update: i'm still a judgy B

I was late to pick up the kids yesterday. This hasn't happened in almost a year but it still makes me feel like nearly 5 years of motherhood is reduced to the 7 minutes late that I am. The kids seemed mostly unfazed though. I said, "I'm SO SORRY guys." And Colby replied, "Sowwy for what, Mama?" So it's not like they were locking this terrible memory away to be shared with therapists twenty years down the road. Or at least, Colby wasn't.

Jack: Mommy, I wish you and daddy didn't have to work on the other side of da fweeway. Den you wouldn't get stuck in twaffic jams. Wouldn't dat be so nice for you?

Me: Yes buddy. That would be amazing. Daddy and I would like nothing more than to live and work right here so we didn't have to get stuck in traffic jams. 

J: It would also be gweat if you guys could just have work but no meetings. Den you could finish your work faster and den me and Cowby could be da fuhst ones to get picked up instead of being da last ones all da time. :(((

And just to seal those gems into my Mother of the Year crown:

Text to DM: 6:07. It's gonna cost us some scarred psyches and $30 bucks. And now I am going to buy them In-N-Out and send them to bed bathed in french fry grease.
DM: Sounds like what I would do.
Me: Well, parental continuity is very important for children.

Anyway, this post is not really about that. It's about how I think I'm a nice person and a reformed judger but I'm not, I'll always be "in recovery."

So, as I pulled up to the school at 6:07pm, another car screeched into the spot next to me. She started running to the door but I was closer so I got there first. As I repeatedly tried to open the door with my fob, she angrily complained, "Oh my GOD, c'mon!" I told her she was welcome to try her hand at it, so she shoved herself in front of me and started jabbing her keys at the fob-reader thing, unsuccessfully. Apparently, it doesn't work after 6pm. One of the preschool teachers walks over and lets us in and this woman just brushes past everyone and grabs her daughter, saying (to whom?) "I have two other kids to pick up! We have to go!"

Apparently this was her first rodeo because she didn't realize that if you arrive even one second after 5:59:59, you start paying by the minute, and you have to sign the "consent to charge me for sucking at motherhood" form, in triplicate, before they will let you leave. (But, you get to keep the yellow copy to put in your Shitty Mom scrapbook!) This lady was huffing and puffing and getting seven sorts of pissy and I was having extremely unsympathetic thoughts toward her during this interlude. She was wearing riding pants and boots that had obviously just been used for their intended purpose, and I thought to myself, "Woman, you need to chill. Why are your jodhpurs in a bunch, anyway?! Because your riding lesson on your faithful steed at your fancy stable in Del Mar ran long? Puh-lease."

Then, this woman's face crumbled...  it just folded into itself, on no volition of its owner. And she began to cry. She scribbled her name on the charge slip, choked out "I just hate this!" and ran out the wrong door, dragging her daughter behind her, setting off the fire alarm in the process.

And I felt like a giant dick.

Why is my lateness any more righteous than hers? Who cares if she was getting a luxurious spa treatment and I was stuck in rush hour traffic after working all day? The truth of the matter is, I chose to be late. Or at least, I allowed that to be a possibility. Don't get me wrong, sometimes shit happens that is beyond our control and we're late and that sucks. But usually it's because we know good and damn well we're probably not going to make it in time, and we decide that whatever we're doing right now is worth the risk of tardiness. Yesterday, I looked at Google Maps. I saw that traffic was atrocious (because of the goddamn horses at Del Mar, incidentally). But two of my bosses came in to talk to me at 4:51 and 4:59, respectively, and I made the conscientious decision that the chance of disappointing my kids by being a few minutes late was a lesser evil than disappointing two senior partners in one fell swoop. Because I feel like as soon as I open my mouth to explain, 'Yes, I have been staying later but today I can't because my husband had a hearing in LA and my kids have to be picked up by 6 and traffic sucks balls because of the races and this CRAZY ASS weather and by the way WHY are So-Cal people fundamentally incapable of driving in the rain?! Even like, mist totally fucks them up..." I'm dead in the water. Just stamp "MOM" across my forehead, stuff some sticky used tissues and Hot Wheels in my purse and call it a day. And ultimately, it doesn't matter who/what/when/where/why. I let my kids down. So did she. We both lose.

But, the good news is, they'll probably survive. And, again, life is life and we have to make tough decisions and do our best to navigate these shark infested waters...

Wait. Dude. Sharks. Holy fuck.



Also this:

Sharkaphobia solution for our upcoming vacation to the Outer Banks.

Okay. Sorry. Got sidetracked for a minute there.

ANYWAY. My point is, I am a recovering a$$hole. And you and me and she and we are not so very different from one another. Do you ever blow it, as a parent, partner, employee, whatever? And you just feel so ridiculous and ashamed, and then that makes you feel defensive and angry, and all of these feelings are just fighting in your face and then it implodes and these dumb embarrassing tears and weird choking seal sounds come out of your head and everything is terrible? Ten times more so because everyone is LOOKING AT YOU like, "Uhhh, is everything alright?" And/or, "Do you need immediate medical attention?" Well, I at least know one other person with whom I share this unfortunate tendency. And I can tell you from experience she is judging herself harshly enough, she does not need that shit from me or anyone else.

Practice makes perfect :)

cheetos for breakfast

I'm in rehab. For judgyness. Now, I've held court on this subject before. And I still basically believe what I wrote then - that we all judge, it's human nature, and perhaps even an essential part of our social interaction. If you claim you never judge, I'm gonna call shenanigans on that shit. But it's how you react (or don't react) to that initial kernel of judgment that really matters. (Kernel of judgment? Seed of judgment? How about judge-nugget? That has a nice ring to it ;)) Lately, in light of my personal "mommitment" not take part in the "Mommy Wars," I've been making a concerted effort to curb my knee-jerk judgyness. We don't have to be BFFs or anything. But I pledge to give you the space and respect to do your thang.

So, for you, a short list of things I have, in the past, been judgy about, and my new and improved attitude on these matters:

* Feeding kids Cheetos for breakfast. Hey. At least you fed them breakfast. Bottom line: I got your back when it comes to orange cheese dust.

* Letting little tiny girls wear high heels. You know what? They're wearing two matching shoes which is more than I can say for my own progeny this morning. Mad props.

* Moms who look perfect all the time? Good on ya. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little envious, though. Please, show me the magic of your ways. Sprinkle some of that glittering unicorn juice on your less-fortunate, saggy-sweatpant-clad mommy brethren.

* In that same vein, moms who are dressed like they’re going clubbing at soccer practice at 9am on a Saturday morning. More power to you. If my gams looked like that in a mini skirt, I might just rock one too.

* Grannies who dress like they're going clubbing. In Tijuana. I'm just kidding. I never judged these people. I want to adopt them, until I'm old enough to be them. I cannot wait to be idontgiveafuck-years old.

* People who have botoxed the shit out of their face and thus look like Apathy Barbie at all times. Hey girlfriend. If YOU feel pretty, then more power to you. I myself have a couple strategically placed sacks of silicone and they don't look too shabby in a bikini, if I may say so myself. So I won't judge.

* Smoking pot while pregnant or breastfeeding. Better than crack, right? Crack is whack. And according to Bob Sagget, "Marijuana is not a drug." A couple people have even assured me their doctors told them to do it. I am curious about these "doctors," I wonder if their medical credentials are from the same university as my own (a.k.a. Google U). Still. We all have to do a careful balancing act between "the shoulds" and our sanity. And I'm not going to put my thumb on your scale.

* Speaking of sanity and "shoulds" - parents that let their kid have a pacifier until he's in, like, 6th grade. Listen. Whatever you need to do, my friend. I sucked my thumb (aka human pacifier) well beyond a socially acceptable age. My parents even sent me to some kooky "specialist" that taped my thumb into a splint, covered it in cayenne, and made paper cranes to watch over me at night (and peck me to death with their origami beaks if I caved? I don't know. No wonder I'm fucking terrified of birds). Anyway, I guarantee they're not going to go to college with it. Probably not even high school. Though I will warn you, what you save in drama now, you will repay in orthodontist fees tenfold.

* I used to assume that people with lots of children (and by lots I mean more than two), were Mormon, Catholic, and/or slightly insane. I would look and them and think, Um, pardon me, but, may I provide you with a quick tutorial on how babies are made? However, I have dear cousins and a best friend with passels of kids, and they're mostly normal ;) And anyway, why do I care??? It's not me birthing yet another baby through my already tattered vagina, enduring double the laundry, or paying four college tuitions! Lately, I think of it like this: you're doing your part to populate the Earth with wonderful little people to help counteract all the yuck in the world. How can that be a bad thing?! (I just hope someone figures out how to power cars with our husbands' farts and sanitize our urine into potable water before the Earth reaches its carrying capacity and spontaneously combusts. Yes. Concerns like this literally keep me up at night.)

* Those crafty bitches who treat a three year old birthday party with more pomp and circumstance than your wedding day, with themed and color-coordinated snacks, desserts, kid crafts, and those god. damn. goody bags. You perfect pinterest princesses are a pain in my… Oh.. wait… I’m one of those Bs. Nevermind ;)

* People who give their kids weird-ass names. Guilty as charged. Your kids are allowed to hate you. But I don't.

* I used to say (before I actually had children, of course) "I could never be one of those moms who gets a nanny and then goes out to get coffee and a mani/pedi." Well, obviously I was smokin' the whack-crack because you, madam, are a goddamn genius. Hook a sister up. My new goal in life is to find a sugar daddy. Or a sister wife. Preferably both.

* I remember thinking along the same lines when my mother-in-law said she was basically raised by her live-in-nanny, more of a governess really, and she and her sisters only saw their mother for a short while each day while they were on their best behavior. I was like, aw, that's so sad. Ummm, sad for WHOM? The kids? Possibly, but they seemed pretty stoked on their nanny (along with their cook, driver, laundress, gardener, and personal shopper). And they still loved their mom and knew her as such. Now I think Moms had the right idea. I would be SUCH a good mom if I only had to deal with the happy parts of parenting, and could skip over all the bullshit like laundry, cleaning, shopping, cooking, and getting them to eat, brush their teeth, and go the F to sleep.

* Women who pontificate on the pleasure of an at-home bathtub birth with nothing but patchouli and prayers to the Goddess of Unimaginable Physical Pain to get you through. And on the other end of the spectrum, women who schedule their C-sections between conference calls. Hey. You made a human being, right? And brought it into the world? And have managed thus far to keep it alive and fed and clothed and more or less happy by generally accepted industry standards? Then you, mama, deserve a fucking medal.

* People who take Segway tours around the city..... I’m trying really hard here. Just… just give me a minute. Okay. You're tourists, right? Cool. Sally forth on your Segways.

* People who "vape." I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that not knowingly giving yourself cancer trumps looking like a total toolbox. Go you.

* People who take selfies with iPads or Selfie Sticks. I admire your...um, self confidence. Carry on.

* Same for people who run/workout with an iPad mini, er, I mean, an iPhone 6 XL, strapped to their bicep. Right on. Now, if you need to make an emergency spreadsheet or send a TPS report mid-workout, you've got that shit covered.

* People who drive minivans. Hey, they even come with extra-large climate-controlled cup-holders to hold your dignity. I kid. I kid. I'm not gonna lie. The idea still horrifies me. But really on the long list of shameful things you do for motherhood, minivans are a minor, as well as luxurious and convenient (headrest screens and automatic sliding doors whaaaat), offense.

* People who cannot park a car between the f*cking lines. I should be more sympathetic because I am an astoundingly bad parker. Honestly, I hit a parked car once twice. I am just the worst. But, dammit, I will do a 397-point turn rather than park like an A-hole. Still. I'll cut you a break. Just like I do when I'm on the freeway and someone is driving like a twat-waffle, I imagine that they're my grandma or grandpa, and then I just want to give them a big hug instead of going Monster Truck on their ass.

But, I will still give mad side-eye to the following:

- People who do not like children, yet work with children.

- People who are mean to wait staff and retail employees.

- People who do not know how to read traffic signals before they jaywalk.

- People who don't know the difference between "your" and "you're," and "their" and "they're" (and "there!")

- People who try to use religion as an excuse not to support equal rights. (I apologize for "going there," but I "can't even.")

Maybe acceptance of these categories is further down in my twelve-step-program. We shall see.

May I interest you in some fresh-picked, organic produce? Remember, baby eats what you eat. 

Bitch, please. Hand over the good stuff.

 

just try your best, mama

i worry, probably more than a healthy amount, that i may be ruining my children's lives. from the petty stuff, like not choosing the right cup or pair of socks, to the legit stuff like deciding when to send them to kindergarten, practically poisoning them with my cooking, stashing them at preschool for nine hours a day five days a week, or shutting myself in the bathroom because i don't have the emotional wherewithal to withstand yet another meltdown. but then i try to console myself and say, "they're 2 (almost 3!) and 4. they're not even going to remember any of this. it's not like i'm causing long-term psychological damage. they'll be fine."

well. my son recently brought this hypothesis into question. the other night i was driving with the kids in the car and we were running late to pick up the dog from doggy daycare. jack was lamenting from the back seat, "i feel so bad for Feta. she is pwobly so SAD dare all by hersewf." dear lord. i responded that yes, it was sad, but she would probably survive and we would just have to give her lots of extra love when we got home. 

then he says, "wemembow dat time when i was the vewy last one to get picked up in my fwee-year-old cwass? i was vewy, vewy sad." (you might remember this from my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, which, by the way, was six months ago.) he went on, "i was just sitting dare all by myself eating a cheese stick dat wasn't even cold anymore because i was so hungwy, and i almost cwied." oh sweet jesus. stab me in the heart. bring me a hair shirt. and some bleach for my motherly conscience which may very well never be clean again. 

i told him i was still so, so, so sorry that happened, and that i will try really, really hard to make sure that doesn't ever happen again, but sadly, there's a chance it might. jack said, "you just need to make sure you get there a wittow earlier, dat's all, mama." i said i will do my best, but things don't always go as planned, life happens, blah blah blah. he sagely replied "well, it's okay if you are late, maybeee... free or four more times until i'm twenty." i said alright. then he added "you just need to twy a wittow harder, okay?" me, trying not to laugh/cry/drive off the road, "okay bud. i will." jack: "just twy your best, 'kay mama? dat's all i can ask you to do." thanks, son. i'll do that. i promise. 

* Just don't be late again.
Ever. ;)

ps. on the subject of mom guilt and comparisons and so on and so forth - julie, one of my most favorite imaginary friends, is challenging people to make a "mommitment" to end mom wars. amen, sister. in the wise words of my four-year-old (who was possibly plagiarizing pete-the-cat), we're all doing our best, and that's all we can ask - of ourselves, and one-another.

Next Life, No Kids

pps. people keep asking me what a hair shirt is. click here to find out.