The Bad Mothers Club

The hubby and I were listening today to a podcast he downloaded onto his newest toy, and I just laughed. This British woman was talking about her book and website, all devoted to “Bad Mothers.” Long story short, it’s all about those things that every mother must do, but won’t admit to. Those things that make us normal. My favorite part of the interview with this woman was when she referred to the “My Little Damn Ponies” that are all over her daughter’s room. It was all made funnier by the fact that we went shopping at a rather pretentious new-ish mall today. We always laugh about the women there who are dressed to the nines, out shopping on a Saturday in heels and fur coats. And the families there who are just too perfect. Like today, we passed by this couple who were wearing very trendy fleece vests, hip athletic pants, and big Ray-Bans. There were toting mochas, and he was on a cell phone. The baby in the stroller they were pushing was completely encased in some sort of orange wind-proof bubble...and I can only assume there was a baby in there and that it was a stroller at all...because I couldn’t see the child. How weird is that? Are parents really that freaked out about the stuff out there that might come into contact with their child? Seriously...here I was hauling around my asthma-prone 18 month-old in an unzipped fleece jacket with juice stains down the front. She was really only halfway in the stroller, because she’s getting a little big for it, frankly, and she was practically mauling her favorite baby of the day - a light-up, singing Glo-worm - who had managed to fall to the ground several times in the first few minutes of our shopping trip.

But I must have the book.

You can only get it from the UK Amazon.

I’m not that good with currency conversions.

Still, I must have it.

Here’s what makes me a bad mom:

1. My kids share bathwater.
2. I don’t respond to whining. Check that. I don’t respond happily or calmly to whining.
3. Some days I want to ride in the cargo hold of a plane going to the Carribean...just to get away.
4. I don’t use Dreft.
5. I will turn my back on my kids in the shared bathwater so that I can run and get their pajamas or clean the bathroom counter.
6. I insisted on potty training on our terms, not his.
7. I use Baby Einstein and Noggin as the occasional babysitter (not that it interests J for more than 30 seconds...)
8. I don’t let my 4-year old win every game.
9. I don’t (generally) freak out at the lack of vegetables my kids eat. Some days it’s just.not.worth.the.fight.
10. I work. Not entirely for the money.
11. My kids will have a keen sense that there are other people in the world with whom they must share, compromise, and work. I’m not about always giving in when they insist. I’m not about always denying them, either, but I don’t think there’s a thing wrong with teaching them patience and a less egotistical view of the world (once they’re ready for it).
12. Both my kids were on solid foods at 4 months.
13. Both kids ate egg products, had cow’s milk, and had sampled peanut butter and chocolate before their first birthdays.
14. My daughter is now officially behind on her vaccinations. And not because I have a fear of vaccinations. Just because I haven’t been able to get her to the vaccinators yet.
15. My kids are rather immersed in the commercial.
16. I won’t ever consider homeschooling.
17. No matter how much they love them, I hate noisy toys, Play Doh, and any game I use with kids in therapy. I avoid the use of these things at all cost.
18. I don’t live in the myth that my life is perfect, my home is perfect, I have the perfect body, my worldview and way of raising my kids is perfect, and that I have complete control over my kids and every aspect of my life at all times. Who does?


Here’s what makes me a Good Mom:

1. I hug and kiss my kids many, many times...every day.
2. Each child gets at least one story read to them before bed. (This makes D a Good Dad too.)
3. I take my kids to church.
4. We have dinner together. Every night.
5. I let A help me in the kitchen.
6. I don’t kick A out of the bed in the middle of the night when he comes in to finish his sleeping with us.
7. I work. Not entirely for the money.
8. I make the health, safety, and happiness of my kids (my whole family, really) a priority.
9. We take our kids places.
10. I indulge them every so often.
11. I love their Dad.
12. I’m not overprotective.
13. I allow my kids to get filthy dirty then play in the bath.
14. I teach them by example about being kind, helpful, and mindful of the needs of others.
15. I listen to 839 stupid preschooler jokes every day.
16. I love them.

It occurs to me that I’m perhaps the suckiest blogger in the world. I should’ve known it would be like this. I couldn’t even keep a diary when I was younger. Somehow I thought typing would make that easier. However, when I have the time to put my thoughts down on paper, er, computer screen, my bed just always looks so much more inviting.

So I’ll write about my kids.

A’s into Power Rangers. Mostly, I think, because his best friend at preschool has some and has brought them to school on occasion. I caved and bought him one after I had taken J to the ER (more later) on Saturday night. I was feeling pretty crappy about how little attention A’s gotten in the last week since I’ve been pretty worried about J. His behavior was poor, so was mine. Anyway. You’d have thought I actually brought the moon out of the sky and gave it to him on a ZooPals plate. He was beside himself excited. And he hasn’t put the thing down since. In fact, he and D carefully counted all the change in his bank (which he most craftily snarfs from the bathroom counter when we’re not looking - we have recently discussed beginning chores so he can actually earn what he wants to spend...) so he could go to Wal Mart and buy a-nother Power Ranger. It was totally cute. He threw 3 one-dollar coins and 4 dollars in quarters up on the counter to pay for his yellow PR, and I thought the cashier’s eyes were actually going to stay rolled all the way back in her head. Then she saw how absolutely over the moon he was about his purchase, and she got a big grin... So, for all my ranting about keeping him sheltered from violence and all the times I said things like “When I have kids, they’ll never watch/play with crap like that...” well, I’m rather full from eating my own words.

J, speaking of words, has many. It’s pretty striking. She’s actually beginning to combine a couple of words together. Her vocabulary right now: A’s name, mama, dada, mimi/nini (grandma’s name), ball, bath, bubble, apple, car, cup, drink, cookie, cracker, up, more, night-night, Dora, Elmo, clap, toys, no, diaper, shoes, sock, teeth, baby (day-day), uh-oh, light, knock-knock, duck, cat, dog, coat, moo, neigh, quack, book, bottle, fish, color, door, comb, bye-bye, hi, and (my absolute favorite)...gorilla. Many of these words are unrecognizable to anyone but D and me, but they’re definitely there and purposeful. I am, after all, a speech pathologist, so I can say so. Anyway, J’s really beginning to show her personality, and just like A at this age, she’s beginning to taste her freedom and independence, and she likes it. I can see the beginnings of her testing us and asserting herself. Today she came into the kitchen while I was making dinner (she’s figured out how to move the baby gate and open the swinging doors to the kitchen). She plopped down on A’s stool, right in front of a cabinet that had a stack of about 30 plastic cups in it. She pulled the cups out, sent them flying all over the kitchen, then looked up at me and said “toys?” Too cute. Good thing, or else she’d’ve been a goner a long time ago. (ER visit - turns out it was no big deal. Thought perhaps pneumonia. REALLY thought pneumonia when I saw the x-rays and that big white thing cutting across the lower portion of J’s right lung. Turns out that’s just her diaphragm. That’s what happens when a speech therapist tries to read x-rays. Thank chocolate I didn’t actually say that to any doctor but D. The ER doc thought it looked strange, though, until D informed him that J’s intestines are all out of order, but in order, but gathered on either side of her abdomen in an anything-but-natural arrangement.)

I caught myself thinking tonight that it’s not going to be long before both kids are rather independent. A’s totally able to be left alone to play now. He often plays alone in his room or on the computer. To think that’s just a couple of years away with J...well, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. My kingdom for a house with a playroom where they can just go...and be...and run around and be silly all by themselves for periods of time each day. At the same time, I want them with me too...I want them to stay small and snuggle-able and looking up to me like I make the world work.

And some more about words before I turn this off and go to bed... A actually used the following words today: frustrated, although, and kettle. Whose kid is this?