I Heart Mom
Yesterday the kids and I were at one of those immense strip mall shopping plazas. I had to go from one end to the other-- a two minute drive or a ten minute walk. Most people would drive, of course. Not mothers. As any mother will tell you that a trip such as that is much easier, quieter, and more enjoyable when walked versus loading and unloading the stroller, strapping the kids into their carseats, and squeezing the minvan into another compact car spot. I know, personally, once I've got my minivan shoehorned into one of those itsy bitsy spots, I never want to leave. I've walked miles to avoid moving the van for that reason alone.
As we were walking past an Old Navy store, a sign caught my eye. "Buy Your Old Navy Mother's Day Tee -- $5." A Mother's Day tee? I stopped in my tracks. Be still my heart! We've now got t-shirts dedicated to us. Glory be! Maybe next they'll have $5 Mother's Day bath towels. Or a $5 oil change special.
When the baby started fussing and Reilly chimed in with her, "Whatchya doing, Mom?" interrogation chorus, I thought perhaps a $5 Mother's Day vodka gimlet would be a good idea. Can't you just see it? A little stand, like a lemonade stand, set up with a big sign, "Thank you, Moms. For all that you do, this gimlet's for you!"
"Whatchya doing, Mom?" Reilly repeated for the 7th time in 30 seconds. She's a very fast, repetitive talker.
"We're going in this store. Come on," I answered her while trying to maneuver the stroller, loaded down with bags and baby, through the swinging door marked "Pull."
The shirts were there in a big display you couldn't miss as soon as you walked through the door. There were piles of them in two different colors: pale pink and robin's egg blue. Emblazon across the bust in a funky, retro 1970s t-shirt font was, "I [heart] Mom." They were all in adult sizes.
Who would wear one of these, I wondered. How absolutely bizarre would it be for a grown woman to walk around wearing a shirt that announced her adoration for "Mom." I leaned down and picked one up. They were made from that soft, silky, stretchy jersey cotton that is like calorie-free comfort food for your body.
"If ya didn't put that silly saying on the front, I would have bought one," I grumbled to the gum cracking teenager folding tiny little "American Idol" tank tops at the display next to me. She shrugged.
"We've got some 4th of July shirts in back," gum cracker offered.
"Whatchya doing, Mom?" Reilly asked again, over and over and over again.
"Looking at these shirts but now we're done. Let's go," I answered her as I pulled the stroller into a U turn and headed toward the door. The same door, mind you, that we entered through which despite the fact that we were now on the other side of it, still said "Pull." Why do they do that? Just to make it difficult on those of us with strollers? They should come up with the Mother's Day Easy to Open Retail Shopping Door. I'd pay five bucks for that.
Right outside the store was a bench. Since Roman was still fussing in the stroller, I decided to try a little of what my friend Holly terms "Breast Attachment Therapy." When they've got a boob in the mouth, it is difficult for them to keep on whining.
The strategy has to change a little when they are no longer interested in the boob. Reilly Kate instead got some multicolored goldfish crackers as a follow up to her lollipop lunch. With my boob in the mouth of one and unnaturally colored cheese crackers in the mouth of the other, I achieved a few minutes quiet to contemplate "I [heart] Mom."
So if I were to buy this shirt, which I definitely was NOT going to do, and wear it, which I absolutely, positively would NEVER do, who would I be referring to as "Mom?" I'm a mom, but I certainly don't think I should be walking about saying I [heart] myself as a mom. Especially given the fact that I was trekking my poor kids across three parking lots to avoid putting them in their carseats and had opted out of lunch, dismissing it as a distraction from the main goal which was to buy wallpaper boarder before the hallowed 2pm nap time.
Nope. Not me. I wasn't deserving of a $5 Motherhood Achievement award. Not today at least.
I thought about my mom. Maybe, if I were to wear it which I definitely was not going to do, I would be declaring my adulation and devotion to my own mother. A single mother who gave up her social life to run us around to various activities. I'd bet she gave up her sex life, too, since she had no privacy. Our house had only two bedrooms and she gave one to each of us, my brother Danny and I, and slept on the couch for close to ten years. She never even really got to celebrate Mother's Day until we were older. She was always too busy making the holiday nice for her own mother and grandmother. One year, we went to the Shedd Aquarium and disected squid. My poor mother. She hates gross stuff like that. As I recall, the damn dead thing squirted ink in her face. What a way to spend Mother's Day.
Maybe I would be wearing it for my grandma who, after having been diagnosed with myelodysplastic syndrome, is fighting the battle of her life, for her life. Reilly Kate just loves her "GG" (short for Great Grandma) and prays every night, "God bless GG. Make her well." She's never far from our thoughts nowadays.
Then I thought of the other mothers I have met since I became a mother myself. I thought of a woman I used to know who was due at the same time I was with Reilly. We communicated often during our pregnancies. Unexpectedly, her son was born with Downs Syndrome. He's a beautiful boy and she has always been such an incredible mom to him.
There was a woman I met at the baby gym who fosters drug addicted newborns. She was in the middle of adopting two babies only three months apart in age. She went through hormone therapy and months of pumping in order to produce milk for these babies. Her son was born just a few hours after Roman. She had so much patience and kindness. Selfless.
My mind wandered to the more mundane. All the moms in the world wipe snotty noses and kiss boo boos. We yearn for our children to fly on their own, ache when they falter, and mourn when they leave the nest. We hold little fat hands when crossing the street and spend sleepless nights rocking our babies and worrying over our teenagers. We clean poopy hinies and do more laundry than a dry cleaners in China town. It's an unglamorous job, really. And at times utterly thankless.
I'm so proud to be a member of the sisterhood, to wear the label MOM. It's really a blessing. A blessing I really do love.
When the kids were done with the boob and goldfish, I marched right back into the store (yep, the door still said "Pull") and plunked down five bucks. I got the shirt. It says, I [heart] Mom, and I do. I really, really do.
I encourage you all to go out and get one. And wear it. I'll be wearing mine tomorrow to dance class.
As we were walking past an Old Navy store, a sign caught my eye. "Buy Your Old Navy Mother's Day Tee -- $5." A Mother's Day tee? I stopped in my tracks. Be still my heart! We've now got t-shirts dedicated to us. Glory be! Maybe next they'll have $5 Mother's Day bath towels. Or a $5 oil change special.
When the baby started fussing and Reilly chimed in with her, "Whatchya doing, Mom?" interrogation chorus, I thought perhaps a $5 Mother's Day vodka gimlet would be a good idea. Can't you just see it? A little stand, like a lemonade stand, set up with a big sign, "Thank you, Moms. For all that you do, this gimlet's for you!"
"Whatchya doing, Mom?" Reilly repeated for the 7th time in 30 seconds. She's a very fast, repetitive talker.
"We're going in this store. Come on," I answered her while trying to maneuver the stroller, loaded down with bags and baby, through the swinging door marked "Pull."
The shirts were there in a big display you couldn't miss as soon as you walked through the door. There were piles of them in two different colors: pale pink and robin's egg blue. Emblazon across the bust in a funky, retro 1970s t-shirt font was, "I [heart] Mom." They were all in adult sizes.
Who would wear one of these, I wondered. How absolutely bizarre would it be for a grown woman to walk around wearing a shirt that announced her adoration for "Mom." I leaned down and picked one up. They were made from that soft, silky, stretchy jersey cotton that is like calorie-free comfort food for your body.
"If ya didn't put that silly saying on the front, I would have bought one," I grumbled to the gum cracking teenager folding tiny little "American Idol" tank tops at the display next to me. She shrugged.
"We've got some 4th of July shirts in back," gum cracker offered.
"Whatchya doing, Mom?" Reilly asked again, over and over and over again.
"Looking at these shirts but now we're done. Let's go," I answered her as I pulled the stroller into a U turn and headed toward the door. The same door, mind you, that we entered through which despite the fact that we were now on the other side of it, still said "Pull." Why do they do that? Just to make it difficult on those of us with strollers? They should come up with the Mother's Day Easy to Open Retail Shopping Door. I'd pay five bucks for that.
Right outside the store was a bench. Since Roman was still fussing in the stroller, I decided to try a little of what my friend Holly terms "Breast Attachment Therapy." When they've got a boob in the mouth, it is difficult for them to keep on whining.
The strategy has to change a little when they are no longer interested in the boob. Reilly Kate instead got some multicolored goldfish crackers as a follow up to her lollipop lunch. With my boob in the mouth of one and unnaturally colored cheese crackers in the mouth of the other, I achieved a few minutes quiet to contemplate "I [heart] Mom."
So if I were to buy this shirt, which I definitely was NOT going to do, and wear it, which I absolutely, positively would NEVER do, who would I be referring to as "Mom?" I'm a mom, but I certainly don't think I should be walking about saying I [heart] myself as a mom. Especially given the fact that I was trekking my poor kids across three parking lots to avoid putting them in their carseats and had opted out of lunch, dismissing it as a distraction from the main goal which was to buy wallpaper boarder before the hallowed 2pm nap time.
Nope. Not me. I wasn't deserving of a $5 Motherhood Achievement award. Not today at least.
I thought about my mom. Maybe, if I were to wear it which I definitely was not going to do, I would be declaring my adulation and devotion to my own mother. A single mother who gave up her social life to run us around to various activities. I'd bet she gave up her sex life, too, since she had no privacy. Our house had only two bedrooms and she gave one to each of us, my brother Danny and I, and slept on the couch for close to ten years. She never even really got to celebrate Mother's Day until we were older. She was always too busy making the holiday nice for her own mother and grandmother. One year, we went to the Shedd Aquarium and disected squid. My poor mother. She hates gross stuff like that. As I recall, the damn dead thing squirted ink in her face. What a way to spend Mother's Day.
Maybe I would be wearing it for my grandma who, after having been diagnosed with myelodysplastic syndrome, is fighting the battle of her life, for her life. Reilly Kate just loves her "GG" (short for Great Grandma) and prays every night, "God bless GG. Make her well." She's never far from our thoughts nowadays.
Then I thought of the other mothers I have met since I became a mother myself. I thought of a woman I used to know who was due at the same time I was with Reilly. We communicated often during our pregnancies. Unexpectedly, her son was born with Downs Syndrome. He's a beautiful boy and she has always been such an incredible mom to him.
There was a woman I met at the baby gym who fosters drug addicted newborns. She was in the middle of adopting two babies only three months apart in age. She went through hormone therapy and months of pumping in order to produce milk for these babies. Her son was born just a few hours after Roman. She had so much patience and kindness. Selfless.
My mind wandered to the more mundane. All the moms in the world wipe snotty noses and kiss boo boos. We yearn for our children to fly on their own, ache when they falter, and mourn when they leave the nest. We hold little fat hands when crossing the street and spend sleepless nights rocking our babies and worrying over our teenagers. We clean poopy hinies and do more laundry than a dry cleaners in China town. It's an unglamorous job, really. And at times utterly thankless.
I'm so proud to be a member of the sisterhood, to wear the label MOM. It's really a blessing. A blessing I really do love.
When the kids were done with the boob and goldfish, I marched right back into the store (yep, the door still said "Pull") and plunked down five bucks. I got the shirt. It says, I [heart] Mom, and I do. I really, really do.
I encourage you all to go out and get one. And wear it. I'll be wearing mine tomorrow to dance class.
posted by The Histrionics of a Fat Housewife at 1:30 AM
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