The Grass is Always Greener...

By the time I had my son, I had worked for many years. I was ready for a break. Don't get me wrong... I didn't have a baby just to get out of work. That was just a fringe benefit.

I was worn out. Tired. Sick and tired. I was definitely at the same job too long. The people were getting to me. Interpersonal problems took up so much of my time and energy and, when I was feeling so tired, I just couldn't see my way past all that. Then, along came Leif.

I enjoy spending time with him. It is a privilege that I know not many moms get. All day, every day. In his two years, he has learned more than I could ever imagine learning. There are moments when I have to sit back and realize that I am actually having a conversation with him. One that makes sense. Amazing.

But, there are lots of moments when I am tired. Sick and tired. Doing the same thing too long. He gets to me, taking so much of my time and energy. I am so tired that there are moments and days when I just can't see my way past all that.

I have found myself lately looking at job postings. The two applications I sent out got no response but they made me think. When I was working, I would have done anything to get out for a while. So, now that the grass is greener, I realize that greener grass just needs to be cut more often.

The Curse of Being Just Plain Old Better Than Everyone Else

Ok. I am getting pretty close to done. I go to the playground and get ignored by the other mothers. I take my son to "mommy and me" classes and get ignored (for the most part). It is getting really tiring. And it reminds me of high school.

Except that in high school the reasons I was ignored were different. I was the fat, smart, talented, quiet as long as you don't poke her with a stick type. Now, it's because my kid is the cutest, most advanced, smartest, most likely to hire the other kids for menial jobs later in life.

I mean, that's gotta be the reason. Don't you think? Well, it's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Miss Manners Rides the Train

Living in New York gives you a wonderful chance to expose your child to many means of transportation: ferries, buses, subways, the famous yellow taxis, horse carriages, and more. Along the way, they are also exposed to all kinds of weird behaviour. Oh yeah. And lots and lots of cooties.

So, I got on the light rail this morning with my son after a good dose of the two-year old "NO!"s. I couldn't wait to make our way home with him riding in the window seat beside me pointing out all the familiar sights and playing games. As I started to slide my stroller into the spot that is designated for "mobility devices", I said, "excuse me" to a woman sitting in the seat next to the spot and motioned to her that her coat was hanging down and was going to touch the wheel of the stroller. I just wanted to make sure that I didn't soil her coat. What followed shocked, not to mention belittled, me. She went on a rant of "well, if you had asked me for the seat I would have given it to you"... "you should not be riding the train with that thing! Can't your son stand by himself?"... "YOU sit over there".

When I tried to let her know that I wasn't actually planning to sit in the seat but was going to store the stroller in (I repeat!) the designated spot and get my son out to sit with me on another available seat, she continued her litany. So, I just sat down across the aisle, my son still in the stroller, and chose to ignore her. That's when she let me know that she had "raised her share of babies" and would not look after my son while I sat across the aisle. Well, lady... thank God! It continued for a few more stops. Other passengers gave me that sympathetic wince when they got off the train.

Since coming home I have, like always, come up with dozens of witty, cutting remarks that I could have thrown her way. But, being raised a polite Canadian, I kept any remarks to myself at the time, eh?

So, here is my favourite.

Me: "Oh, how many children do you have?"
Her: blah, blah, blah
Me: "Oh, aren't they just a blessing?"
Her: blah, blah, blah
Me: "So, how many of them are in therapy?"

After which I would just stroll off the train shouting, "Have a nice day! I hope your kids recover from your parenting soon!" My voice would trail off as the doors close telling my son, "No, sweetie... she wasn't angry at us... it's just that some people need to take medication every day to be able to behave like nice people..."

Babies... the new Chihuahua

Ok. I get it. And, more importantly than that, I admit it. I will never be one of them.

You see them at the playground. At the Mommy and Me groups. With the toddlers who look like they just vaulted from the pages of a Baby Gap ad. Impeccably put together. With the latest thing toy hanging from their pudgy little hand. Wandering. And where is their mommy? In the clot of cackling hens at the edge of the playground. You know the ones. They talk through story time. They look at you glaringly when you silently try to shush them with a pleasant look that works on your two-year old but not on them.

I am sure that they interact with their children. But, you would never know it now. I have watched certain moms as they longingly wander from event to playground to event in search of some interaction for themselves, a lonely look in their eyes. I even say hello. Some of them chat for a minute. Apparantly, I am not the right kind of mom to talk to or invite into the group. I don't feel comfortable in the coffee klatch at the edge of the playground while my son roams around on his own. I pay for the classes that I take with my son and want to get my (and his!) money's worth. Besides, sometimes those puppets are just damn funny.

To me, it seems that some of them use their kids as the perfect accessory. Like those little yappy lap dogs popping up in Hollywood. Like I said, I will just never fit in. I will never be one of those moms. Thank God.

Can You Hear Me Now?

A common thread I see in all the Mommies Groups/Boards etc, is the isolation that comes with being home alone all day, every day with your kids. And I get that. Yes, they are cute and a delight to be with, but we all need some grown-up time. A few too many "Itsy Bitsy Spiders" and you end up with a head full of cobwebs. There are days when I am pretty sure the song goes, "and on that farm he had a psychotic break"...

In those moments, I head to the park to take my son on the swings and take yet another ride on the playbus to the pretend zoo and hope to chat it up with another adult there to do the same. Too bad that all of the other adults in the park (parents and nannies alike) are on their cell phones.

A message to those adults... I see it in your eyes... YOU are the lonely ones that are writing those messages. And I know that out of every 10 of you on your cell phone, 6 are leaving a message on the work voice mail of your spouse, 2 are calling the salon to get a mani/pedi appointment (that they will later have to cancel when your child throws up into your purse as you are getting ready to leave), 1 is checking the local movie listings for anything that is not "Disney", and 1 is waiting for the tone which means it is 11:26 am.

For goodness sake... talk to someone else that's here! At first, I used to hope it was me that they would talk to. Now, I just wish they would talk to SOMEONE. Anyone. In the flesh. The park looks like an egg carton with everyone wrapped in their little compartment. Weird. And don't get me started on why someone's nanny has to talk that long on their cell phone while their darling little charge experiments on the distance he can pee down the curly slide.

In lonely moments, I still visit the park. And, every once in a while, I talk to someone. But, never on my cell phone.

Stop Oogling my Eggs!

Forgive me if I am wrong. But, I think that my eggs and all of the parts that go with them are my business. Makes it sound like I am selling them...

There is something odd that happens as soon as some women become mothers. They think that everyone wants to hear their birth stories and they have a deep-seated belief that there is anyone out there who really gives a flying monkey what day of their cycle they are on, the number of times they have tried to conceive, the positions that worked for them, and how much spotting they have had. It seems that, as soon as number one is out, they are working on number two. Ok... that makes me giggle like a Grade 2. Working on number two... tee hee.

And the worst part of this phenomenon is that they think that I want to join in the round table discussion about my reproductive trials and tribulations. Well, I don't. If I wanted someone else to know when I had my period, I would wear white pants. The only person who knows how many times we do it and in what position is my husband. And maybe the neigbor who shares a bedroom wall with us. And, the answer to the question, "when are you going to have another?", is, "when the memory of ripping skin is erased from my mind". Which reminds me, have I told you my birth story? No? Good.

There's a Place for Us...

Stay-at-home moms, single moms, work-at-home moms, young moms, older moms, moms with their left nostril pierced, first-time moms, moms who watch "Lost"... the list goes on. There seems to be a group for every type of mom. Well, except one.



I don't worry about which preschool my son will go to. In fact, he probably won't even go to preschool. I don't post his "progress" on any board. Not even the fact that he can swear in two languages. Sometimes, we stay in our pyjamas until after 10. On holiday, I let him run around barefoot in the woods. So, what category am I in? Hard to say...

Don't get me wrong. It's not that I am an irresponsible parent... although it might sound like it. I guess I have some issues with the pressure that I feel to put myself into a mommy category. I am just the kind of person who likes to leave all their options open. Once you are in a category, you are pretty much pigeon-holed. I am a committment-phobic.

I have always been that way. The only difference now is that my reasons have changed. It used to be that I just wanted to make sure there was not a better offer out there somewhere. I thought that if I committed to something, I might just miss something better. Now, my reasons are different. Or maybe it's just that I have outgrown my committment-phobia. Could it be that I just haven't found the right name for what it is that I am committed to yet?

So, maybe I should start my own category. Anyone want to join the "Moms who chase chipmunks in their bare feet, giggle with their child until they both pee their pants (or diaper, respectively), watch cartoons all Saturday morning, moms who want their little kid to just be a little kid"?

Now I know that this IS the better offer I was waiting for. HE is my category.

Attack of the Killer Mommies!

Imagine... attacking a lady holding a 6 month-old baby. But, there they were. Claws ready, fangs bared. And they smelled fresh blood.

Well, at least that is my memory of the first time I took my son to a "Mommy and Me" function. It was the public library "Story Time". I swallowed hard and found a tiny carpet ( or perhaps it was my butt which made the proportions seem odd!) and snuggled in with Leif. I reminded myself to wear the asbestos panties next time to protect myself from the burning stares of the "regulars".

I felt as though I was the new kid who had just moved in near the end of Grade 7. After the cliques have formed and the pecking order is well established. I tried to talk to the other mothers but felt shunned. I have not had a moment of such deep self doubt since High School. We went back a few times but I decided that it just wasn't worth the effort. Hey, I can read him stories at home. And I can actually BE in my underwear while I do it, instead of just feeling that I am out in public in my unmentionables.

What is it that happens to a woman when she becomes a mom? Where does the deep-seated competitive nature come from? Why is there so much judgement of other moms?

After another battle of wits on a motherhood board, I decided to come here to share, document and explore the undeniably whacked behaviors I have witnessed in my encounters with other mothers. Serves me right for attacking someone who is unarmed. And, sadly enough, I will share moments when I have been caught in the undertow of it all. Shame, shame.

A disclaimer... not all mothers fall into this group. Every once in a while, you meet one who is genuinely healthy, interested in play dates that are just play dates, and knows that there are at least a few children out there who are as good as theirs. I want to be one of those mothers.