This is in the back of Maverick’s favorite book. I nearly wept when I read it. I bet if his mother and I met for coffee, we would be instant besties.
Category Archives: Motherhood
The Best Of Me.
Yesterday, during an entirely-too-long road trip to Florence, MS, when Taylor Swift came on the radio and I started belting out the lyrics to “Blank Space,” I realized two things.
1. That song is not about Starbucks.
2. My children know me better than anyone else.
I’m not a shy person, but I’m admittedly prim and proper. It’s not on purpose, it’s just how I was raised — Southern and conservative. Minus the monogramming, because my mom wasn’t into it. I grew up in a church that frowns upon dancing, which means that as a 30-something adult I look like a complete idiot in my Zumba classes. I still haven’t learned how to shake my upper body, but don’t you worry, I’ll keep plugging away at it.
The side of me that my kids see is the side that belts out “YOU KNOW I LOVE THE PLAYERS, AND YOU LOVE THE GAME!” Yeah, I’m off-key, but who cares?
This is the side that makes ridiculous noises, chases them wildly around the house, hops on one foot through the kitchen and slides in socks down the hallway. Their mother is a non-makeuped, disheveled woman in mismatched lounge wear who is always teetering on the edge of insanity, but in a fun way. Unless she’s mad … which is no fun for anyone, because then she is non-makeuped woman in mismatched lounge wear who is parking asses in time out.
I have always worried that my kids get the worst of me because I seem to bumble through life in perpetual exhaustion. Tiredness is the basic truth of motherhood, right after unconditional love. It sucks the wind and the life right out of me and turns me into an impatient, rough-looking “momster” who sighs a lot.
In my non-mom life, I don’t belt out songs in front of other people unless I’ve been drinking, and I don’t dance unless I’m in Zumba. This realization disappoints me, because the side of me that doesn’t give a rat’s ass — that’s the side of me that comes out in my writing — is my best, most interesting side. That girl is a good time, and even my husband rarely sees her.
So maybe the side of me that the kids see really is my best side, even when I have been in pajamas all day, carrying a mug of cold coffee and yelling “FOR THE MILLIONTH TIME, PLEASE STOP TALKING ABOUT YOUR PENIS!”
Maybe the truth is, they don’t always get the worst of me.
Maybe they get the best of me, too.
I’m Doing SOMETHING Right.
You make me happy too, Maverick. And mad. And frustrated. And slightly crazy. But the feeling that always overshadows the rest is the constant, unstoppable, NO MATTER WHAT love that I have for you. People tell me that you’re going to … Continue reading
Best-Laid Plans.
I had big plans to get stuff accomplished today, none of it got done, it is now 10:30 p.m. and I feel exactly how Asher looks in this picture.
He gets it from me.
Lies and Truths.
I lied to my best friend.
We hadn’t seen each other in a year – a year! – when we finally met for coffee the day after Thanksgiving. Her baby daughter is 9 months old and adorable, and even though I was meeting her for the first time, I felt like I’d known her forever. She’s just an extension of my friend. I scooped her up and marveled at her features while she played with my hair.
My friend was adorable, too. She had claimed previously that she was a mess, her house was a mess, her car was a mess. To me, it all looked normal. She looked exactly the same — gorgeous and willowy thin, like always (bitch). Her house and car look like they have a kid in the family, and for a mom like me with three of them at home, it didn’t seem messy. It seemed normal.
After 20 years of friendship, we have watched each other date boys, break up with boys, marry men, move to different states, land jobs, leave jobs, and move again. Having babies is just another one of those major life changes.
As we tried to discuss a year’s worth of topics within the span of a few hours, she said “I just feel like I can’t remember ANYTHING anymore. I am so scatterbrained.”
And that is when I told the lie.
I nodded in understanding and said, “It’ll be okay.”
I blamed her lack of mental focus on lack of sleep and waved it away, like it was nothing to worry about. The truth is, IT WON’T BE OKAY. AT ALL. It’s not going to go away and it won’t get better. From my experience, the scatterbrained-ness seems to mushroom with each kid and eventually you just sort of learn to live with it. You just adapt to being stupid.
Tonight I lost a pod of dishwashing detergent. One minute I had it in my hand, and the next minute I didn’t. Where the hell did it go?! Did I set it down somewhere? Throw it away? Put it back in the bag? I honestly have no idea. Robbie helped me look for it, and confirmed it was not sitting somewhere in plain sight. Not that I’ve ever completely overlooked something and nearly cried with frustration only to have him pick it up out of whatever obvious place it was located and hand it to me condescendingly. Nope. That has never happened.
Anyway, at this point I will just have to hope that one of the kids don’t find the pod first … wherever it is. I have forgotten more tampons, appointments, and essential pieces of information in the past year than I have in my entire adult life. And yet, we’re all still here, functioning at what appears to be an acceptable level.
So maybe what I said wasn’t a total lie.
Maybe it was actually the truth.
Throwback Thursday.
It’s so nice to know that there aren’t terrible pictures of me floating around in my relatives houses and beyond. Because I certainly did not have an awkward stage that started around 5th grade and stretched well into college.
Yeah.
The Liebster.
Modern Mommy Madness has been nominated for a Liebster Award! Thank you for noticing me, No Such Fairytale! (Twitter handle: @nosuchfairytale)
Now, I’m kind of a Grinch and don’t usually participate in these things … which may explain why only a few hundred people read my blog. But first … are you confused about what I’m talking about? Because up until a few minutes ago I was completely clueless.
The Liebster is an award that only exists on the internet, given to bloggers by other bloggers, generally to bloggers who don’t have a massive following (yet!). The rules are pretty simple, from what I can gather:
1. List 11 random facts about yourself.
2. Answer the questions sent to you.
3. Nominate 11 bloggers, notify them that they have been nominated, and ask them 11 questions thought up by YOU!
4. Kick back with a drink. (I added this step.)
Whew! I’m worn out already.
11 Random Facts:
1. I’m left-handed.
2. I went to boarding school for grades 9-12.
3. Bible college was not for me.
4. I did not discover coffee until I was in my twenties.
5. My mother once told me she thinks Starbucks laces their coffee with cocaine.
6. I’m an only child.
7. I have very short eyelashes and was infinitely relieved when my children inherited my husband’s dark, thick lashes.
8. Home ownership was not for me.
9. I am very unclear on how to “bone” a chicken.
10. I used to write bad poetry.
11. Now I write essays.
***
Here are the questions I’ve been given to answer:
1. What’s your drink? What would you order at a bar if there were no repercussions – financial, health, or otherwise?
Very pricey red wine. But I don’t know what kind, because I’ve never been in the position to learn about pricey wines.
2. What is your dream vacation?
I have trouble thinking past what it would be like just to escape for a handful of days with my husband. I guess right now, anything would do.
3. Tell me about your best day.
My best day … ever? I’ve had a lot of best days. My wedding day, the day I gave birth to each of my three kids, my 34th birthday. Those were all best days.
4. What was your first car?
OH. I’m very proud of my first car. It was a 1989 Dodge Diplomat, purchased for $600 cash at the Louisiana State Auction. It was an old cop car — very fast, very beat-up, with no way to get out of the back seat.
5. Where did you fit in high school?
Ugh. I don’t want to talk about high school.
6. Are you a texter or a caller?
I am very much a texter.
7. Everyone is a work in progress. What thing would you change about yourself if you could snap your fingers and make it happen?
I’d choose to be a more relaxed person.
8. When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?
I think part of me always wanted to be a writer.
9. Now, what do you want to be when you grow up?
A success.
10. What time do you go to bed at night?
Between 10:30-11:00.
11. What is your worst habit?
Stressing. I’m a worrier.
***
Here are the 11 questions I will direct to the bloggers I’ve nominated:
1. What one thing do you love about yourself?
2. What is your greatest strength?
3. Who do you draw energy from or enjoy being around?
4. What types of activities drain you?
5. What kind of person is your alter ego?
6. Name your favorite comfort food.
7. Favorite place to spend a rainy afternoon.
8. What do you do after the kids go to bed?
9. What do you wish you could change about your life?
10. Do you believe in prayer?
11. What beauty product has never failed you?
***
I nominate:
AND … GO!
Just Be You.
My cousin Jackie came over the other day with her son, who is Maverick’s age. We tried unsuccessfully to hide from our children so we could have adult conversation while they beat the hell out of each other with action figures. I lost track of how many times I shouted “JUST GO PLAY!!!”
What is it that makes them want to crowd around the grownups? We have no candy. We’re talking about pulled chest muscles. Nothing fun is happening over here, and I’m sick of spelling out s-e-x.
Just. Go. Play.
Jackie — and I’m not just saying this because she’s my cousin — truly inspires me. With what she has been through in her life, she should have been a statistic. But she’s not. She’s amazing, and I AM SO STINKIN’ PROUD OF HER.
The fact that she is extremely successful in her business has nothing to do with luck; she has a deep, unstoppable drive to succeed. When the zombie apocalypse hits, I’m going to Jackie’s house. I don’t know how or why, but she could talk the zombies into leaving us alone … and I fear I do not possess that skill. Robbie does, but what if they got him first? I feel better knowing that she’s my backup plan.
I confessed to her that sometimes I wonder if I am doing the right thing by writing so honestly and putting everything out there. Will my kids one day grow up to read that they drove me batshit fucking crazy and get irrevocably screwed up, even though I also write about how much I love them? Because … I really do love them. But also … I really do feel batshit crazy.
The other morning I was talking to Robbie about a post I’m working on for Scary Mommy, and Maverick looked up from his breakfast — I didn’t even think he was paying attention — and very seriously said to me “Mommy, I believe in you and I think that you’re the best.” GAH. Will that same kid one day read my words and be warped by them?! These are all the questions I posed to Jackie.
She listened to everything I had to say, and shook her head before speaking. “You won’t regret any of it,” she said, “Because you’re being YOU. You’re not trying to sound a certain way or act a certain way … this is WHO YOU ARE. How can you ever regret just being yourself?! Your family loves and knows you, just how you are, and the rest of the world will love you too. Just do your thing, girl.”
I seriously almost ugly cried.
Sometimes it’s nice for a person who is close to you, who really knows you, to bring it all back into focus. I am not pretending to be a certain way. I just am. And even though I don’t personally know everyone who will read these words today, I’m still going to tell you this: JUST BE WHO YOU ARE AND DON’T APOLOGIZE FOR IT. It is truly the best way to live.
And also? If you want to wear sunglasses like these when you’re about 15 years too old for them, that’s totally fine. Rock that shit.
This is how women in their 40’s and 50’s end up walking around in sweats with sparkly words emblazoned across the ass, isn’t it? I can see my future very clearly right now.
The Highs.
Someone I love sent me this piece from The New Yorker this morning. I got it after a nearly-two-hour experience in the pediatrician’s office, which ended with me trying to peel my middle child off their front door when it was time to go. What kind of kid wants to STAY at the doctor’s office?!
Oh, wait. I know. A three-year-old. Because nothing with a three-year-old makes sense.
I’m reporting to you from the trenches. And I could go into a tirade about who snotted on my one pair of clean yoga pants today or why bath and bed time has me wanting to rock in a corner, clutching vodka … but I won’t. You already know that parenthood is hard; the highs are always followed by lows that we get through by telling ourselves “everything is a phase.”
But everything is.
Maverick got a little wound up in the days following Halloween. All that extra red dye # 40 did a number on him, apparently. After a particularly long and difficult day, I finally said that he was going to bed early. He got mad, I got mad, we both dug in. I ended up dragging him to his room after reminding him in the living room who was in charge.
I gave him time to calm down and then tried to talk it over, but he was so angry and he just kept yelling that I was a horrible mommy — a very bad mommy — and he wished I belonged to someone else. “I understand that you’re upset with me,” I said as I covered him up. “But I am glad I belong to YOU.”
He replied with an angry noise.
Sometimes it’s hard to know if you’re doing the right thing. I’m all the time wondering if I’m too hard on them or not hard enough. Am I respected? Am I a doormat? I’m a fairly self-assured person, but I find motherhood to be discombobulating.
The next morning, Maverick crept into our bed at 6:15. It was still dark out, and I was fumbling around for my glasses when I heard him say the following words. I hope I never forget them, because it was the sweetest apology that has ever come out of that boy’s mouth.
“Mommy? I’m so sorry I yelled at you last night. You’re a good mommy and I love you. I really love you. And you know what else? I really WAS tired, like you said. I konked right out after you left! Man, I was tired. I feel better now. You know what I was thinking? Maybe I could go make you some coffee. I know how much sugar to put in it, and Daddy showed me how to use the Keurig. I’ll be really careful.”
Speechless. I still tear up when I think about it.
I struggle. We all do. And sometimes, yes, it’s even barefoot in the snow like the essay from The New Yorker suggests. That would be a low point. But the highs … they are so, so sweet. Just like my coffee.
Modern Mommy Madness 