The Myth of THAT Mom
Oh, hell. Mother's Day was on Sunday. Permit me to write about mothering.
Last week, around 5:04 p.m., I left work and rushed down the street, briefly taking in the sunny spring, clad in my (work-appropriate) sundress and grey high heels, sunglasses on. I possibly strutted a bit, seeing as how I had blow dried and styled my hair that morning.
On my tail were two other women whom I didn't know, also walking fast. They were youngish, dressed to the nines, moving with purpose. Where did they work? I dunno. We didn't chat. We just click-click-clicked through the marble foyer of the building where we all parked. Down the elevator, into the garage, more click-click-clicking, and the beeps of cars unlocking, doors slamming, engines revving.
I laughed when our cars all merged toward the exit: a minivan and two sensible, mid-priced SUVs. That was us. Car seats peeked above the backseat windows, and I bet we all had Cheerios and goldfish crackers carpeting our backseats.
Oh, yes. We might've all strutted our working-girl selves down the streets of downtown Bethesda, we might've LOOKED like we had our shit together, but . . . we had little people to get home to and a "second shift" to launch.
Ironically, I never take our red SUV to work. Our other car, a black sedan, is way nicer. Way smoother. Way easier to maneuver through a cramped parking garage. Less mom-ish. And the deal Chris and I made: When I have to get ready for work AND handle the morning routine with the girls AND drop them off at school, Chris lets ME drive the good car.
Unless of course it's almost out of gas. In that case, I'm happy to take the SUV. Which I did that day.
This funky little moment got me thinking about ROLES. I mean, nobody really is how they may appear, right? For example, within a one-week period, I take on the following roles:
"Do the other stage moms work?" she asked me.
"Most of them," I said. "But not all." And as I said it, I realized that anyone walking into the ballet academy lobby would probably interpret us as a stereotypical hen-house of stay-at-home moms: there in the late afternoon, gabbing and gossiping, talking about our kids and decorating and school schedules and rehearsals and Little League and what's for dinner.
Looks are deceiving, though. Among us are a pharmacist, a psychologist, an editor (moi), stay-at-home mamas, and others. We've covered rehearsals as best we can based on work schedules and personal events, moving work schedules around, filling in for each other, trusting each is doing what she can. In fact, just recently, a SAHM was surprised when she found out I worked. It's totally twisted logic, but I felt pretty smug that I was THERE enough to make it seem like I didn't!
Yes, easily sliding into a zillion roles per week is due in large part to my telecommuting flexibility and the fact that school, ballet, church, etc. are within 3 minutes of our house. Yes. But I don't think I'm unusual at all. This is modern motherhood. Women are complex people with multiple interests, talents, obligations, and family situations. Whatever you see at a given moment---a woman walking down a street in a suit, or dropping kids off in yoga pants, or chasing toddlers at a park---it's just a glimpse, just one facet of her. We love to categorize others, and we tend to categorize ourselves. But days and obligations and roles are SO freaking fluid and changing.
When I'm at work, I babble constantly about my kids (and the dog). (My coworkers very patiently listen.) And as I detailed some ballet show stuff, my boss laughed and said, "Oh, you are so THAT mom." The irony of a stage-mothering hen being called out in an office environment pretty much proves it: THAT mom doesn't really exist. THAT mom who can be pigeon-holed into THAT single category is a crock.
Back when I was a new mom and (mistakenly) spent time on mommy blogs and message boards and such, wrongly thinking I could glean some useful information as to how to mother my insanely needy baby Charlotte, I was struck how moms defined themselves in their signatures. Examples:
Um, why did we all do that? Probably lots of reasons, but I think we can blame, in part, a social expectation that the more you whittle away your SELF, the better mom you are. Alas, there we run the risk of merging "self" with "mother," and no good can come of that.
As a girl, and particularly as a teen, I always detested the conservative Mother's Day sermons that praised mothers for self-sacrifice, especially if they pasted on a smile in the process. Even on a pedestal, the equation of Children minus Self = Good Mother still sucks.
So here's my take: I think moms should embrace the many versions of themselves! Look hot on date night, relish in the extreme comfort of yoga pants, volunteer in kid stuff if you feel so moved, pursue hobbies, have goals unrelated to kids, drive a minivan to work, suggest the MOMS group meet at the local watering hole instead of the park (the bartender will put on Disney channel--I have proof), take a class and say no to the next three volunteer requests you get to buy the time, and . . . . so on. Nobody--NOT EVEN MOMS--is one-dimensional.
I remember, back in my youth, the stage moms (especially of the younger girls) before the big ballet performances. I saw them as silly, hovering, and as JUST moms. And now, as I am a stage mom, I realized . . . this is a lot of work! (Do you know how many 4- and 5-year-olds I've taken to go potty, which is no simple task when there are costumes involved and a scene they need to perform in starts in 2 minutes? And how many of their bowels decided that NOW would be the best time to go #2?) And I see it on the teen dancers' faces---the mothers who are making their show possible by sewing tutus, raising money in various ways, coordinating countless things, helping with fast costume changes---oh, these mothers are utterly invisible to them. And that's fine. They will see differently when they become the next generation of stage moms.
As I tell Charlotte or Lorelei when they painfully elbow or kick me to get into better cuddle position: MOMS ARE PEOPLE TOO.
Last week, around 5:04 p.m., I left work and rushed down the street, briefly taking in the sunny spring, clad in my (work-appropriate) sundress and grey high heels, sunglasses on. I possibly strutted a bit, seeing as how I had blow dried and styled my hair that morning.
On my tail were two other women whom I didn't know, also walking fast. They were youngish, dressed to the nines, moving with purpose. Where did they work? I dunno. We didn't chat. We just click-click-clicked through the marble foyer of the building where we all parked. Down the elevator, into the garage, more click-click-clicking, and the beeps of cars unlocking, doors slamming, engines revving.
I laughed when our cars all merged toward the exit: a minivan and two sensible, mid-priced SUVs. That was us. Car seats peeked above the backseat windows, and I bet we all had Cheerios and goldfish crackers carpeting our backseats.
Oh, yes. We might've all strutted our working-girl selves down the streets of downtown Bethesda, we might've LOOKED like we had our shit together, but . . . we had little people to get home to and a "second shift" to launch.
Ironically, I never take our red SUV to work. Our other car, a black sedan, is way nicer. Way smoother. Way easier to maneuver through a cramped parking garage. Less mom-ish. And the deal Chris and I made: When I have to get ready for work AND handle the morning routine with the girls AND drop them off at school, Chris lets ME drive the good car.
Unless of course it's almost out of gas. In that case, I'm happy to take the SUV. Which I did that day.
This funky little moment got me thinking about ROLES. I mean, nobody really is how they may appear, right? For example, within a one-week period, I take on the following roles:
- Frumpy mom in yoga pants and no make-up, dropping kids off at preschool.
- Dressed-up mom in heels and make-up, dropping kids off at preschool.
- Stage mom in an Old Navy tank top and flip flops.
- Stage mom, slightly late to rehearsal, in a pencil skirt and bare feet (heels on a dance floor? no way!)
- Dog walker in yoga pants (yes, again) and a you're-lucky-I-put-on-a-bra t-shirt.
- Church girl on Sunday: probably a dress.
- Costco shopper in jeans and a comfy shirt.
"Do the other stage moms work?" she asked me.
"Most of them," I said. "But not all." And as I said it, I realized that anyone walking into the ballet academy lobby would probably interpret us as a stereotypical hen-house of stay-at-home moms: there in the late afternoon, gabbing and gossiping, talking about our kids and decorating and school schedules and rehearsals and Little League and what's for dinner.
Looks are deceiving, though. Among us are a pharmacist, a psychologist, an editor (moi), stay-at-home mamas, and others. We've covered rehearsals as best we can based on work schedules and personal events, moving work schedules around, filling in for each other, trusting each is doing what she can. In fact, just recently, a SAHM was surprised when she found out I worked. It's totally twisted logic, but I felt pretty smug that I was THERE enough to make it seem like I didn't!
Yes, easily sliding into a zillion roles per week is due in large part to my telecommuting flexibility and the fact that school, ballet, church, etc. are within 3 minutes of our house. Yes. But I don't think I'm unusual at all. This is modern motherhood. Women are complex people with multiple interests, talents, obligations, and family situations. Whatever you see at a given moment---a woman walking down a street in a suit, or dropping kids off in yoga pants, or chasing toddlers at a park---it's just a glimpse, just one facet of her. We love to categorize others, and we tend to categorize ourselves. But days and obligations and roles are SO freaking fluid and changing.
When I'm at work, I babble constantly about my kids (and the dog). (My coworkers very patiently listen.) And as I detailed some ballet show stuff, my boss laughed and said, "Oh, you are so THAT mom." The irony of a stage-mothering hen being called out in an office environment pretty much proves it: THAT mom doesn't really exist. THAT mom who can be pigeon-holed into THAT single category is a crock.
Back when I was a new mom and (mistakenly) spent time on mommy blogs and message boards and such, wrongly thinking I could glean some useful information as to how to mother my insanely needy baby Charlotte, I was struck how moms defined themselves in their signatures. Examples:
- EBF [exclusively breastfeeding], anti-vax, baby-wearing mama!"
- "Proud SAHM of 3"
- "Mommy to Jacob"
- "Full-time mom"
- "Working mom of 2"
- "Army wife and SAHM"
Um, why did we all do that? Probably lots of reasons, but I think we can blame, in part, a social expectation that the more you whittle away your SELF, the better mom you are. Alas, there we run the risk of merging "self" with "mother," and no good can come of that.
As a girl, and particularly as a teen, I always detested the conservative Mother's Day sermons that praised mothers for self-sacrifice, especially if they pasted on a smile in the process. Even on a pedestal, the equation of Children minus Self = Good Mother still sucks.
So here's my take: I think moms should embrace the many versions of themselves! Look hot on date night, relish in the extreme comfort of yoga pants, volunteer in kid stuff if you feel so moved, pursue hobbies, have goals unrelated to kids, drive a minivan to work, suggest the MOMS group meet at the local watering hole instead of the park (the bartender will put on Disney channel--I have proof), take a class and say no to the next three volunteer requests you get to buy the time, and . . . . so on. Nobody--NOT EVEN MOMS--is one-dimensional.
I remember, back in my youth, the stage moms (especially of the younger girls) before the big ballet performances. I saw them as silly, hovering, and as JUST moms. And now, as I am a stage mom, I realized . . . this is a lot of work! (Do you know how many 4- and 5-year-olds I've taken to go potty, which is no simple task when there are costumes involved and a scene they need to perform in starts in 2 minutes? And how many of their bowels decided that NOW would be the best time to go #2?) And I see it on the teen dancers' faces---the mothers who are making their show possible by sewing tutus, raising money in various ways, coordinating countless things, helping with fast costume changes---oh, these mothers are utterly invisible to them. And that's fine. They will see differently when they become the next generation of stage moms.
As I tell Charlotte or Lorelei when they painfully elbow or kick me to get into better cuddle position: MOMS ARE PEOPLE TOO.
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