CrankMama

Mothers Like Us, Part II

My blogger friend Emma is a fabulous, sassy writer, with plenty of unconventional ideas about motherhood (which is one of the reasons I love her).  Her post today is about women who do not follow the usual rules about mothering...

Women, it is often assumed, are naturally filled with the gentle, non-swearing, huggy ingredients necessary to cook up a wee babe and raise him/her through cranky teen years and into sunny adulthood.  Nevermind that this generation of women has likely gotten closer to a car engine than to a baby by the time they procreate.  Nevermind that many of us were encouraged in our tomboy, individualistic pursuits more than in our cookie-baking, tear-wiping, band-aid applying skills.

Leaving aside questions of nurture, what about questions of nature?  Are women naturally softer, gentler, more loving, more gifted with children?  Those of us interested in the truth about mothering know this simply isn't true.  Even for those of us who may be more maternally inclined than our husbands, we still fall quite short of the 1950s June Cleaver ideal.

Women can be tough and selfish and need a drink and a cigar.  Men can be soft and loving and in-love with their children and long to spend more time at home with little Billy.  These are not radical ideas.  At least until one trolls around in the world of mainstream motherhood where the old rules, while not usually practised, are still much lauded and imitated. 

Though it is now socially acceptable for women to complain about motherhood and childrearing, albeit in a light and unserious fashion (though adoptive mothers are not given the same leeway), it remains taboo for that same woman to admit that raising children makes her unhappy.

The truth for me lies somewhere in the middle.  On a deep level I love my children and enjoy their company.  But on days like today, when the City of Bellingham is closed due to a 10-year snow storm, and the panic sets in as I realize I'm going to be trapped here alone with the kids without even a car-ride to break the monotony, I realize there is a part of Tamara in me too.

On the other hand, have you ever seen such a cute little girl in a snowsuit? 

Chaos Land

I live in Chaos Land.  I read book after book aloud, in a cheerful voice hoping to "happy" the bad bugs away.  I clean bedding and jammies and stuffed animals and blankets.  I pet heads, rub backs, make jokes and clown around, hoping for a  wan smile from small sickies. 

I worry and fret and wake and walk.

And then today I stop.

I stop because I'm tired tired, bone tired. I leave work early (they say I look pale), I wave the white flag at every obligation except the most essential.  I rest and sit and sit some more.

Chaos, usually a distant cousin, moves in and takes a seat at the family table, as I allow my loved ones to become totally engulfed by goo, grime, and schmutz. As I whistle and look away, I turn a blind eye to the piles of toys, laundry, and candy wrappers populating the smooth surfaces in every room.  I serve oatmeal for dinner, and let the kids watch Christmas movies and stay in their pajamas.

For today, I am done Florence Nightengaling... I decide instead to be the peaceful Queen of Chaos Land. I lump around, talk on the phone, eat sugar, and smile at every request, neither committing to anything, nor denying anything.

I am the happy Queen of Chaos Land.  And I'm never going to clean again...

Blended, Not Broken

I've been on a quest to discover tales of blended families on the blogosphere.  Thus far... very little luck.  As has already been discussed, CrankMama loves blended families because it means she's not the only person with an interesting past AND because some of her favorite people are stepparents.  Of course, blended defined as "nontraditional" can also mean any number of other fascinating arrangements.

So out yourself, baby!  Tell me allll about your unusual family, step-kids, step-parents, step-siblings.. your first, second, third husband... any old thing you like to blend at all... lay it all out for me.  Because we've got to bring the truth soup back to the dinner table about what is REALLY going on around here. 

Here's one you probably already know about.  Check her out!

Suburban Turmoil

And just because you've never been divorced or had children out of wedlock or lived in a hippie commune memorizing beer bottles doesn't mean I don't love you.  It just means I probably won't marry you...

Marky Parky Full of Malarky...

Evidence that baby brothers (even if they are 34) should never be allowed near your cell phone: