On Mothering

 I've been thinking about "mothering" lately. Pretty critically, in fact. Much of my pondering is due to the short story I was scrambling to draft, revise, and turn in this past Tuesday to my writing class. (And by SCRAMBLE, I mean that I spent only 4 weeks on it instead of 10 months).

The story has yet to be critiqued, but I found myself almost accidentally exploring what it would mean if a super mom out there actually managed to put a check by every single decree coming out of child development gurus, pediatricians, parenting blogs, mommy bloggers, judgmental a-holes on the street, and so on. Like, ascribing to everyone ELSE's opinion, context totally irrelevant.

Which is kind of what our mothering cultures asks moms to do.

And . . .in my hypothetical super mom example, wouldn't a mom cease to exist?

And . . . does that mean that's what our society wants mothers to do?

As a mommy, this worries me. As a mommy of two girls, it freaking terrifies me. I mean, even that patronizing advice for mothers to "take a bit of time for yourself" gets couched in "so you can be a better mom."

I've certainly fallen victim to really, really, really wanting to get an A in mothering. So, you can see why two of my biggest mothering-related guilt challenges have involved baby formula and working outside the home. I've read in blogs more than once that contained arguments that "the guilt you're feeling is telling you what a selfish person you are."

Now, 5 years into this whole mothering thing, I have enough sense and insight and experience to know that every damn thing involving kids is mitigated by a trillion factors, and black-and-white edicts are crap.

And yet? Despite knowing better, I feel twinges of guilt when I leave for a work trip, or toss applesauce in the kids' lunches because I ran out of time to cut fresh fruit, or RSVP no to a birthday party because it's during Lorelei's nap time and I know she'll be evil and I just don't want to deal with it. This Tuesday night writing class I'm doing? I miss the entire evening routine. I get home around 10:30 at night. I don't see the girls, except as they slumber, mouths open and quietly snoring. The first class, I felt guilty. How selfish, to put so much time and work into something that does not benefit them!

But by the second class, I called B.S. on guilt. Lorelei doesn't quite get it, but Charlotte knows that I'm at a class to learn how to write stories. When I'm working on a critique of a classmate's story and she wants me to do a puzzle with her, she learns that (a) the world doesn't revolve around her, (b) she actually CAN do the puzzle by herself, (c) we help others and they help us ("I'm helping someone with their story, just like they help me with my stories," I tell her, and (d) Mommy has interests that are not about Charlotte.

This last one is key, I think. I ask you: With our crazy child-centered parenting trends, why on earth would any kid want to grow up? I mean, my parents played softball, my mom sang in the church choir for a bit, my dad hunted, my folks had friends and went to Vegas or on a cruise. Early on, they bowled. They led busy, stressful, unglamorous lives, but they did things that had nothing to do with my brother and me. And though I remember disliking Tuesdays, because that's the day we got a babysitter while my folks went bowling with their team or group or whatever, well, that was just sort of  . . . tough. We accepted it.

Next week is my last class, and I'm partly relieved (this class has consumed a LOT of time and required oodles of work) and grateful I had the opportunity (I learned SO much) and sad that it's coming to an end. As I was driving home on Tuesday night  (it's a long drive), I thought about Charlotte and Lorelei. I thought about them growing up and the pressure on me, as their primary female role model. I asked myself, "Would I want my daughters to imitate me?" In many ways, no. I want them to possess more confidence, experience less stress, be easier on themselves. Do I want them to be mothers? Obviously, it's up to them and biology, but yes, I'd like them to experience motherhood (and I want grandies!), but only if they can keep themSELVES at the same time.

I have no problem with the "ladies' nights" events that use the "take a break from the kids!" angle, luring womenfolk with wine, kid-free time, and maybe project (wreath making, painting, pottery, cake decorating). That stuff is fun and totally worthwhile and I've enjoyed participating in such things. But having a sustained interest, perhaps even something that requires significant commitment, should be a possibility for mommies. 

What talents or passions might capture my darling girls in adulthood? Who knows. Charlotte might be an artist or a great chef some day. She has recently declared she wants to be a teacher (I know, she's five), but she so patiently and enthusiastically teaches and helps Lorelei and possesses such a curious nature, such a lively and sparkly personality .... it's quite possible this girl has a natural gift for teaching. And lordy, she'd be a great mommy. And Lorelei? Heh. I've said it before, but I think her future may involve being dictator of a small nation after staging a coup pulled off by sheer beguiling charm. Oh, my Lorelei.

My point: Yes, I think taking this writing class actually IS good for my girls. I'm believe I'm modeling something important. The irony, or perhaps the catch-22, is why I took the class--it was, deep down, an entirely self-interested choice.

Which, I think, in the end, is what gives this class its value in terms of motherly modeling. It's a bit of a paradox, but most true things are.