their self-worth through bigotry, snobbery, materialism, or violence.
I hope I raise children who like to read.
I hope I raise children that are courageous when sick and grateful when healthy.
I hope I raise children that will begin and end all relationships straightforwardly and honorably.
I hope I raise children who can spot superficiality and artifice from a mile away and spend their time with people and things that feel authentic to them.
I hope I raise children who make quality friends and keeps them.
I hope I raise children who realize their parents are flawed but loves them ferociously.
And I hope that if my children turn out to be colossal screw-ups, I can take it in stride. I hope I remember that they're their own person, and there’s only so much I can do. They are not an appendage to be dangled from my breasts on the cover of a magazines! Their success is not my ego’s accessory, and I am not Super Mom.
I hope for all of these things, but I know this: NOT ONE of these wishes has a thing to do with how I feed them, sleep-train them, or god-knows-what-else them!! Which is how I know that these fabricated “wars” are phony every step of the way. I do not need the expensive stroller. I do not need to go into mourning if my "sleep-training method" is actually a "prayer ritual" that involves tiptoeing around the house in the dark. This is not a damn test. It’s a game called Extreme Parenting, and you can’t lose if you don’t play. And, really, why would I play? I have children to raise!
I hope I raise children who say “thank you” to the bus driver when they gets off the bus, “please” to the waiter taking their order at the restaurant, and holds the elevator doors when someone’s rushing to get in.
I hope I raise children who lose graciously and win without bragging. I hope they learn that disappointments are fleeting and so are triumphs, and if they come home at night to people who love them, neither one matter. Nobody is keeping score, except sometimes on Facebook.
I hope I raise children who are kind to old people.
I hope I raise children that realizes life is unfair: Some people are born rich or gorgeous. Some people really are handed things that they don’t deserve. Some people luck into jobs or wealth that they don’t earn. Tough shit...I want them to learn that if they study hard and work harder they too can have riches! (and I don't necessarily mean money)
I hope I raise children who gets what they want just often enough to keep them optimistic but not enough to make them spoiled.
I hope I raise children who knows that they're loved and special but that they're not the center of the universe and never, ever will be.
I hope I raise children who will stick up for a kid who’s being bullied on the playground. I also hope I raise children who, if they're the one being bullied, fights back. Hard. Oh, and if they're the bully? I hope they realize that their mother will cause them more pain than a bully ever could!!
I hope I raise children who relishes life’s tiny pleasures—whether it’s a piece of music, or the color of a gorgeous flower, or Chinese takeout on a rainy Sunday night.
I hope I raise children that are open-minded and curious about the world without being reckless.
I hope I raise children that do not need to affirm their self-worth through bigotry, snobbery, materialism, or violence.
I hope I raise children who like to read.
I hope I raise children that are courageous when sick and grateful when healthy.
I hope I raise children that will begin and end all relationships straightforwardly and honorably.
I hope I raise children who can spot superficiality and artifice from a mile away and spend their time with people and things that feel authentic to them.
I hope I raise children who make quality friends and keeps them.
I hope I raise children who realize their parents are flawed but loves them ferociously.
And I hope that if my children turn out to be colossal screw-ups, I can take it in stride. I hope I remember that they're their own person, and there’s only so much I can do. They are not an appendage to be dangled from my breasts on the cover of a magazines! Their success is not my ego’s accessory, and I am not Super Mom.
I hope for all of these things, but I know this: NOT ONE of these wishes has a thing to do with how I feed them, sleep-train them, or god-knows-what-else them!! Which is how I know that these fabricated “wars” are phony every step of the way. I do not need the expensive stroller. I do not need to go into mourning if my "sleep-training method" is actually a "prayer ritual" that involves tiptoeing around the house in the dark. This is not a damn test. It’s a game called Extreme Parenting, and you can’t lose if you don’t play. And, really, why would I play? I have children to raise!
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