Saturday, September 7, 2013

DoucheNob....Don't Be That

There are areas in life where I am full of awesomesauce...and there's nothing wrong with that. We all should be filled with some sort of awesomesauce now and again.

There are also areas that I don't ooze awesomesauce...those are not being the size of a stick, wearing the latest fashions and back breaking shoes. I won't ever run a marathon...or run period. I'm the one hobbling in pain with every step, but I'll yell YAY for ya! I might even throw some water at you, if I can stand up to do it. I'm hilarious. I'm sarcastic. I'm artistic. I can force you to have an opinion on things that matter. I'm allergic to ignorance.

I pride myself on trying to keep a clean house. I have this blog. I make things from scratch. I cook delicious food. I'm a DIY Insane person. I have purple hair. I make my own moisturizer. I do my nails a million times a week. I'll try anything on Pintrest. Do I think that makes me better than you? Not at all. Does that mean I have 'too much time on my hands'. Not at all.

Compare me to Suzy Homemaker. I love it. I'm proud of that fact. While it takes me four times longer these days to accomplish a task, I relish in the finished product. But, I can also call myself out on how I am not awesome. In fact, I'll list it for you.

- I've had the same three towels hanging on the shower door for a couple of days. Yup...take a shower, wrap my head, dry my body, hang them back up and move on. My husband uses the third one. They'll get washed....whenever.

-I listen to the 'oldies' station and blast it. I will sing AS LOUD AS I CAN along to Survivor or REO Speedwagon and I don't apologize for it. Ever.

-I gave my husband a titty twister today.

-The same piece of mail has been sitting on my counter for two weeks. It's a horribly personal piece of mail that I'm afraid to touch and move. I'll get to it. I hope.

-I sleep on the sofa every night. I have for 3 years. I'm married to a Yeti who snores. I'm also an insomniac and usually fall asleep sometime after 2am. (Last night...past 3am)

-I am the person that's EVERYTHING people post. Sorry, but I'd rather have the correct information than allow my friends to blindly re-post crap just because the internet says so.

-We have a dinner table but never use it. It holds a centerpiece....which is seasonal. We eat in the den. I grew up in a home where we had our assigned seats at the dinner table and dinner was a militant affair. I never, ever made my family do that.

- I've had the vacuum out for 3 days to remind myself to vacuum the upstairs. I've not done that yet.

-My daughter's deep red lipstick melted in my cup holder in my car a month's still there. A year ago when we were moving, I had a car accident and a lollipop I was sucking on flew into the open compartment under my stereo and melted there. It's still there.

THAT'S my life. My reality. THAT'S my state of existence.

I was named MommieDawn by my very good friend's daughter, I was her second mother, so to speak. I love the title so much. My kids friends started calling me that. I was a single mother to my own kids for a good ten years. In my head, that makes me better than you. Sorta. It's a side effect of being a single mom. I know a lot of single moms with the same affliction. I worked my ass off. I threw my kids parties on a TINY budget but full of fun and imaginative things to do. I made books and craft projects for my kids all the time. In my head, I was the poor Martha Stewart.

Now, my kids are older and I am a married-stay at home mom-homeschool teacher-designer-photographer. While you work full time, rush from here to there and being perfect...I won't apologize for staying in my jammies all day, doing what I call 'free-boobing'. Make up doesn't hit my face these days unless it's absolutely necessary so as not to scare the townspeople. I don't think I'm better than you and I won't even try to pretend I am. In the same token, you aren't better than me because you work an office job, or are in charge of a group of people. We're moms. We're the same. Why do we feel it necessary to trash talk each other disguised as conversation?

Each of us are talented or awesome at our own things. Each of us think different things are important and rank on our Oh Shit, Gotta Do List than others. None of that makes them wrong to the other, though.

When it comes to parenting, each of us can be asshats. We're so defensive and hateful. STFU worthy, even.

A blogger I follow runs triathlons with her specials needs child. Another blogger I follow sews like a crazy person and is so talented it's insane. My cousin takes the most amazing vacations. My girlfriend has such deep roots in her family I'm green with envy. Another girlfriend works full time and plays full time and seems to do it all without batting an eye. Do all these women feel like they have appearances to keep up because that is what's expected? Does my cousin, or bloggers or friends think twice about what they do every day and how it may or may not affect others?

Why are we even thinking about this shit?

Really, why?

I have girlfriends who think breastfeeding is gross, to which I strongly disagree. I have girlfriends who would breastfeed into pre-puberty if they could. Some feel horrible for not being able to breastfeed for a longer period (I'm one of those moms), some who can't cook, aren't trendy. Some people worry about not having a house that looks like the latest HGTV Blog Cabin. Others constantly take photos of the awesome jewelry their husband just strolled in and put on their finger. I constantly take pictures of my pets and food and post it all the time. It's life. It's who we are and what we do and how we feel about it to ourselves that should matter.

I have friends who feel like the dowdy mom, the single mom, the working mom, the stay at home mom, the disorganized mom, the helicopter mom, the type A mom, the young mom, the old mom, THAT mom. I've been accused of being a Helicopter Mom..and I wear the badge proudly. Suck it.

I have friends that worry that they are the only ones who aren’t Super Mom.

No one is Super Mom. We are more likely to call our friends Super Mom, and vice versa but won't call ourselves that.

Not you. Or you. Or even you. Certainly not me. We just have different priorities.

My husband expects supper on the table when he walks in the door from work. I should be able to do that if I were Super Mom and had nothing else on my plate all day. Right?

You want to be a hippy chemical free vegan mutha fighting against GMOs? Go for it. You want to be the balls of steel CEO of an empire so you can hire the best SuperNanny money can buy? Get 'er done. You want to put those kids to bed at 7 pm every night and have some time to yourself? Rock it. You want to feed them takeout every night and spend that time playing with your kids? Do it. You want to wear full makeup and heels on Pancakes With Mom at school? Be that.

We are all so worried about what others think about us, our choices, our lives, etc. All I can say is, be a good mommie. DO your best for your child(ren). Love them hard. Devote to them. In the end it will never matter what you smelled like, what purse you carried, what trendy bracelet you had on. What mattered is that you were THERE.

I had a conversation recently with a friend of mine having issues with the father of her child. Basically him being a jackass, trying to get her back in a relationship with him, lying to her and not being there for their child. Asshat material. Years ago, I'd be all about revenge. I would have told her to do whatever she could to make his life a living hell.

These days, I'm all about getting over it. My advice to her was to be there for her son. Hold her ex to the court order regarding visitation and do not alter from that. If he can't be there, then she MUST be there. It's the children.

Fuck what grown ups think, in my opinion, about your parenting style. If you are not abusive, fuck them. Be good to yourself. Love yourself. Mind yourself. Quit being a douchenob to yourself and others.

You know what made me write this? The one mother that I idolize. She's the mother who has a missing daughter that is my daughter's age. She's the mother that I have no idea how she lives every day not knowing where her child is. Alive or dead? I can't fathom her pain, disparity and horror. I feel helpless, but do what I can for her whether it's donating art for her charity auction, making a piece of jewelry with her daughter's picture or emailing hundreds of places to try and get her daughter's face and story out there any way I can. Yet, she lives. She Facebooks. She goes out with friends. She works. She is still a mom. I'm just in awe at her very existence and want to smack other moms who are douchenobs.

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