Saturday, October 6, 2007

My Daddy

My dad has always been super hero strong. When I was growing up, he was my hero. There was no stopping my father. No one could beat him up, and if you thought your dad was tougher, than I'd have my dad come pick me up and you'd see his size and change your story. My dad stands 6'4" tall, and looks like he has just swallowed a basketball. Even if you saw my dad today, you'd never know that come Monday, he'll be missing his lung.

I spent the day with my dad today, and it was one of the best days we've shared together. I refused to treat him like he was sick, and he insisted on making cancer jokes. I haven't always gotten along with him, there have been months that passed without us talking. Most people don't understand how we can function like that, and for a long time, I didn't understand it myself. But it's just the way we are. It's the way our entire family is. When times are good, they're fantastic, but when times are bad, well... they're lonely. I feel guilty that I've continued the trend. That I haven't been here to help my stepmom out. That I played along thinking that his cancer was merely a cold that was going to go away on it's own. That it was nothing serious at all. I wanted to forget, I wanted him to just be better. I just wanted him to stay my super hero father.

I know that he will walk away from all of this okay. I know that it's going to take some recovery time. He'll be a little slower now, and more appreciative of the small stuff in life. And there's this part of me that's thankful for all of this. Because it's made him just a little more humble, and a little more reflective on choices he made in life. Maybe when all is said and done, there won't be anymore months that slip pass between us, maybe we'll be just a bit more closer.

I need that to happen, and so does Emma. She needs to really get to know her Pop-Pop before we miss out on a second chance.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

The War Amongst Mommy's and Why I'll Never Fit In

Perhaps it's because I live in conservative South Carolina, or maybe it's my noticable tattoos, yet when I walk into a room that is filled with mothers I panic.

I am a loud, foul mouthed, tattooed, yankee mother. Yet even when I go back to New Jersey I have the same feelings of panic and paranoia. If ever the reason for the North and the South to revel in unity it would be against mothers like me. I do not fit in with neat houses, and well groomed appearances. I do not fit in with the Donna Reed's or June Cleaver's; and while I enjoyed both shows on Nick at Nite the reality of it all is, I will never fit in with those mothers.

The war being waged amongst mothers always leaves me speechless. I have yet to understand why so many women want to judge other women on the one thing in their lives that is most important, and the one thing that all women are winging. This isn't rocket science, there aren't formulas to follow and exact measurements to tediously tended to. This is motherhood. It's the closest thing to war most of us have seen. Let me break it down:

Newborn Stage : Pyschological warfare [sleep deprivation and unusual wake times]

Infant Stage : Bombings [pooping and throwing food, no one walks away completely clean]

Toddler Stage : Hand to Hand Enemy Combat [you must keep the enemy away from what they desire most, everything they can't have.]

Preschool Stage : Pyschological Warfare Enhanced [now not only must you tend to 3am bad dreams, but will also be barraged with questions about everything reasonable and inane.]

School age and beyond... well, I haven't reached that point yet but when I do, I'll be sure to tell you what it entails.

Everyday I make choices about my daughters life that I second guess. Should she go to summer school? Should I let her dress herself from now on? Should I enforce her cleaning her room? Is this worth the fight with her? Is she eating healthy enough? The list goes on and on. I'm far to busy trying to do what's right by my daughter to judge other women trying to do the same.

Unless you are causing or placing your child in serious harms way, chances are I have no judgement about you. So why judge me because I do have a lot of tattoos, or because I don't dress up for a 4 year olds birthday.

I suppose that's what I'll never really fit into the "Mommy Wars", I'm busy living, while they're busy judging.