the truth about motherhood that no one ever (always tries to) share


Confession time: I never wanted to be a mother.

I know!

Mother of FIVE children, Mima of two gorgeous babies never wanted to be a mother.

Then I fell in love…HARD. I got married and a few years later the stick turned blue and OMG, I was going to be a mother! Yes, after a brief moment of “oh crap! I’m going to be a mother!!” I melted all over the place because I was going to have a baby…I was going to be a mommy!!

And the first thing someone told me was you’re going to be so fat! Hollie was told the same thing years later…by the same person. I didn’t believe it. Neither did Hollie. But yeah, I did get big…as a house…at least in my mind…while I was pregnant. Good god, who knew one’s belly could stretch THAT much without the skin ripping. But nine months or a little more later after the birth of that beautiful baby who made me as big as a house, I was wearing clothes I wore before I was impregnated. Except for bras. People tell you that your boobs will never be the same again and of course you don’t hear that because who is going to hear such negativity but it is true. Your boobs will never be the same again. In my case, I went from pre-pregnant barely an A cup to a C cup. Funny how I finally got the boobs I always wanted but now I didn’t want them. Take note your mileage may vary, er your boobs will be different after having babies but might not end up like mine.

No one ever tells you that you will never, ever want to go to the bathroom ever again after you push out a nearly nine pound (in my case the first time) human being out of your body…they also don’t tell you that you will likely poop when pushing that human out of your body…at least you don’t hear people telling you that…at your baby shower…at church…in the supermarket. So when your post-partum nurse comes in and happily suggests that you get up soon after birth and go to the bathroom you are thinking “OH HELL NO!!! Did you see what just came out of my now bruised and swollen bottom?1?! That human nearly ripped me apart!!! I am never going to pee or poop ever again!!!” What you don’t realize is that you kind of, sort of predicted your own future…you will never be able to pee or poop ALONE, in private without someone wanting to talk to you right now.

Somehow you manage to pee and poop and survive sleepless nights and cracked nipples and vomit and potty training temper tantrums and snot…so much snot. And if you are a fool, like me, you forget everything everyone told you and that you have lived through and you do it again, and again, and again. At least I was able to go to the bathroom with no trauma after Daniel was born. Eventually, you get to the point where that precious human is ready for school and you think, “Hurray! I am going to be free!”

Heh-heh!

You foolish, foolish mother!

There’s the school drop-off and the pick-up and the PTA (that just might judge you and reject you) and T-ball and soccer and homework…so much homework. You thought you were done with math homework…heh-heh. The added bonus is that small human who changed your body and disrupted your bathroom habits and sleep yet you adore because you are the center of their universe replaces you! You, my dear, are no longer the center of that child’s universe…and you never, ever will be again. There will always be a teacher or a coach or a best friend who they will worship before you. Yes, you were told this. I’m telling you this now. But you won’t believe it.

Just you wait.

Then when you finally have adjusted to life with a school aged child and all that comes with that even managing to eek out some time to yourself something else happens.

Dun-dun-dun!!!

HORMONES!!!

You thought pooping and peeing right after giving birth was traumatic.

You are knee deep in stinkiness and emotions and anger and eye rolls and heavy sighs and slamming doors and closed doors and on and on and on. You are also, clearly, the dumbest person on the planet…EVER. Wine and the fact that god made these children cute so you wouldn’t kill them are the only thing that gets you through this period. Take note if you have three teenagers at one time in your home you will need LOTS of wine.  Trust me, I know. You are certain that you (and your child) will never survive this time and of course you don’t believe it when your friends with adult aged children come along side of you and promise that you (and your child) will survive and you might even be smart again. If you are really lucky, you will become the wisest person they know…the one they tell their young adult friends to talk to because you are the smartest person they know. They also try to tell you that when that child of yours turns eighteen and is an “adult” you are not done…that you will NEVER, EVER be done. Yeah, they tell you that but you don’t hear them, which is why you foolishly post on your Facebook page how you can’t wait until your little darling’s eighteenth birthday because then you will be done and free at last.

Heh-heh-heh!!!

Why doesn’t anyone tell you this, you wonder?

Why?

The thing is everyone told you this. Everyone. They tell you this maybe to prepare you but I think they tell you with wicked delight because they remember just how naive they were back before they became parents…back when they KNEW they would be so much better and never, ever go through any of this crazy joy ride that is motherhood because, for them it would be different. They tell you with a warped, wicked glee that foolish you have no idea what you have gotten yourself into for the rest of your life. You have no clue…no clue at all. Just you wait.

It is a wild crazy and ride.

Thank goodness for the joy…and, if you hang in there, the grandbabies…and the joy of witnessing your mother’s curse upon your child that they will have children someday just like them come true.

I told you so.

I did.

Happy Mother’s Day!

a cautionary tale


Parents, isn’t it fun to dress up your little darling children? It is. It is indeed.Oh the oh-so cute little dresses and sailor suits and t-shirts and shoes and hair styles and…if you have more than one darling child…the match-y, match-y siblings look.

A total win! People can totally tell that they are all sisters. And the first born isn’t resentful at all over the fact that she is dressed just like her barely-potty trained sisters because she is a mature, confident third grader and totally trusts her Mom’s fashion choices…like dressing her kids exactly alike.

Heh!

But it gets better. At least Mom imagines that it gets better.

No, we are not match-y, match-y but we are awesomely Gap coordinated. Weren’t the 90s just too stylish?I think so. Hollie, on the other hand, believes that this is just photographic evidence that her mother dressed her funny on purpose.

Whatever!

Oh, and in case you are wondering, Bill is smiling in this picture. He is smiling on the inside. Don’t believe me? Ask him. He’ll tell you.

But I digress…

Parents, while it is truly, truly fun to dress up our children not unlike the way we used to dress our Barbies…or our GI Joes.

Did boys dress up their GI Joes? I don’t know. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t.

Whatever…

Parents, be careful how you dress your babies because it will come back to haunt you with all of your babies’ judgement and angst and bitterness when they are all grown up.

This.

This is evidence enough.

 

for the last time…PLEASE dear glob let it be for the last time!!!


That feathery blink of the eyelash before puberty right around age 11, for the last time I am going through it. Any parent of teens and young adults knows EXACTLY what I am speaking of. I semi-lovingly refer to it as the scummy stage.

Apologies to my four beautiful, teen-aged and young adult daughters, but it is because of you I have named this phase thusly…with love, of course with love.
The hair…oh the hair…that ratty ponytail…”YES, I brushed my hair…cutting hair…YES, I WASHED MY HAIR!!
Certain fashion choices…a certain green sweatshirt…those stinky shoes…NO! You can not wear THAT!
The heavy, dramatic sighs…eye rolls…way too many eye rolls…gestures…stomping of feet and slamming of doors…

Oh sweet pre-pubescent hormonal surges! How I almost constantly remind myself that you are so temporary and this is still my sweet, beautiful child who is vexing me so…and perhaps grossing me out with questionable hygiene.

Yes, my beautiful child whom I love more than life itself, you MUST take a shower more than twice a week and you do have to use soap and shampoo and conditioner…and today, because it is picture day at school, you must let your Mom try to blow dry and style your hair. Sure you’ll roll your eyes and run your fingers through your hair when Mom is done but humor me, please.

And please, oh please take off THAT sweatshirt when you get your picture taken!

teach our children well


In the news all over the place this last week or so was this.

And the media was not guilty alone in the re-victimization of this horrible crime.

Frankly I am tired of the sympathy for Trent Mays and Ma’lik Richmond. Sorry, but I was not moved by their tears, their apologies after they were found guilty and the proclamation made by Richmond that “my life is over, no one is going to want me now.” These young men…good students, talented football players, young people with so much promise…not unlike their friends Michael Nodianos, Mark Cole II, Evan Westlake, Cody Saltsman, Anthony Craig and every other person (student, parent, teacher, coach, minister) who was witness to and complicit in the rape of a 16 year old girl are wholly and completely responsible for the criminal and immoral actions they did. Period.

We teach our daughters to be mindful of how they dress, how they talk. We teach our girls the difference between
a man who flatters her and one who compliments her,
one who spends money on her and one who invests in her,
one who views her as property and one who views her properly,
a man who lusts after her and a man who loves her,
a man who believes that he is a gift to women and the man who believes she is a gift to him.
We warn our girls to never leave their drink unattended, to never go anywhere alone with a stranger and on and on and on it goes…We instruct and admonish all these things and more when talking to our daughters but it still does not protect them or any other girl or woman from violent sexual crimes against women. But after raising four daughters of mine to be mindful of all of these things and then some I find myself coming to a place where I believe that we should not be teaching our daughters how not to get raped…because NOTHING our daughters do is ever something that makes them deserving of such a horrific thing.

Never!

Never!!

Ever!!!

We need to be teaching our sons these things. We need to instruct our boys that regardless of where a girl comes from or how she might be dressed or what she might be saying or doing she is still a human being just like he is…a human being deserving to be treated just as our son would want to be treated…or might expect his sister or his mother or his grandmother to be treated. We need to make sure that our sons understand that yes they can control their own physical urges. We need to constantly remind our sons that when a girl says no it means no…when a girl is silent it means no…when a girl is under the influence of alcohol or drugs it means no…when a girl is asleep or unconscious it absolutely, positively means no. We need to insure that our sons understand that no girl is ever asking for it because of the way she might be dressed or how she looks when she walks past them or when she is under the influence of any substance that might impair their ability to reason, talk, walk and to definitely say NO!

We need to make sure that our sons and our daughters understand that when they witness such vile acts happening to another human being we should not pull out our smart phones and capture the event on Instagram or for YouTube or Twitter or Facebook or SnapChat or any other social media platform. We need to teach our children that when they pull out their phones they should be calling the police to report a serious crime.We need to teach our children that the victim of the crime is always the victim even when those who committed the crime against the victim are really nice kids with promising futures in sports or academia or are pillars of the community. Our children must come to understand that when they witness someone carrying around an unconscious naked human being it is wrong. We need to make sure our children realize that if they witness someone forcing body parts or any objects into the mouth or vagina or anus of an unconscious person that someone is raping them. We need to instruct our children that the only thing to do, the thing that they MUST do if they witness such heinous acts is to call the police.

Period.

enough with the bright futures! stop growing up!


Look at those bright, happy smiling faces! Looking at them Timbuk 3′s song “The Future’s So Bright” starts playing in the personal soundtrack of my mind.

What?

You don’t have a personal musical soundtrack always playing in your mind?

What’s wrong with you?

Oh, never mind.

Back to looking at these kids. Some I have known for a few years now. A couple of them I have known since before they were even born. Now I find myself bearing witness to them growing up much too quickly from little kids…real little kids…babies even…into these confident, happy, smart people who (sooner than I will be ready for) will be ready to take on and likely rule the world.

I don’t think I am ready for that just yet. Not that I would doubt that they would rule the world benevolently and brilliantly. I’m just not ready for these kids to grow up.

Stop it!

And while you are at it, take off those damn shades!

I swear this is not the cold meds talking.