Tag Archives: Are You Mom Enough?

My Husband is MIA for DIY

22 Sep

I’m married to a carpenter. He does beautiful work. In other people’s homes.

We’ve lived in our home since 1997. Since then, I have asked him, bribed him, threatened him, cajoled him to fix a few things around the house and to help me maintain day-to-day functions. Like not leaving his huge man things everywhere and not allowing the garage to morph into an episode of Hoarders.

My vision:

I want.

I want.

My reality:

No, we don't need three nonfunctioning lawnmowers and a baker's dozen fly swatters.

No, we don’t need three nonfunctioning lawnmowers and a baker’s dozen fly swatters.

I went out and bought a docking station to tame those pesky wires and um, Sharpies.

Aaaand he turned it into a wire gang bang.

And he turned it into a wire gang bang.

One day, it started to rain. And then this happened. It was 2003.

No. I don't see Jesus's face. Fix the fucking ceiling.

No. I don’t see Jesus’s face. Fix the fucking ceiling. Love you.

It remains like that to this very day.

In an effort to streamline the bajilly pieces of paper that enter our home daily (seriously, it’s 2013, people…would it kill you to save a tree?) I went to Home Goods and picked-up like fourteen baskets to put shit in. I asked the hubs to start putting the mail in files.

My vision:

Serenity now.

Serenity now.

Nailed it:

Now that's what I call a filing system. Call Martha Stewart.

Now that’s what I call a filing system. Call Martha Stewart.

My vision:

A beautiful beachy chic mantle.

A beautiful beachy chic mantle.

I tell you what. Nothing says elegant coastal living like this big, yellow fuck off wire draped across your mantle.

A little to the left...

Nailed it.

I even told him that I saw on Dr. Oz that leaving your kids’ toothbrushes next to the sink can cause malaria.

It's like the man has no fear.

It’s like the man has no fear.

I admit. I like pretty things. So do you. Sure, it’s not always rationale or functionally necessary to have an antique decantur next to the baby food, but it makes me happy to create a beautiful home. Regardless of the amount of lead paint in an heirloom.

Yup. That goes there.

Yup. Those go right there.

He took down all of our closets to “add space.” Now, we have nowhere to keep the vacuum.

What if someone suddenly drops a cookie. What if?!

What if someone suddenly drops a cookie. What if?!

Or our clothes.

So when I said walk-in closet, I didn't mean for you to construct a huge fucking rack. In the middle of our bedroom.

So when I said walk-in closet, I didn’t mean for you to construct a huge fucking rack. In the middle of our bedroom.

My vision:

Too much to ask?

Too much to ask?

We like it Dr. Seuss style I guess.

We like it Dr. Seuss style I guess.

I’ve even tried reverse psychology. “Who needs mirrors? Mirrors are for vain people. Don’t hang those mirrors. Ever.”

If you don't mind, I'd really rather imagine how many more wrinkles I have this morning.

If you don’t mind, I’d really rather imagine how many more wrinkles I have this morning.

Oh look! There I am. Nope.

Oh look! There I am again. Nope.

I even promised extremely kinky sex to slap a fixture on this bad boy. We moved here sixteen years ago.

I even promised extremely kinky sex to slap a fixture on this bad boy. We moved here sixteen years ago.

So I played hardball and gutted the bathroom while he was at work. Last May.

Um, sorry?

He called my bluff.

It’s all fun and games until you see your house in the daylight. Sober.

No husbands were harmed in the making of this blog post.

Back-to-School Pinterest Bitches

29 Aug

It’s that time of year again. The kids are going back to school, Target is abuzz with harried moms, the beaches are emptying, I’m still not tan and shit’s about to get real on Pinterest:

I went to Ocean State Job Lot and bought my daughter’s school supplies. After washing last year’s perfectly good bag, I packed it very neatly, wrote her a little ‘good luck’ note and felt like a mom rock star. Then this bitch went and did this:

Why God? Why?

How and more importantly why?

And then her asshole mom friend did this:

I started this project and then ate all of the rolos.

I started this project and then accidentally ate all of the Rolos.

Sweet baby Jesus in the sky, why do people have to be so crafty?

I had a glass of wine, felt inspired and worked on this little project. Evidently, you’re not supposed to use a blow torch to melt the Crayons:

Drink wine and fuck up crafts.

Drink wine and fuck up crafts.

Raise your hand if your kids’ last three years of school pictures are somewhere in the bottom of your “To Do” file. #mustmailtorelativesbeforecollege.

I’m just glad that my kids’ socks match and that I don’t look like Amanda Bynes at the bus stop. (<—–Lie. I always look like Amanda Bynes at the bus stop.)

Don't forget your lunch, kids! Mommy loves you.

Don’t forget your lunch, kids! Mommy loves you.

 

The moms who won’t let it go. Even into the college years:

My mom's weird and she makes me do tricks.

My mom’s weird and she makes me do tricks.

 

I’m not even sure what this is? A lemonade stand? For school shit?

I don't understand.

I don’t understand. What exactly are you selling? Explain yourself.

I’m still trying to figure out which summer camp to send my kids to. And then this mom is all:

So now we're supposed to have back-to-school parties for our children?

Don’t forget the personalized chalkboard.

And then there are the moms that rush things:

I call bullshit. Everyone knows that three year olds are too young for Kindy. Nice try, mom.

I call bullshit. Everyone knows that three-year olds are too young for Kindy. Nice try, kid.

Nothing says the most important meal of the day quite like a super crafty breakfast and a diorama of…the first day of school. This mom stayed up until four in the morning preparing this. I hate her:

I just feel like this sets high expectations. If I did this and then tried to give my kids an organic poptart the next morning, I'd be knifed.

How to give your child explosive diarrhea on their first day of school. Also, if I did this and then tried to give my kids an organic pop tart the next morning, I’d be knifed.

And here is a baby in glasses laying on a book. Just cuz.

Smartest baby ever.

Smartest baby ever.

Here’s to overdue library books, forgotten show-and-tell days, last-minute book reports and a whole lot of self forgiveness.

Have a great year! Don’t forget to wear pants to the bus stop.

Mompetition

11 May

TIME Magazine’s controversial article and photo Are You Mom Enough? and the timing of this blog post are purely coincidental, albeit apropos.

Confession: I fully admit that when I first saw the cover of TIME, I couldn’t have cared less that the woman still breastfeeds her eight-year old (if that child is three-years old, then I’m a dancing chicken). I was more enthralled with her balls of (recycled) steel and confused as to why TIME portrayed nursing as provocative. Ew. 

But what did strike me was the deeper question. (And this is way more to me than breastfeeding for an extended period of time.) Is the pressures of modern-day motherhood hurting our culture? And have we “lost our ability to trust our own instincts…” as Dr. Logan Levkoff so eloquently put it.

Have the pressures and consequent mompetition gotten to an all time high? Or should I say low? It’s like if you’re not nursing your kids until they’re four, composting your baby’s bowel movements, while making baby food from organic, raw, clean, quinoa fed vegetables in a recycled spiralizer made out of hemp and flax seed…and perseverating over all of the above, well, you’re just not cutting it as a mom.

Dinner is ready! I grew it in our victory garden.

Mompetition has certainly evolved. Gone are the days when soccer moms were at the top of the Mommy pecking order. Nope. Now, it’s more than having a mini-van, perfectly curled bangs and a cardigan draped loosely over your shoulders. Now moms are having a face(book)-off as to who has it rougher. Who can do more. Who can do it all and in the most difficult, yet organized and perfectly timed way possible, while looking amazing. Of course.

She probably let your kids watch television.

Watch this clip and OH MY GOD WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THIS?

But let’s be honest, mompetition really begins when your child is in utero:

Nowadays moms-to-be “should” want to give birth in the woods, by themselves, hanging from a tree limb, Mayan style. Don’t get me wrong, I have fully supported all of my friends in their quest for their ideal birth. I love when women get to have the experience that is right for them. But now I read these articles and it’s not just about having a “natural” childbirth anymore. The more pain, degree of difficulty and of course less “intervention” the better. Not sure when having medical personnel handy when you’re about to attempt bringing a baby into the world was coined “intervention.”  

Oh you love your baby, Alicia? Tell us all about it.

I remember when I was pregnant with my first. A co-worker (or it could have been a stranger on the street because we all know that absolutely nothing is sacred when it comes to pregnancy) asked me:

“Are you getting an epidural? Or are you trying for a natural childbirth?”

Me: “I think I’m just going to try to get the baby out one way or another without dying and in the safest way possible for me and my baby.” There’s a novel idea.

And natural childbirth? I’m not sure you can get more natural than creating life. I got an epidural. And it still hurt like a sonofabitch and it was still hard. I didn’t take narcotics and I didn’t so much as take a Tylenol when I was pregnant. But, I felt more natural after my two children were born than I had ever felt in my entire life. And I am just thankful that I didn’t pee on the doctor. That’s a lie. I totally peed on the doctor. Twice.

Me in labor. Truth.

I have a hard time imagining my grandmother, who raised six children, competing with other moms. Asking them if they got an epidural, if they exclusively breastfed and if they fed their children dye-free, organic food. Then again, they typically knocked a woman out with ether during birth, but that’s neither here nor there. My point is that I think women were too busy being moms to bother competing. And of course having conversations about  women’s rights. And drinking highballs. And they fed their kids mayonnaise and it was awesome. Now I want a highball and mayonnaise.

She feeds her baby formula. She must not love him.

And disposable diapers? Why don’t you just pour chlorine down your baby’s gullet? Or just throw your garbage in the ocean? Slacker. When did we start measuring the success of motherhood based on the receptacle in which our baby poops? When did the objective become making all of our lives more difficult? Isn’t it hard enough? And don’t we still have a ton to learn? If my daughter doesn’t kill me with a flat-iron when she’s sixteen, I’ll consider myself a success.

If only I had homeschooled her…

Speaking of overcomplicating things, what’s with the baby carriers? The Baby Bjorn is no longer sufficient. Do we have Maggie Gyllenhaal to blame for this? Try following this tutorial after not sleeping for three weeks. I ended up weeping on my sitz bath, contemplating selling my baby on the internet because I was clearly unfit.

Yup. Seventeen minutes later and you look like a drunk Samurai and your baby is still screaming. Only this time she’s in a full split.

And can it be okay to not have our kids in eight hundred activities? “Sorry, little Banjo has soccer, jai-alai, origami, Mandarin lessons and statistic club, so we’re not going to make your son’s stupid, low-rent birthday party at the Bowlerdome.”

I wonder if the pendulum will ever swing in the other direction. If we will ever be satisfied with doing the best we can with the resources that we have. I hope to get my children into adulthood, healthy, happy and kind. I’m not sure if that makes me mom enough, but they certainly seem to like me and I’m having a ton of fun.

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