So, apparently the internet world is all abuzz about some Time magazine cover. Yesterday, my inbox filled with over 100 emails from people discussing, analyzing, and picking apart the cover, the article, and the concept in general. “Are you mom enough?”
Well, I don’t know if I’m mom enough and I, quite frankly, don’t give a crap. I didn’t read the article. I don’t remember the last time I read any article in a magazine. Oh wait, last month, in the pediatrician’s waiting room, I thumbed through the holiday recipes in a three year old issue of Family Circle, if that counts.
Honestly, I don’t understand the need for people to dissect other parenting choices, or articles about them, or the concepts in the articles, or whether or not the model in the picture is wearing flattering colors. Who cares?! I’m a little too busy taking care of my six kids. My life is one great big juggling act. Know what I did yesterday while all the pretentious people were worrying about stupid nonsense? I was getting my six kids to school. But before I could do that, I had to clean up the full bottle of rum that one of my kids accidentally knocked off the top shelf. I really wanted to sit down with a cup of coffee for a couple minutes, but the broken glass and sticky coconut rum that covered my kitchen floor needed to be cleaned. I’m proud to say that I controlled my urge to simply grab a straw and slurp it up.
Instead of reading articles, I was making sure my oldest son who suffers from depression was taking his meds so he could make it through the day without breaking down. I was talking to people, trying to figure out if I’ll be able to get him to college. I was working at a school with kids, trying to motivate them to make something of themselves. My students and their families sure don’t worry about what any magazine or privileged bloggers have to say about parenting. Some of my students are homeless. Others are on drugs. I have students with family trees so twisted, they’d make a genealogist’s head explode. I have some who come to school just so they can get a meal.
I was running errands, making sure there were groceries in the house. I was helping my daughter pick out a science experiment and create a poster for it. I was helping another daughter with her preterite Spanish verbs. I was texting my son who was sending me such gems as “Hey Mom, what do you think it would look like if a zebra was crossed with a frog?” I was worrying how, when I can barely make ends meet with two jobs, I’ll ever be able to pay my bills this summer when I’m on vacation from school and won’t be receiving paychecks. I was thinking, how bad does it make me if I need to use food stamps. Then I thought, how bad does it make me if I refuse to use them and just work harder to make ends meet on my own.
I took one kid with me while I selfishly grabbed a half an hour to exercise. We talked while we walked so I could spend a little one-on-one time with them. I made dinner. I got my kids to help clean up so I could fold laundry. I checked homework. I planned dinner for tomorrow night. I cleaned a bathroom. I threatened my son with a lengthy grounding if he didn’t clean his room. I wrote a blog post, not because I must share my all-knowing opinions about things with readers, but because I enjoy writing and because if I don’t, I won’t have enough money to pay my mortgage.
I took a shower before going to bed at 2:00AM so I could have an extra ten minutes to sleep in the morning. I lay down and started grinding my teeth – my teeth that needs thousands of dollars’ worth of dental work that I can’t afford – while worrying about the things I didn’t accomplish today and the things I need to manage tomorrow.
So, I’ll leave the analyzing of parenting methods to all the intellectual folks who apparently have nothing better to do with their time. Don’t get me wrong, if this is what you like to do, by all mean, go right ahead. I’m really not saying you’re wrong. I mean, some would call me socially irresponsible for not caring about the issues out there. I’m just saying that I don’t understand it, but to each, their own. However, I’m just an uneducated, single mom who is too busy being a parent and trying to hold it all together to care what anyone else does.
You must hide your underwear in your jeans at the doctor’s office. She can see your cervix, but heaven forbid she see your undies! Read other helpful tips inYou’ll Lose the Baby Weight (and Other Lies About Pregnancy and Childbirth)!
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