Awkward Mom vs. Sharing

Sharing sandwiches is never easy, I don't care how old you are. 

I think I might be giving birth to the second coming of Jimmy John; all I want to eat are sandwiches. Like any craving, these tend to strike at extremely inconvenient or inappropriate times, like midnight, while at church, or at 9:30 this morning. Monday is a girl-only morning; Super K. and Super P. are safely at school, so Super Toddler and I run errands because running errands with 1 child, when you have 3, amounts to a vacation. We had picked up my prenatal vitamins, gotten gas, recycled the cans, and scored an awesome deal on cat food, saving nearly 15 dollars with some clever couponing via me. I think it was this last one that made me lose my mind and go into Whole Foods.

Now, I do NOT shop at Whole Foods generally. The fact that I am thrilled about my cat food couponing should tell you why. But once, about a year ago, Awkward Dad (who doesn't share my love of the frugal) bought me a sandwich from Whole Foods. It was an amazing sandwich. Like a truly transcendent experience of fancy bread, freshly sliced roast beef, aged cheddar, heirloom tomato, and handmade mayo. I can't get this sandwich out of my head this morning. I try to talk myself out of it. I try to eat a cheese stick. I try to focus on waiting for lunch. I try to eat a graham cracker. I try to count all the money I would be saving if I didn't buy the amazingly good Whole Foods sandwich of the gods. I try to eat some raisins. I give up slightly and try other sandwich options, but, by this point, it is 10:15 and no one is open. Even McDonald's is still serving breakfast and I don't want breakfast or McDonald's. I want a sandwich. I want a sandwich. I want a sandwich.

I want a sandwich.

No, the baby wants a sandwich.

This is what I tell myself to justify walking into Whole Foods and paying $6.50 for a teeny, tiny, albeit utterly glorious looking, sandwich. I go with the turkey and provolone this time. I convince myself that I am heeding the baby's wishes. That the baby needs this overpriced turkey and provolone sandwich on artisan bread with butter lettuce and a perfectly ripe tomato in order to grow properly and achieve whatever fetus milestone he/she is working on this week. This soothes my price guilt slightly; that I am sacrificing my balanced checkbook for the sake of this growing life. And not because I am hungry and this sandwich should be in a sandwich museum; it is that beautiful.

Super Toddler and I return to the car and, since we are now 30 minutes early to pick up Super Preschooler, I settle in to enjoy my hard-won sandwich. However, the growing baby inside me doesn't appear to be the only member of the Awkward family to want a sandwich. Super Toddler calmly opens her palm and waves her little fingers in an "alright, hand it over" gesture that I really really want to ignore. I don't want to share my sandwich with her. I want to eat every last bite of this gorgeous and startlingly expensive creation by myself. Isn't it enough that I have what amount to a parasite in me that is going to take all the nutrients from this feast and leave my hips with all the fat and carbs? Isn't it enough that my children take all my sleep, money, worry, time, energy, focus, and love? Does she really have to take my sandwich too? I can't remember a meal I have eaten in the past 5 years that I wasn't sharing with someone, be they inside or outside of my body. Do I really have to share this with her?

Well, I think you all know the answer to this, Readers. I gave her half the sandwich. Half of a beautiful, lovingly constructed, delicious sandwich that she proceeded to dismantle, as she ate the meat, threw the tomato at me, gave the bread to some birds outside, and wiped the lettuce and any lingering mayo on the window. It hurt to watch, so I tired not to. I, instead, tried to focus on the lovely half-sandwich that I now had. I ate it and it was gone far too quickly, leaving me tons of time to focus on the important things; 1.) That encouraging sharing in my children through my own example might be difficult but ultimately worth it to shape generous, thoughtful, and harmonious human beings who will better the world with their mere presence. 2.) What I am going to eat for lunch? 3.) Can I wait until Super Toddler's nap time to eat lunch or is it too gross to eat in the bathroom while telling them all that Mommy just needs a little "private time?"

Like saying no to this face is ever really an option. 

I don't think so. 

Awkward Mom vs. Park Helicopter Moms

Consider it your only warning. 

If one more park helicopter mom finds my child by the monkey bars and starts shouting: "Whose child is this? Is this your child?" while frantically looking around but mostly looking in my direction because it is pretty damn obvious whose child it is and most of this is for effect and to prove what a superior mother she is (consciously or not), the gloves are coming off. I am gonna calmly walk over to her, tell Super Whoever to go play by the swings, and ask to see her mom credentials. If they check out, this is what I am going to say:

Yes, she is mine, and I can tell you her movements in intimate detail from the moment we arrived here until the moment when she was supposedly lost and then found by you. What is wrong with you? Are you that bored that you have to follow your child around the park, whilst monitoring all the rest of the children for errant mothers. Do you not know that you are a mom? Do you not know that the park is full of moms? Moms that want to be friends with you. Moms that want to help you relax and enjoy this village that could be helping you raise your child. You don't have to do it all; let us help you. Join us. We are impressed by your natural abilities and want you on our team, not fighting against us. You have untapped  gossip abilities that rival the Enquirer, and we have all just witnessed your stunning ability to passively aggressively judge people in public. Come and use these skills for good for once. Come and gossip with us by the bench. Utilize your mom skills; you follow in the proud tradition of a billion multitaskers. You can tie shoes, open bananas, and nurse babies all at once. You can scan the park for kidnappers and flashers while wiping a runny nose, changing a diaper, and telling us this juicy tidbit you heard about Perfect Mom. For goodness sake, you are a MOM. You have radar. You have the reflexes of a cat. You have the peripheral vision of James Bond. Use your natural skills. Stop thinking little Helicopter Toddler has to be 2 feet from you at any given moment. Think about what you are doing to his park cred. He doesn't want to be the only toddler who can't slide down the slide solo. He wants to fall down occasionally. He wants to try the ladder himself. He wants a scab or 2 to improve his chances of looking tough. He doesn't want his mom shadowing his every move. He is much more capable than you give him credit for, but he is never going to know this if you never let him test his capabilities. Think of him, and stop trailing him all over the place. Sit down. Relax. Land the helicopter and just let your mom skills do the heavy lifting. YOU ARE A MOM; ACT LIKE IT!

Thank you. Now, what was this juicy thing you heard about Perfect Mom?

As if I am not going to turn into an Olympic sprinter 

the second real danger breathes near her.  

Awkward Mom vs. the 1 and 1/2 Trimester

Hey Baby, I get that you are barely 5 months along here, but let's work on the counting, eh? 

I am starting my 5th month of pregnancy and Baby Center has informed me that I am supposed to not be nauseous, have boundless energy, and shine with the glow of Mother Earth herself. I wish someone would inform this baby of that because he/she still thinks we are in Trimester 1.....

I am still getting sick about once a day. While some of my energy has returned, it lasts only long enough to get me to 4pm, the first hour of the 3-hour soul-sucking Awkward extravaganza known as the "witching hour(s)." (Post coming on that one.) I am not big enough to fit into pregnancy clothes, but I am too fat for my own clothes, which means I am wearing Awkward Dad's shirts and not buttoning my pants. My "bump" is looking more like a slight beer belly, and I think this kid is stashing pieces of herself/himself in my thighs, face, and upper arms. I have yet to feel those glorious little flutters and kicks; I have a feeling that I have another night owl on my hands and I am just too tired at night to stay awake to feel them. Or I am too fat, which is more likely the case. The only shine going on here is more sweaty than glowy. Overall, this pregnancy is moving at a snail's pace and we are about halfway through. Honestly, I could handle all of it with my approximation of grace, if it wasn't for having to deal with anyone else.

Folks who know I am pregnant like to greet me with "Wow, Erin. You don't look pregnant at all!" I get that this is supposed to be complimentary but for someone whose pants are held together with a hair-tie, it falls a little short of the mark. Try telling me I am glowing instead.

Folks who don't know that I am pregnant greet the news like I am pranking them. "Really? You are pregnant? You don't look pregnant." I understand that People magazine and US Weekly have informed us that pregnant woman are supposed to look like Jessica Alba in a slinky dress with a perfectly formed "bump," but I wasn't air-brushed this morning so please excuse my non-pregnant-looking pregnancy which appears to offend your eyes. And what man invented the word "bump" to describe a growing baby? Who wants to be told that they have a "bump" anywhere on their body because I sure don't. Conjures up teenage acne issues for me.

If my children are around for my pregnancy revelation to folks,  I usually get the pointed stare across my present progeny and the added "Oh, you are so brave. Two was plenty for me." The subtext here is shoutingly loud; "Greedy woman! Don't you have enough children?!" "Are you insane?!" "Wow. You must be Catholic. Or Amish in disguise. Or maybe on a reality show. Where are the cameras?"

Awkward Dad is pleased but totally freaked out and won't stop talking about college funds.

Super Kindergartener is totally chill, but I think he is under the impression that I am always pregnant anyway. A sibling every other year of your life will do that to a person.

Super Preschooler has his own "Girlfriend Baby" to worry about and can't be bothered with me and my problems.

Super Toddler has connected in her mind that I am growing a sibling for her, but she isn't altogether sure about where this new playmate is housed. Therefore, she thinks that any "bump" on my body contains a baby. My boobs, like any pregnant woman's boobs are extremely tender right now and not really up to her near daily "knocks" to "say hi to bebe." I have taken to crossing my arms around her just in case.

My point is.....well, I am not really sure. Honestly, I just wanted to complain for a post. I guess my point, if I had a point, would be that if I could gestate this child alone in a miraculously self-cleaning house with daily meal deliveries while watching endless Netflix and lounging on my couch for the next 5 months, I would probably feel like I have hit Trimester 2. And the lottery.

And I would sure as shooting be glowing like embodiment of Mother Earth herself and not resemble a total crab who just wants this to be over already:

This is the face I have taken to making to anyone who declares that I am
"so brave." 

I don't love being pregnant. That is no secret. My pregnancies aren't terribly hard or else I doubt I would have had 3 and 1/2 of them so far. However, they are certainly full of little challenges and they are certainly way too long and way too boring. But within all that tedium, every once in awhile I remember why we are doing this; I look into the future to some seemingly far away day in late February when I will meet the newest little Super Baby. I will count all his/her little toes and fingers. I will name him/her some yet-undecided amazing alias and coo it as Super Baby falls asleep in my arms for the first time. I will look up into Awkward Dad's relaxed and happy face, as he tenderly watches our new baby, for the moment, totally unconcerned with college funds. And I will smile. The same private, secret, contented smile that millions of parents the world over have smiled when they ponder their coming child. It isn't much, but it has been enough to get me through 1 and 1/2 Trimesters. And it will get me through 1 and 1/2 more. 

 And Super Preschooler's smile here is definitely more than enough. 

It is stunning. 

Awkward Mom vs. Fears

Like being a parent isn't scary enough. 

We all have fears. Well, almost all of us, but more on that in a minute. I, personally, am terrified of clowns. Awkward Dad isn't fond of roller coasters and, like most doctors, has a debilitating fear of germs. Super Kindergartener, my little over-thinker, is afraid of many things and sometimes I think it might be easier to name what he isn't afraid of. But along with a clown fear that he comes by honestly, he is afraid of thunderstorms, going too fast in the car, Darth Maul, the Halloween aisle at Target, that if you eat a cherry pit a cherry tree will grow in your stomach, horses, lions, spiders, monsters (unless Pixar had anything to do with their creation), vampires, werewolves, regular wolves, being alone, the boss level in Plants vs. Zombies, and the dark. Super Preschooler keeps things simple by just being afraid of heights. Which leads us to this one:

   She might be a tad nervous they will run out of food, but scared? 

Nah.

Super Toddler is afraid of.....nothing. Not a thing. We haven't found one thing that she doesn't run toward. The girl laughs at clowns (shudder), delights in speed, did somersaults around age 1, kissed a horse on the cheek the first chance she got, dances in thunderstorms, waved to Darth Maul the first time he showed up, and is actually going as Darth Vader for Halloween. She can't go to sleep if there are lights on and I am pretty sure the child has inadvertently swallowed enough cherry pits to have her own orchard. I am convinced she could join the circus tomorrow; she is completely fearless.

I have never had a fearless child before, so this leads to some interesting developments. Like this one:

Yep; one-handed.

The horse at the grocery store has been an Awkward Family nemesis for a long time. Super Kindergartener isn't a fan due to his horse fear, and Super Preschooler isn't interested because it is too high. I have gotten so used to speeding by this fellow, least he give Super Kindergartener the evil eye, that I wasn't even sure what Super Toddler wanted when she started urgently pointing at him today. I thought maybe she wanted to rent a movie at the Red Box. Nope, turns out that she wanted to ride the grocery store horse. I almost didn't know what to do and almost said no out of instinct.

At 1 penny, the horse is a bit of a bargain, plus Wednesday is one of our girl-only mornings, so there would be no screaming and/or whining brothers in the background to distract from the equine excellence taking place. All told, I probably spent 5 cents and 10 minutes of my life to witness fearlessness in action. Totally worth it.

That said, if she wants to meet some clowns, she is on her own.

Hi-yo, Silver! Away! 

Awkward Mom vs. Imaginary Friends

Last night, after a particularly rough day, I walked into the kitchen to find the children eating yogurt on the kitchen floor, sans spoons. When I asked them about this, Super Preschooler laughed and said, "Oh, it's OK. Invisible Grandma said we could." I just sighed and stepped over them. I can't fight Invisible Grandma, Readers. Basically, imaginary friends have taken over my home and I have no idea what to do about it.

I never had a consistent imaginary friend. Oh sure, when I was acting out one of my award-winning (I have had my Oscar speech all ready since age 6) pretend plays, I would recruit some extras from the imaginary friend actor's guild, but as soon as the story was over, they all went home. They certainly didn't hang around long enough for me to catch their names. In fact, most of my knowledge of imaginary friends comes from Drop Dead Fred and Moone Boy. Both good, you should take a peek!

Super Kingergartener, who is like me in more ways than I would like to admit, is the same way I am. He'll bring in hordes of soldiers to help him with some pesky dragons or call upon a gaggle of princesses to host an epic ball, but at the end of the day, everyone goes home and he is perfectly fine with that. Maybe it is because he has so many real friends; the child is a serious social butterfly. That wasn't exactly the case with me, or Awkward Dad for that matter, who also didn't have any imaginary friends. I think the 2 of us were so awkward that even the imaginary friends didn't want to hang with us, but whatever the reason, no one in this house had any experience with imaginary friends until Super Preschooler started introducing us to his.

This is totally unfair of me, but I never expected this from Super Preschooler. After a jump in the deep-end introduction to parenting with unconventional and highly unique Super Kindergartener, Super Preschooler seemed so gosh-darn normal. He is the little boy to end little boys; a mop-topped angelic urchin who would be right at home in Our Gang. He is mischievous, and he is strong. He loves cars, trains, and legos. He could barely talk when he started quoting Star Wars. He was the first of our children to make a pretend gun with his fingers. He is semi-wild and the definition of confidence. He has a grin a mile wide. He fits the prototype of All-American Boy down to his love of dirt and bugs:

We are really lucky he didn't decide to eat any. 

Not knowing much about imaginary friends myself, I always assumed they were the companions of loners, misfits, and children who the spirit-world decided to use as vessels. This misconception brought on some serious worry; was my cheerful, completely well-adjusted, darling little boy about to serve as a portal to the netherworld? Or more importantly, is he unhappy? Is he lonely? Does he need more real friends? Maybe I didn't enroll him in enough classes. Maybe I don't spend enough time with him. Is his diet lacking in protein? Is he getting enough sleep? Should I put him in therapy? I was at a loss as to what to do. And when I am at a loss as to what to do with one of my kids, I usually just ask them what to do. I have found that this saves a lot of time and worry. Super Preschooler was more than happy to introduce me to his growing family of imaginary friends: 

His first imaginary friend to make an appearance was Invisible Grandpa. Invisible Grandpa is just that; an invisible version of my father. No one can see him except Super Preschooler and, on occasion, Super Kindergartener. Super Preschooler has a very close relationship with real Grandpa, so this imaginary friend came as no great surprise. We just figured that he was missing Grandpa and wanted to spend more time with him. Nothing seemed amiss until Invisible Grandpa starting acting in very un-real-Grandpa ways. My father is witty and wonderful, but he is rather sedate and dignified. He is certainly no prankster. Invisible Grandpa likes to encourage all manner of tom-foolery, including, but not limited to: ransacking the cabinets, stealing underwear from Mommy's closet and wearing it as hats and/or skirts, drawing on the walls, attempting to write the alphabet on the bathroom mirror in toothpaste, breaking the printer to find the people that live inside it, throwing ice, sticking crayons in Daddy's guitar, trying to get Super Cat to fly, and last, but not least, riding the ceiling fans. In fact, it was an attempt at the last one that got Super Preschooler his latest goose egg. It also seems to be Invisible Grandpa's favorite thing to do. He often just hangs out on the living room ceiling fan and laughs. At least, that is what I am told.

Invisible Grandma (who is an invisible version of my mother) first made her appearance about a month after Invisible Grandpa moved in. At first, she seemed to show up and yell at Invisible Grandpa for his antics before leaving, which sounds pretty true to life actually. But before long, she was hanging out, mostly in the kitchen, where she encourages clandestine snacking and playing in the sink. Invisible Grandma is much less likely to be involved in dangerous antics, but she always seems to show up right before dinner to help the children ruin their appetite. Which again, isn't too far from something that real Grandma might do.

"Girlfriend Baby" showed up one day during a rousing game of house that Super Preschooler was conducting with some fairies and Star Wars characters. Awkward Dad and I eavesdropped on this one for awhile because anytime your 3-year-old is pretending to have a girlfriend who has a baby, you might want to take a listen. Turns out that Girlfriend Baby is an actual, or rather imaginary, baby that likes to ride around on Super Preschooler's back, when she isn't sitting next to him or perching on his knee. She is roughly the size of an action figure and he likes to pretend to kiss her on the head. He says that she loves him very much and he takes care of her. Her real name is the same name as his actual little sister, which is incredibly confusing, so he refers to her as Girlfriend Baby, so we know who he is talking about. I actually got to hold her for awhile yesterday, while he was getting some books from the bedroom. She was remarkably well-behaved for a 2-inch-tall invisible baby.

Finder Stick is an anomaly, as far as imaginary friends go. I can actually see him. He is a stick that Super Preschooler found on a walk one day. He used to have a leaf attached to him, but it fell off and all of Super Preschooler's attempts to reattach it haven't worked so far. He keeps the leaf in the hopes that someday he can render Finder Stick whole once more, but Finder Stick seems to be doing OK leafless. Finder Stick is called Finder Stick because he supposedly finds things; he often guides our way home from the store or from church. Apparently, he can find his way anywhere, according to Super Preschooler. Anywhere in the world. He also can turn into a car, a gun, a truck, a plane, and a helicopter. I, naturally, have not witnessed any of these transformations, but Super Preschooler assures me that they are amazing to behold. All I have really witnessed Finder Stick do is hang out by the front door. Super Preschooler says he is there to "guard the house" but admits that Finder Sticks spends a lot of time napping.

Finder Stick likes to hug almost as much as he likes to nap. 

I don't know who is going to show up next, but I don't think that they are here to drag Super Preschooler to the other side. And I don't think Super Preschooler is lonely or sad or working stuff out. Well, maybe he is working stuff out, but if he wants to do that with some naughty Grandparents, a baby, and a geographically-advanced stick, well, there is nothing wrong with that.  And if Super Preschooler wants to defy all my expectations and be an all-American little boy and creative and amazing and mind-blowingly unique with a huge dash of fabulous, well, there is nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong at all.

Super Toddler is pretty fond of Finder Stick herself. 

I am waiting for her first imaginary friend to show up; 

probably be a rock or something.

Anything she can throw....

Awkward Mom vs. Open Gym

I really want to love Open Gym. Lord knows that, as each Super has endured their tenure as Super Toddler, they have fully adored Open Gym. Transitions to gymnastics classes have not gone well, but this weekly hour of "let's run around and fall on mats" seems to suit them just fine. Orderly Super Kindergartener always liked bouncing sedately down the long trampoline. Less orderly Super Preschooler always liked hurling himself head-first into the pit with soft foam blocks. Daredevil Super Toddler is still figuring it out, but mostly she likes to sit on various things, whether or not they are intended for sitting, and pretend the inclined ramps are slides and get mad at them when she doesn't go down very fast.

There are many reasons to love Open Gym. It's open year round; making it a great indoor alternative for the super cold or super hot days. It's close to our house. It's only $5 and if you go 10 times, you get a free time. But most importantly, it fits perfectly within the time that Super Preschooler is at Preschool, thus allowing me to just focus my attention on 1 child as she bobs and weaves all over the cavernous gymnasium. It is pretty much the ideal activity for Monday morning, and yet I do NOT love Open Gym.

I blame it on the rules. I never really liked rules and there are a ton here. Clearly, there are posted rules for any child partaking in Open Gym and those are pretty obvious:

1. No shoes.
2. No food and drink.
3. One child on the trampoline at a time.
4. Higher level balance beams are off-limits.
5. Always be within arms-reach of your child at all times.

Now, I have no major issues with these rules. They are reasonable. They are sound and doable, with the exception of #5. Have you ever tried to stay within arms-reach of a toddler? Unless you are a Olympic sprinter, that one is a little hard, but I get the premise behind it. No, I don't have issues with the posted rules. I have issues with the unspoken rules that seem to govern happenings here at Open Gym. They aren't posted, but they are equally clear:

1. If you are a Mom, please come dressed in skinny jeans or skin-tight yoga pants, a clinging, attractive top, your best infinity scarf, and adorable socks. Make-up, jewelry, and iPhone are a must. That you have the body to wear such things goes without saying, and please make sure to give haughty looks, with barely concealed contempt, to the moms who did not show up in the required uniform.

2. If you are a Dad, it is like the park. No sartorial rules for you. You are a Dad; the fact that you are on an outing with your child is going to cause torrents of praise and admiration from the surrounding moms. You can do no wrong. Go ahead and wear that "Beer is the Answer, what was the Question?" t-shirt and a pair of Jorts. Revel in your Dadness.

3. If you are a pregnant Mom, please show up only if you are Hollywood pregnant, with a huge baby bump and a tiny everything else. Awkward-looking pregnant moms in huge sweatshirts, who seem to be only growing children in their thighs and face are not welcome and will be pointedly stared at or ignored altogether in the hopes that they go away and never come back.

4. Do NOT talk to anyone that you didn't come with, even if your child has been playing with another woman's child and it is starting to get weird that the two of you are just standing there and she is giving you hopeful looks every few seconds. Just stare at her stonily. She looks awkward anyway.

5. If your child is in any way sorta talented in gymnastics or even aware of gymnastics at all, make sure to force her to do "tables," "somersaults," and "handstands" in the middle of the gym. Loudly shout out all the gymnastics terms you know and act fake-modest when other parents congratulate you on your child's skill. This, and the pink and sparkled unitard you shoved her into, will ably prepare the both of you for Tokyo 2020.

6. When encountering toddlers of average size make sure to loudly announce to your, clearly large for her age, toddler to "watch the baby!" and "look out for the smaller girl next to you" and "be nice to that little girl, she is smaller than you and doesn't know how to act yet." Continue to do this even after the small toddler's mother assures you that your children are the same age and the small toddler does indeed know how to act.

7. If you have any background in gymnastics, by all means, show it off by doing tricks on the trampoline with your child. You don't look like you are desperately trying to attract attention at all. You haven't lost it one bit.

8. Take tons of pictures of your child and act highly annoyed if other children walk into the frame. Who cares that they are all under the age of 4, they should know how important it is for you and your darling toddler to make memories together.

9. Monopolize the trampoline (or rings or any other popular apparatus) and pay no attention to the line of children waiting for it. If questioned on this matter, smile and say, "Oh, Perfect Toddler is just so good at it, let's give him a little longer, shall we?" Sharing is overrated.

10. If a toddler's mother is clearly within sight of her child (and actually blocked from said child by you and your child's hoggy ways with the balance beam), but not the required "arms-length" distance from her, make sure to fake lunge every time that toddler looks like she might fall. Take large intakes of gaspy breath and do everything possible to make said mother feel guilty and negligent. Except actually move and let her near her child, of course.

11. Loudly announce everything your child is doing in a clear, slightly sing-song voice. For example, "Oh, Little Toddler, are you climbing the ramp?" "Are you playing with the Hula-Hoop?" "Are you going to bounce?" "Are you going to adorably and perfectly spin in the center of the room and knock over 3 other kids?" "Are you gonna try to bite that little girl?" "Are you standing there, looking around?" "Are you picking your nose and wiping it on the mat?" This is not annoying to other moms in the least and totally shows your superior involvement and focus on your child.

12. Stay on your iPhone most of the time you are there. Naturally.


Readers, I want to love the Open Gym. I really really do, but I am having trouble following all the rules! But, I will try again next week because it makes Super Toddler happy:

Let's be real here: I would probably walk through parts of hell for that smile.

And Open Gym is certainly in the running for one of the outer circles.....

Awkward Mom vs. Self-Esteem

Dear Readers,

I don't know how to say this in a way that isn't awkward, so I am just gonna go for it: 

I am fine. 

Really, I am totally OK. Sometimes I get comments or people talk to me about my blog (OK, like 4 people and my mom, but it happens!), and I get the impression they are worried about me. That I am over here drowning in a sea of self-loathing and bad-mom guilt. That I need to constantly be told that I am a good mom. Don't get me wrong, I love hearing people tell me I am a good mom or a good anything for that matter. Except a good cook. Then I know you are lying or have lost your sense of taste and we should get you to the hospital right away! I digress, but the fact of the matter is that I really do know that I am a good mom. I really am. I am just awkward. 

And here is the thing about awkward; I like awkward. I have no intention of changing that about me anytime soon. Here is me at like age 2:

Rocking mismatched prints and loving on a cat. 

I did the same thing earlier today. 

At age 12, singing something with my cousin. 

No, I do not know where I acquired such a fabulous shirt.

Yes, it was scanned crocked. Adds to the awkward. 

Here I am last week,

awkwardly shoving my daughter into a horse's face. 

I have a long history of being awkward. I am good at it; it's my superpower. And like all superpowers, it has a downside. Think about it; being telepathic means you are gonna hear some messed-up stuff. Sucks to be invisible when you want to take photos of yourself, right? Super strength and you are replacing a lotta stuff you accidentally broke. Nothing is awesome all the time and that holds true with awkwardness. Sometimes you are 13 years old and not popular and all the other girls are mean. Sometimes you are 35 years old and not popular and all the other moms are mean. Sometimes it can be lonely to be awkward. Sometimes I say the wrong thing and people don't understand and don't want to be my friend. Sometimes I trip and hurt my knee. Sometimes I try to be funny and it falls flat. Which sucks. But the thing is, that is only sometimes. 

Most of the time, I am awkward and funny and real and kind and charming and fun to be around. I know this. But come on; who wants to read a bunch of blog posts with me saying, "well, you all know that I am awkward and funny and real and kind and charming and fun?" No one. That is who. 

I want to relate. I want to share. I want to write stories. I want to tell you about this absolutely loony mom in Super Preschooler's class. Because I know you get it, and I know you will think it is funny. And who doesn't like to laugh? OK, well, I guess some people, but they are not right in the head. Let's just admit that straight off. And now, yes, I know that am self-deprecating in my humor; some of that is probably a self-esteem issue I should deal with, but mostly I think self-deprecating humor is funny. Because it is funny. People who walk around thinking (and saying) they are awesome and fabulous and everyone should be like them are not funny. They are jerks. And yes, I know that not everything has to be funny. But a lotta things are and laughing is good for you. I think more things should be funny. And I especially think that raising kids should be funny. Because it naturally is; a horde of tiny and delightfully weird people, who think the height of hilarity is to spin in a circle and fall down, are going to run your life hereafter. Come on! That is a laugh riot, and we want to waste it worrying about bedtimes and potty training and when so and so walked and which mom makes the best spinach-laced brownies? Well, I don't. 

Here is the other thing about awkward; you are awkward. Yes, you. We are all awkward, with the exception of Perfect Mom, who actually is awkward, at night, in her room, when no one is looking. Which sounds dirty and I totally didn't intend it that way. But it came out that way BECAUSE I AM AWKWARD.

And it is OK. It's more than OK. It is pretty freaking awesome. 

Come be awkward with me. It's fun. And I have brownies over here with no spinach in them. Just saying. 

I love you all,
Awkward Mom 

Yum! Just taste that awkward lack of spinach. 

Again, sounds dirty. Sorry, not intended.