MommySpeak - January 15, 2008

“Housework, when done correctly, can kill you.”
-Erma Bombeck

I will give thanks for many things in my life, but cleaning toilets will never be one of them.

This is not to say that I am not thankful for indoor plumbing or for the three toilets that we share amongst our family of five.

But when I’m at the business end of the scrubber brush, thoughts of blessings and thankfulness are not what go through my mind. Instead, I’m thinking:

I could be doing something better with my time than this.

I’m don’t think I’m above the menial labor that is housework; please don’t misunderstand. Many of my jobs pre-mommyhood involved all sorts of menial tasks (waitressing, clerical, research office).

And I’m not poo-pooing the importance of a clean home. No, this borderline-germaphobe firmly believes that a good home has a place for everything and everything in its place.

But what I am saying is you will never hear me say, “I love housework!”

Never. Never-ever-ever.

But, I have heard other moms say this. Perhaps they meant it in earnest….perhaps.

And perhaps they mean it, too, when their eyes shine as they start extolling what an absolute blessing it is to be home everyday without pause or break with their wonderful, perfect, smiling, joyful children.

Perhaps….

Or, it could be that they’re just spouting what I call MommySpeak.

I’ve encountered much MommySpeak in my six years as an at-home mom, and on occasion, I’ve heard some come out of my own mouth. It makes me shudder a bit to think of those moments.


Why? Because there is an inherent dishonesty to MommySpeak.

What sparked this particular post is twofold: one, I clicked over today to see if Sarah is kicking some grass these days making gravy and caught her latest post where she talks about how motherhood has evolved into a lonely competitition rather than a comfortable sisterhood. Two, I was flipping through one of my journals last night and opened up to one of my entries from this past summer.

We’d made an outing to our local park that day in early June, The Royal Monkeys and I, as I tried to establish a weekly routine to cling to during the long, hot, full-of-children-hyped-up-on-popsicles-and-juice-boxes days ahead. And a lucky day to pick for the park, I’d thought as I pulled in the lot and walked the crew across the street to play. A mom’s group was already there, kids playing and moms chatting.

I’ve had varied experiences in the past with mom’s/play groups, mostly ending negatively, but hey - this mommyfolk is a born optimist. So, despite the fact that most of the moms were in the shade of the pavillion while their children were running wild around the park, largely unsupervised, I smacked a smile on my face and headed into the fray.

It did not begin well, as I remember.

There is a large sand pit at this park. Dirt. Lots of digging dirt that just begs for little boys to explore, excavate, and become one with the earth. Little boys like my dear Prince Tatertot, a child who loves sand, dirt, rocks, twigs - anything that could be used to build a birdsnest, beavers dam, or levee. I see Civil Engineering in his future.

And what goes perfectly with dirt? Why, a shovel! And a pail! And perhaps one of those big sifty things for play-acting one’s own rendition of, “The 49er Who Finds The Big One!”

Alas, mommyfolk, I was unprepared for a dirt-based excursion to the park. There was not one sand-toy to be found in Claudine, our trusty van. But looking around the sand pit as we approached, I noticed an over-abundance of toys along with two school aged children. Verily, there was a downright cornucopia of toys, more than ten children could have played with.

I let Prince Tatertot loose, thinking, “Even if these kids don’t want to share, surely, surely their mothers will hear the commotion and will invoke the universal ‘Share Your Toys’ rule.”

Did I ever mention I’m an optimist?

It took only seconds for Prince Tatertot to zoom in on a red shovel (RED! My fabwit color, Mommy!), pick it up, and start making wee sand mountains. And it took mere milliseconds for one of the school-aged child who had brought a plastic basket full of toys to grab it back, yelling, “NO! That’s MINE!”

I looked up, expecting the conversation at the picnic tables twenty feet away to come to a screeching halt, expecting to see heads turn in our direction to see who’s kid was acting like he was King of The World, only to notice that not one head turned, not one conversation about the deals at Old Navy or the gossip about their absent members had stopped.

The Wee Tyrant hoarded his toys to one side of the pit. I looked at my three: Prince Tatertot’s lip was trembling dangerously toward a meltdown of epic proportions; Princess Pinky’s face was flipping between shock that a kid older than her didn’t get the “Share Rule” and teeth-grinding anger that someone dared push her little brother around; Sir Screamsalot was pulling cigarette butts out of the sand.

“Time to go, kiddos,” I said.

And into Claudine we piled, after much pulling of the sobbing Prince Tatertot away from his beloved dirt. He was not to be consoled, and Princess Pinky’s anger was not to be denied.

Can optimism be considered a character flaw?

I struck a deal with the bigger kids as we sat cooling off in Claudine in the parking lot. “We’ll go home, get our own toys, and come back, ok?” Prince Tatertot stopped sobbing and his sunshine smile beamed bright through his tears.

To Princess Pinky, I said, “When we do come back, we share with everyone. Like always.” She nodded. The “Share Rule” is a way of life for The Royal Monkeys.

So, we zipped home and back, our own bag of share-happy toys in tow, and into the sand we piled. And of course, wouldn’t it figure that the first mom to float over to the pit on our second arrival was the mom of The Wee Tyrant?

“You’re back,” she said. “One of the kids have an emergency or something?”

Or something, I thought, but smiled. I’d still thought at that point that I might have stumbled into a weekly mommy meetup worthy of inking on my calendar.

But that evaporated about twenty minutes later. Under the pavillion, where I’d followed the roaming Sir Screamsalot, keeping a watchful eye on the two bigger kids in the sand pit, I met a few of the other moms.

And overheard so much MommySpeak that I thought I would scream.

One mom asked me, “So, do you work?” She paused, “I mean, out of the home?”

“No,” I answered. “I’m at home with them.”

The heat, the early hour I’d rose with the kids (who must be tuned into some rooster-frequency I can’t hear; they’re all awake by 6 am in the summer no matter how late they’re up the night before), and the earlier frustration over the toys stripped me of the blinking yellow warning light censor in my brain, rendering me completely honest.

“Believe me,” I continued, “There are some days I’d like to go to a job, just to get a little time away from them. I never get time away, you know? And the demands get overwhelming sometimes, and…” Here I trailed off, seeing the shock on her face. She covered it well and so began her…


MOMMYSPEAK!


“Well, I just feel so blessed to be home (so do I, don’t misunderstand me) with them every day, to spend every moment (every moment? e-ver-y moment?) with them and watch them grow and learn. I mean, I know so many moms who’d like to be home but can’t (yeah, I know a few of those, too; they all drive nice imports) and it’s just the best thing I’ve ever done (best, yes; hardest, without a doubt; but it’s the most frustrating and exhausting, too) and …..,” I tuned her out. I just couldn’t listen to any more of it.

Besides, Sir Screamsalot was picking up broken crackers from the ground; lunchtime loomed large and I had three sandy, muddy children to corral home, into baths, into chairs, and into naps and/or pseudo-quiet time activities.

MommySpeak is a friendship-killer for me. I’m not one to sit around and complain; ask anyone who knows me. But there are dark and lonely times for all of us mommyfolk, times when the light at the end of the tunnel wavers and dims, times when we feel what made me, ME, is gone forever, replaced with a ever-giving, never-taking version of who we used to be.

But to talk about those times, those dark moments has become taboo. There is an undercurrent afoot, one that surges strongly with the idea that if you’ve willingly and knowingly chosen to be an at-home mom, you must therefore be completely and absolutely devoted to the path of homemaker/supermommy, no complaints allowed. After all, you could work if you wanted to - so…. quitchyer**itchin.


*A-hem.*


Mommyfolk, know that if times are dark and dangerous for you, I know what you’re going through. Most, if not all, of us mommyfolk can relate and understand on some level. So if you’re out there being honest about what a fabulous, thankless, glorious, and downright mean and dirty job this Mommying is, keep at it! I’m with you all the way!

Have you encountered MommySpeak? Do you feel like you can be honest with other moms about the trials and challenges that modern mommyhood gives each of us? Or, do you think I’m full of bunk? It’s ok; you wouldn’t be the first!

Either way, post on it at your blogjoint, then come back here and get linkin’. I’d love to read what other moms think about MommySpeak.

And, if you’re looking to learn more about me….I’m coming up on my 100th post. Zowie. Seems impossible, but there it is. I’m going to steal Tiffany’s idea and post 100 Amazing Facts About Me. Stop back and check it out, ‘kay?

Smiles to each and every SuperMommy out there! Keep it real, mommyfolk, keep it real!

WM