Monday, July 22, 2013

Down at the Veterans of the Motherhood Wars Legion Hall

  It was 10:30 last night when I realized I hadn’t even brushed my funky, scrunchi-contained hair that day. Seriously? And it pretty much goes without saying I’d missed the daily shower mark as well. I really had no good excuse for my lapse in hygiene, except to say I’d spent the day reading *insert sinister music here* Mom Blogs!


  Since I entered the world of blogs, I have avoided any and all things labeled “Mom Blog” on sheer principle alone. I mean, I’m not a Mom Blogger and my Offspring are well past the point that anything I read on those things would do me any good. Right?

  You gotta understand, I look at Motherhood like an ongoing war. It’s not a short skirmish or incursion or anything you can add I or II after. It’s the good fight women have been waging with their children since the dawn of time. The Victors? The ones who see their progeny to adulthood without losing 100% of their minds or finding themselves standing in the smoldering wreckage of their homes. (Sometimes literally.) 

  I am a Veteran. A survivor. Sort of.

Baby #1 with #2 on the way.
  My youngest is 18, officially making me no longer legally responsible for his moments of stupidity. This means I managed to see four puking, pooping, screaming balls of pink chaos through to the point where they are able to move out into the world. (Even if one or two or three of them choose not to…YET!)

  But victory has not come without a price. Oh no! I am friggin’ shell-shocked to hell and back. Even at 42 and 18 years into a tubal ligation, if I’m a day late I STILL sweat bullets until I see red! (I’d say pardon the BAD pun, but it cracks me up. So I’m keeping it!) And baby sitting for friends who are at the peak of their rug-rat chasing days? Oh HELLZ no! I did my time, mutha fuckas. These are the days when I get to sit back and laugh with the others down at the Veterans of the Motherhood Wars Legion Hall.

  So reading these “Mom Blogs” is kinda like daring a brutal flash-back. Also? When you figure in the fact that I cannot read quietly, my family is also against it.

Me– HO-LY SHIT! This one is freaking-out over a fever of 100 degrees. Are you freakin’ KIDDING ME!?! She actually took the kid to the Doctor for it. Amateur.” 
or
The chaos of bringing home
Baby #3
“Check it out, this one is all worried cause the kid swallowed a dime. PFFT! THAT‘S only a problem if the kid is too young to sift through their own shit ‘til it reappears. Amateur.”

  Then the reality that I was preparing to meet some of the women who write these blogs started looming on the horizon. I figured I should probably at least have a passing knowledge of who they were, so I started dabbling into their work. (Honestly? There was a small part of me that was wanting to read their stuff, just to see how folks are a raisin’ up their youngun’s these days.) And I was shocked. But in a totally good way!

  I had expected to find things all “stiff” and these hipster-yuppie-ish women sweating every last little thing and “play-dating” and “Soccer-Momming” through all the good stuff. Instead they were funny and intelligent and personable and FUNNY!

  I found women who shared so many common experiences as I had during the dark, Toddler Times and used much the same humor as I had to deal with it. (OK, so maybe they weren’t quite as twisted as me most of the time, but close…) I found young Moms, old Moms, working Moms, stay at home Moms, farming Moms, suburban Moms and everything in between.

And then there were 4…
  In short, I found a Sisterhood from every possible walk (or occasional crawl) of life who were all bound together by the common thread of temporary insanity inherited from their children. And weirder still, I realized I’m still a part of it.

  I kinda gave up trying to “define” whatever the hell this blog thing I write is a while back. Health, humor, lifestyle, stupid…but last night it sank in that I too can be lumped into that group I have always looked at sideways and done my best to avoid like they were the snotty-nosed, Petri-dish-of-a-kid at the school picnic; the Mom Bloggers.

  Yes, I am a Veteran, a survivor of that age-old war. But the hard truth is, it’s like the Marine’s of the Chic World, once a Mom, always a Mom. I suddenly realize that I’m not “out of the game” and never will be. You see, I am now one of those battle hardened Sergeants who has earned their stripes by walking through the same bomb-laden ground that these women are just beginning to traverse.

This? Is me, the Survivor,
surviving. 
  Which will give me a whole new outlook on the thing next time I’m hanging out down at the Legion Hall. Because just like old, grizzled Soldiers watching the class of New Recruits? Know that the next time you’re losing your shit over a scraped knee or a bloody nose, we survivors will SO be pointing and laughing our asses off, because our Mother’s did the same when we were freaking the fudge-nuggets-out.

  And one fine day? You’ll be here too. I’ll save you a seat.

PS If you guys haven’t picked up I Just Want To Pee Alone: Jen of People I Want to Punch in the Throat, (It’s full of so many amazing authors I can’t even list them all, but Amazon can.) I CANNOT recommend it highly enough. I laughed until my bladder control (a casualty of the Motherhood Wars) gave up the ghost. I laughed until The Girl opened her door to make sure I wasn’t having a seizure. I laughed…a lot!
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