Mamia Wars

It has been a long enduring pastime of mine to pick apart my discourse with seemingly well-meaning friends, comrades and fellow parents. We all know of the battle between the Alphas and the Betas of this world and of course my beef with the evil Momtourage. In my 4-1/2 years working this Mommy gig, I never truly developed my own Momtourage, for which my own disdain for hypocrisy is ever thankful. I have a group of friends that are Mom's and yes, we ditch our broods semi-quarterly for a bit of a piss up or piss on our husbands, childcare providers, and kids, should it strike our fancy. Would I classify them as a Momtourage? For sure not, since I recall having similar nights out with the same pack BC (Before Children). No, to be a true Momtourage, I feel that the common thread must be the kids and the kids alone. In my case, naval architecture seems to have brought me to these women. Hardly qualifies as a Momtourage.

I am turning 35 in just two weeks and, call it age or indifference, I have both softened my Momtourage stance a bit and found that I am friends with many many women who play Alpha to my Beta. Maybe it's just that, as previously indicated, I've run out of time to worry about such bullshit. Instead, I have waived the white flag on this issue. I know that there are women out there who aren't struggling with after school activities and who have plenty of time for playdates and other fulfilling pre-k hjinks. I confess, in my world weekend fun and activities seem to mostly involve dragging a 4 year old around for household errands. And I do look with envy at friends and loved ones who can squeeze it all in, in the most effortless fashion, and still enjoy a nice cocktail or glass of vino tinto with their lovable friend and Mediocre Mama, yours truly. These folks I both endure and cherish, without judgment or conflict

It makes it all the more challenging, that it's not seemingly the Momtourage or Alpha Moms that irk me the most. Rather, it is the most apparently innocent friends and FB bud's who fill me with ire. Sometimes, it's those I've known the longest. But it comes down to this...It always shocks me when, no matter how dreary or self-deprecating my average FB status can be, some Mom or Dad-Peer insists on coming by to gawk and kick dirt in my eyes. These are the "with friends like mine" of my circle of friends. These are the worst offenders of all, the One Uppers. And no matter how challenging my scenario, or however best my efforts, I assure you that they both have it harder or do it better. And they always seem to have more than one kid, which apparently gives you card-carrying license to boast and brag or grimace and complain louder.

Before anyone starts in with me, yes, I recognize the difference between a helpful, "Have you tried X? It always worked with our little Darling," and a less than helpful, "Well this is why we ALWAYS do X." I furthermore know that this is not a problem specific to FB. Shit, I remember my Mom's yente friends bitching that their kids were only breaking A-minuses at Cornell while my sister and I were busting our asses to make B's at decidedly more mediocre institutions. But it seems like there's more of these individuals out there than I recall and with just a click of a button, they can remind me how much better they are or how much worse off they have it.

Did I miss something or did social networking turn an assortment of Mom's and Dad's into virtual Svengali's? Or were they always so and they just seem louder and bitchier? Maybe turning 35 is making me wiser and more tolerant of others, just less tolerant of shitheads?

Mothers and other strangers...

I realize that I have not maintained the best track record of blogging. Hell, I'm utterly convinced that any attempts to reach out to my adoring public might be met with nothingness. I might as well jot this all down in a diary instead of divulging to the silence of the internet. I predict an audience of crickets may be responding.

I haven't had the time, constitution, head, heart or soul to emote on my failures or shortcomings in parenting. I lack pathos, ethos and whatever other kind of "os" it takes to make a good go of blogging. Forgive me blogger, for I have sinned.

I can attest that I haven't been sitting on my hands since last July. As a rundown of extreme events, I survived one and a half soccer seasons, a somewhat failed attempt at T-Ball, an adenoidectomy, an episode of head staples, a trip to Disney World, a busted well, approximately 60-someodd inches of snowfall, and my job, oh did I mention my job, which seems to have dominated all things and has made me feel like both a success and a failure at times. For all the extra time I had in 2007 that led me to start blogging, I've gone far to the other side. And not to take any air out of blogging, but facebook is easier, faster, and requires a hell of a lot less soul bearing. I appreciate it for giving me the ability to zing with a one liner and then run like a bat out of hell with little explanation or follow through. It's my cyber hit-and-run.

I am the mother of a 4 year old now and Captain Kid has grown to a larger than life version of the baby he once was. I look at some of my earlier posts and realize that I probably could have written what was to come. In so many ways it's easier. Yet if I were to write what a 12 year old Captain would look like I'm sure I'd come back to read it with little to no surprise.

There's a full realization that being a mother is like an exercise in bipolar disorder. You realize just how low the lows can be, but the highs are euphoric. And if I had one wish, it would be to feel less rushed. It would be to take more time and give more time. More time for mothering. More time for Dog. More time for the Dad. More time for me. I look at others with envy of their time and organization and wish I could make my home and garden as beautiful and as finished looking. I see well behaved children who aren't throwing their baseball gloves in the air while dancing around the outfield. I see close friends and couples taking the time and money to get babysitters and commit to date nights. How on earth did I get so tied up?

Time. I just can't hack it, can't find it, can't make it. Even as I sit here typing I'm engaged in an extremely deep conversation about which water system to put on my house to remove all the damn iron from the water, while the Captain hands me cups of imaginary hot chocolate to drink, all the while the dog starring woefully and the clock ticking away for a child's birthday party followed by a soccer match and a spreadsheet to update for my boss for a big Monday meeting. Unique problem? No. My problem? Always.

I somehow took a left turn while blogging because I had a whole pet peeve to get off my ample chest about Mommy Wars, but I guess it will have to keep for another day. I'd finish it now, but I just have no time.