July 28, 2005
‘good’ mommies don’t blog in their underwear
I’ve been zipping around the Internet recently, making snappy comments about ‘good’ mommies, but I hate to be glib about the whole notion of ‘good’ parenting (which is always posed as the opposite of what most of us are doing every day), and so I wanted to write something smart and eloquent about being a real mommy, and about how most of us are, nearly always, good mommies even when we choose different parenting paths and styles.
Instead, I’m going to tell you about My Day So Far, which may get us to the same place.
7:00 am: Boys awake and snuggly and charming; playing nicely together before breakfast.
7:30: Husband leaves for work amid usual breakfast chaos.
7:33: Husband calls from car to ask if I remember that we have an appointment with the psychologist tomorrow morning. Which I don’t. Or if I have a babysitter lined up. Which I don’t. Swear under breath.
7:37: Frantically e-mail girlfriend to ask if kids can play at her house for an hour, as my babysitter is out of town this week.
7:50: Shuffle children off to get dressed; take off my pjs and search through virtually empty closet for something clean-ish to wear.
7:52: Hear Henry tell Charlie to ‘give me Green Lantern or I will punch you with Flash!’ Throw on bathrobe, as the boys are in a room with ALL THE BLINDS OPEN, and intervene.
7:53-8:01: Talk Henry through tantrum. Leave him to have quiet time. Tell Charlie to get dressed.
8:03: Hear Henry AGAIN threaten to hit Charlie. Put bathrobe back on. Send Charlie to his room to GET DRESSED FOR GOD’S SAKE and talk Henry through second tantrum.
8:17: Henry calmed down, Charlie dressed. Put on first clothes I find (pants that are too tight; bra that is too big; polo shirt I hate).
8:30: Turn on Charlie and Lola. Sort laundry while watching TV with kids. Start load of laundry. Think about cleaning up kitchen. Hear Henry announce, ‘We’re all done with TV! Let’s go to the park!’
9:07: Starbucks. Praise god.
9:30: Play at sandy park.
10:10: Henry announces that he has to pee (he peed at Starbucks forty minutes ago). Start to explain that we’re NOT going to pee on a tree (too many other people at the park) but that we CAN go back to Starbucks and then come BACK to the park. Get as far as ‘Not going to pee in the park’ before Henry throws sand at me and hits my arm and starts screaming. Pack everyone up and head home.
10:16: Drive through at dry cleaners. Wait SEVEN MINUTES before employee notices car in drve through. Drop off clothes, and realize as I am driving away that I just left the skirt I was planning to wear to dinner on Saturday night with the laundry that won’t be ready until Monday after 5:00. Swear under breath.
10:33: Pull into driveway. Hear Henry announce, ‘Charlie, it’s not even close to lunchtime yet.’ Remember that the lawn was fertilzed yesterday but hasn’t been watered yet, so we cannot go outside. Tell the kids to go get their swimsuits on.
10:58: Schlep everyone to pool. Leslie calls; wants us to meet them for lunch at 11:30. Tell her, ‘No. I worked too damn hard to get to the pool.’ She understands.
12:28: Load everyone back in the car, after taking Henry to the potty THREE TIMES in ninty minutes (what the hell is that all about?). Drag them home, feed them lunch, read a story while they eat, and stick them in their rooms. Assure them that if I so much as HEAR their VOICES in the next hour, I will sell them to the gypsies.
12:59: Shower. Eat a Luna bar while the water heats up.
1:44: Sit at computer in my underwear because today is laundry day and my pants are in the dryer and muse about what it takes to be a good mommy.
Frankly, I got nothin’.
Posted by Susan @ 12:44 pm • Uncategorized
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July 28th, 2005 at 6:33 pm, Misfit Hausfrau Says:
Yikes!
Are there days where you pray that your spouse will NOT ask you what you did that day because you know your head will spilt open and a hammer will come out and beat him?
It seems that my dearly beloved always makes that mistake on the days that almost killed me.
Did I open up a can of worms yesterday by asking what good mommies do? I don’t really consider myself to be a good mommy yet. I still think I am a mommy-in-training…
July 28th, 2005 at 7:36 pm, The June Cleaver Diaries Says:
I think the ideal of the “perfect Mommy” brings all of us down. It’s an impossible standard to reach! It’s the married-with -kids version of trying to look like an airbrushed underwear model. I remember way back when when I looooved Duff (MTV VJ in the ’90’s) because she had the coolest hair. My boyfriend at the time always asked me to get my hair cut like hers (EX boyfriend). I spent HOURS trying to get that perfect bouncy bob— and failed every time. I saw her on Oprah a few years back. You know why she had perfect hair? She was going through chemo. It was a wig.
And this “ideal Mommy” crap is in the same vein. Competitive Mommying sucks. A great book that really opened my eys was “The Mommy Myth,”if anyone is interested. Sorry for hijacking your blog!!! Maybe I’ll continue this on my own blog in a few days. I’m always good for a soapbox rant….By the way, nice of that Alpha Mom to treat her kid like a business project rather than a person!
July 28th, 2005 at 8:59 pm, ieatcrayonz Says:
Have not blogged regularly this week in an attempt to become alpha mom. Okay, I’ll settle for “good mom.”
July 28th, 2005 at 9:01 pm, Mary P. Says:
I’ve worked with diligent, cautious, over-involved parents, who I call Earnest Mommies and Daddies, for years now, first as an elementary school teacher and now as a “daycare lady”. I’ve been planning a post on these folks for ages now. One day, one day.
The Alpha Mom is a different breed, simply scarey, but, I think, a very particular social (and perhaps even geographical) phenomena. Not worth the air time: the obsessive will be with you always. But we don’t have to follow their lunatic lead.
There’s a book out there called “Slacker Mom”. I haven’t read it yet, but I will, on the strength of that great title alone!
July 28th, 2005 at 9:55 pm, Candace Says:
*Note to self: Read “Slacker Mom”. Must be talking about me.
My husband asked me exactly once what I did during the day. It was a particularly horrible day early in the firstborn’s babyhood. He came home and said, “What did you DO today?” And IMMEDIATELY regretted it.
I said, “You might want to rethink that question. If you don’t, I’m leaving.”
He’s never asked me that again. He says instead, “Was today a good day or a bad day?”
Smart man.
July 28th, 2005 at 10:07 pm, Susan Says:
Everyone listen to SNMartha and read the Mommy Myth–read it, I say! And then pick up a copy of The Perfect Parent Handbook (sort of a Preppie Handbook for parents, with that same dry wit).
Yes, Hausfrau, this IS your can of worms, but I’m glad you popped the top. Start passing those martinis around and it will all be JUST FINE.
Seriously, though, the whole idea of who is (and is not) a ‘good’ parent, and what that entails, is troublesome to me. After all, I’m doing the best I can here (as are all of you, I’m sure) and some days I rock and some days I suck and some days I wind up writing in my undies or crying in the shower or opening a bottle of wine at 4:00 pm. And other days I call my husband at work because the kids did something so fantastic I can’t wait until he gets home to tell him about it.
But most days I just show up and go with the flow and hope everyone lives until bedtime.