Keep your head up

Dear you,
Today wasn't your favorite day.
You fell down and no one made a big deal.
You felt sad and lonely and had no one to talk to about those feelings.
You were angry and frustrated by the life that has unfolded for you.
You feel betrayed everyday by the person you chose to share that life with and sometimes it make you lay awake and retrace your steps. Shoulda...coulda...woulda...
You took on so much and now you want a break from it for just a little while but you know if you take that break you might not go back.
These are problems we can all identify with and you may wonder how I have the nerve to expose you this way, writing about you in so honest a tone.
Your secret is safe. But please please know that you are not alone. You do have friends. It does in fact get better and from experience it seems it is just after you think it cannot get better. Despair and rage and cry if it will help. But do not ever give up. You will outlast what hurt remains and feel ok, if not soon then just after that.
Do not ever give up on yourself. You are worth the fight.
Keep your head up.

In my darker hour

When I was a little girl, all I wanted, all I yearned for was a home filled with family. I idolized this idea, filled it with every happy little thought my real life did not have and inhabited that imagined space like it could be real with the right set of circumstances- ie., the right man would somehow make all that wasn't right in me a whole, magically. Poof. Brady Bunch optional.
And ever since the day I began building that dream, reality has been trying to give me less and less subtle clues attempting to abuse me of my foolishness.
But no one could tell me. And now here I am, three kids, a house we can't really afford (a whole cliche) and a life that doesn't wrap up neatly. And I am asking myself why, why, why this doesn't feel good all the time?
Is this just me? Am I alone on a Friday, drinking cheap white wine with a straw watching Eat Pray Love. Meanwhile my adorable husband is bathing our three girls and their conversation filters in between the witty dialogue.
Liz Gilbert got to check out but I am her friend at the gate saying "I wish I could go". Is it our generation that cannot be happy with what we have? Cannot just say "thank you or what I have"?
I am grateful. My oldest two are naked Greco Roman wrestling and giggling up a storm. My husband is holding our baby chasing them around and I am blogging and wishing for travel. I am unfair and mean. I need to get off my ass and jump into the screaming, crying fray out there. And bake cupcakes, and love what I have. Actively. And maybe have some real food. Damn this movie! :)
Anyway my point, my goddamn a-ha moment is that the wish is not 2D, it is beyond that, maybe even 4D. It is multilayered. It has hidden dirt and tears and anger and joy and sadness and dissolution and everything I cannot imagine. It ain't a harlequin novel, that's for sure. It is reality. Wake up!

Motherhood- Welcome to the Jungle (Gym)

Perhaps this next mamma-logue belongs in two separate rants, however I feel this is related.
  When I became a mother, I unwittingly became part of something much MUCH bigger than I. I became part of the all-encompassing "Motherhood". Whether you carry your child in your belly or your heart, being someone's mother automatically guarantees you entrance into all kinds of fun. Your Mamma-kind can be your best or worst friend.
  Case in point, you have an entrepreneurial idea. Your fellow Mammas will support and promote you. You have a need, often they will find a way to fill it- clothes, food, shelter or sympathy. It has been a surprising side-benefit of motherhood. But tread lightly sisters, and do not take your fellow females for granted. Because that hand that extends help can just as quickly give you an unprecedented smack-DOWN.
  I have seen and experienced and given first hand (ha ha) the smack-down. I never seek out the drama mammas, but if you provoke me, I have little patience for you. We, as women, might not be in some type of declared war but make no mistake. Friends can become ene-mammas pretty quickly.
  Don't misunderstand me. I am not decrying the sisterhood of which I am so fond and for which I am grateful. No no. I am merely saying, many if not all of us know how we want to be treated- how we deserve to be treated- and we have no problem demanding that from each other. For example, never over-invite yourself to another mother's home. Especially when said playdate involves your sweet little monsters causing any level of havoc. We all know how much fun it is to clean up after our own, let alone someone else's br... children. And if said ... children happen to so much as lay a hand on our own spaw... sweetlings well then... be warned. Tread very lightly upon the hospitality of the Mamma Bear you just poked. Now, let me be clear. Arguments happen between these adorable little characters as they play. But heaven forbid it become a pattern with any regularity. Your best bet? Do not transfer blame, do not make excuses, do not pretend you didn't see. Woman up. Apologize. And make a hasty retreat. If you value your friendship at all, you will do what is right by your fellow Mamma and her little bear cub. It isn't easy being in the Sisterhood of the Big Girl Pants but it is worth it.
  Here are some easy rules. New Mammas, Commit these to memory:

1. Always treat your fellow Mother how you wish to be treated.

2. Don't forget Rule #1 or heaven have mercy on your soul and that of your progeny.

That is all,
Sister Amanda
May the force be with you

Public boob, private boob

What is it with our society and breasts? Now I am only talking about the United States because that is what I know. That said, what is our obsession? We Bind them, flash them, truss them, lie about their size, fake their shape, hide them, hate them, love em, and ignore them.
There is so much about them as objects, characters, power, etc. it seems the craziest thing. I mean, what are they? Two bags of flesh with a sippy end. What's so great about that? They are objects of importance for nourishment and care. They are designed for babies. They have been made into sex objects and we have taken back that power to manipulate others (I said it!).
All I want to know is- why do we allow them the power? Why can't we remove our Puritan or prurient attachments and allow whomever to nurse or display their body as they wish. Is it possible or not to go back, to deobjectify our breasts?
Discuss while I finish nursing...

Babes in dance class

Nothing is more adorable than your little one dancing. And nothing is less adorable than the Moms in the wings. Anxious, stressed, impersonating Alice Cooper's makeup as we tear up at every moment and clapping for every turn and step- regardless of timing or mistake. We will cut line to see their photographs and pay any price to preserve the moment in time when they actually smiled. And hopefully looked like we did their hair or wash them sometimes.
Why do we make ourselves into such a wreck for our beautiful children?

Mommy Bragging

Lol, for my one reader yes, I am back. I, mother of 3 an unemployed teacher am back at blogging!
This week, let's discuss... Mommy bragging. Do you or don't you?
As a rule, I don't. Here's why- a funny story is one thing but going on for longer than a minute about your precious little one is making whomever you are talking to gag. It just is. Here's why- inevitably, you are bragging to another mom (Grandma's/Nonni's/ etc are the exception of course) and that mom is being made aware of her child's faults through your monologue. No one is so confident in her parenting that she is immune to second-guessing her children. We all want the best for our child and want them to be their best selves. Thank you, Oprah.
  Here's a thought, what if they were just their average selves? Would that be so bad? What if you heard parents chatting about how proud they were that their child brought home B's and made the cheerleading squad but was the base of the pyramid? Let's face it, they can't all be at the top. So why are we so focused on our children being the best and brightest? If they are all so great doesn't that make them average anyway? Aren't we unfairly setting our future adults up for that moment on American Idol Season 30 when they are inevitably told they are NOT in fact, a rockstar? Why aren't we more interested in letting them play and just be? Not everybody needs nor deserves a trophy. What is there to reach for? Sure, disappointment never felt good as a kid but disappointment is REALITY- not Housewives of CrazyTown reality, REAL reality. You know? Like when you turn off the TV/Computer/Smartphone? Remember that?
  I am by no means saying you shouldn't praise your children or be ashamed of your praise. Go ahead but please, be realistic. Your child is NOT a baby Einstein, or a baby Picasso- unless of course he or she is in which case... yay. Good for you. Now stop bragging and have a normal conversation, please!

Hey, it's how many of us feel but are just afraid or too nice to say it. Just putting it out there. Discuss amongst yourselves...

"You aren't mad, Mommy..."

"You aren't mad, Mommy..."

Those were the beautiful words my almost 3 year old preschool daughter spoke to me today... and for whatever reason they both made me mad and sad. 

It made me mad because I could tell that my child had been coached by a well-intentioned adult and family member to say that to me when I seemed upset. She also reminded me that even when I was upset with her, I still loved her. These are reassurances I make her myself when I am rationally explaining why I AM upset.

It made me sad because as the universe was apparently backhanding me upside the head I got an email from another mom friend about parenting without yelling. Oh boy. Have you seen this lovely site?

Frankly, I am more of the "Moms who drink and swear" variety but so. be. it.

I say, Live and let live- or if you piss me off. Live. and let die.... yes, I am a Wings fan because I love Paul. Deal with it.

Anyway, the email from my sweet fellow mother asked the poignant and thorny question, "Would you want YOU for a mother?" 

FUCK. Yes? On some days, I know that I am about two donuts shy of a total meltdown. If that doesn't make sense to you then you understand.

Just call me the Yogi Berra of mothers. That's kind of how my logic works.

Moving on... I have to wonder what kind of memories my girls will retain. 

Will she remember that I always give up my food, comfort and time for her? Will she only recall my time away?

Will they only remember the curse words in traffic? Or will they fondly reminisce over the way I always said "sleep sweet" at goodnight?

Do I have to deconstruct my parenting as I am doing it?!?!?!

Right now, I am too busy trying to BE a parent and do a good job with my brain cells in tact. 

Maybe "You aren't mad, Mommy" is the universe sending me a new mantra or she is practicing what she will say someday when she does something really really bad. Oh god...