Crazed Soccer Mom

I remember feeling so alone when my son was a new-born. The majority of my friends at the time were either single without kids or married without kids. My husband and mother both did what they could to help me, but something was lacking. Especially for me, the new mom who never babysat another human being a day in her life before popping out this baby. Never changed a diaper, had no clue what to put in a diaper bag, was never responsible for another human. I would have failed any parenting test given to me. My mother tried to give me advice, but I’m an only child and she hadn’t been around a baby in 30 years. My friends without kids were great at being supportive, but there was only so much advice they could give me. And of course, the usual suspects were always willing to dispense the I-know-you-didn’t-ask-for-my-opinion-but-here-it-is-anyway advice. You know the type. I was constantly saying things like,”Yes,honey, I know you mean well but having three cats and a parakeet is NOT the same as having a child,I promise.” Or “Yes, boo, calling a cab instead of driving yourself home from the bar after puking three times was very responsible,but you still shouldn’t be handing out parenting advice,mmmkay?” I needed one thing: A Mom Friend. Searching for The Mom Friend was like searching for the Holy Grail. I needed an awesome friend who was going through/had gone through the same emotions I was feeling and the same experiences. She would be smart, funny, and brutally honest without being judgmental. Now I just had to find her! Where the hell is she?!

As my son has gotten older, I’ve been very lucky to meet the type of moms I’ve always wanted to be friends with. I’ve also met…..other moms. Very nice people. Great people. Really great. Just…well. Not very relatable. At least to me. These are the four types of mom I cannot relate to AT ALL:

1) Rainbows and Unicorns Mom. And puppies. And glitter. Lots and lots of glitter. She claims that her kids are ALWAYS well behaved because, by golly, why wouldn’t they be? Her kids get straight A’s, cook, clean, do their chores without being asked, and NEVER fight. They volunteer at soup kitchens! They donate their toys to the less fortunate! They shit gerbera daisies and peonies! They. Are. Amazing!! You’ve never seen them do any of this, of course, and you could swear you just saw little Jessica pull little Vicki’s hair as hard as possible, but no. Rainbows and Unicorns mom assures you that they are angels. And maybe they are. I cannot relate to this type of mom because I would rather talk to her the day her kids stop pooping out flowers and rainbows. Or the day she finally withdraws from the drugs, sorry I meant MAGIC, she’s been ingesting. Basically, I would rather talk to her when she becomes a real person.
2)Pinterest Mom. You walk into her house and she’s made origami figurines out of toilet paper. She makes her own soap, laundry detergent, and floor wax. I can’t relate to her because I woke up this morning. That’s it. End of list. That’s all I’ve done with my life. God Bless you, Pinterest Mom. You’re free to come over to my house and spruce things up any time.
3) Always Put Together Mom. This one has four kids, two dogs, a cat, and a gerbil and still manages to look like she stepped off the cover of Vogue Magazine. Never a hair out of place. Makeup doesn’t run. Immaculate. I can’t relate to her because I can’t believe she’s a real person. And I’m pretty sure she’s on the same “MAGIC” as Rainbows and Unicorns mom.
And finally:
4) Competitive Mom. You tell her you’ve started a new workout regime: She did it last year. You tell her your kid just started reading: Hers is writing a novel. Your kid won his first track meet: Hers just made the Olympic team. At a certain point you can’t help but wonder: Are your kids really this amazing, or are you pushing them to their breaking point? Have you really done it all or are you just a big ‘ol mess who constantly needs to prove herself? Either way, I can’t relate to you. Bye, Felicia.

I thank God every day that my friends know nothing about unicorns, buy soap from the store, and don’t always have time to dress to impress. Best of all, we support one another. Because that’s what friends do

There was a time back B.C. (Before Child) when I actually thought exercise and staying in shape were somewhat important. Like many women, I’ve always struggled with my weight and self image. I spent most of my school years overweight until I finally got my stuff together upon graduating college and slowly began eating healthier food and working out. I was NEVER what you would call skinny, even at my lowest weight, but still. I felt good about myself and that was all that mattered.
Then one day I found out I was pregnant. Naturally, I gained weight. After my beautiful boy was born, of course I told myself I would go back to eating healthy food and exercising. Of course I didn’t. My life revolved around raising the little one so my health was the last thing on my mind. When my mom was diagnosed with dementia a few years later and I took on the challenge of caring for her at home, my free time dwindled even further. From 2010-2015 I could probably count the number of times I worked out on one hand.
I work as a news research assistant so in October of 2015 I received word that my new assignment would involve health and trying out different exercise programs. I was so excited because I knew this is exactly what I needed to jumpstart my workout motivation. As I listened to my boss list all the classes I’d be required to take, he suddenly stopped mid sentence and said, ” Hey! Have you ever been to a bar class?” Um, no, but sign me up. I’m not sure what drinking in a bar has to do with health and fitness, but who was I to question my boss? If he wants me to drink, then that’s what I’ll do. This is my job! I have a very strong work ethic.
When I asked him what I would be drinking, he laughed and laughed. And laughed. Then he explained that it was actually a “barre” class. Ballet? I was horrified. I immediately started making plans to head to a bar before the barre. That was the only way this was going to work.
A couple weeks later I was ready to take my first class. I watched a couple of YouTube videos, so I figured I was set. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but how bad could this be? I didn’t see anyone doing burpees.  Burpees are the work of Satan, so anything else I could handle.
Or so I thought. Here are five things you should know before taking your first barre class:
1) You will meet your instructor and be bowled over by how sweet she is. Then the music will start and you’ll wonder who the hell replaced your sweet instructor with the mean one telling you to “lift this, tuck that, remember why you’re here, hold yourself accountable, fix your posture, and you can do anything for 30 seconds!” I am letting you know right now: There are definitely some things you cannot do for thirty seconds.
2) Everyone who walks into that room looks like an effing supermodel. Ok, maybe not everyone, but close enough. Naomi Campbell will be on your left, Gisele Bundchen on your right. My first month going to barre I would sit on the floor before class started pretending to stretch but really bargaining with God: Please let the next person who walks in here be someone who eats. This is Wisconsin! C’mon, please! One day I was thrilled to see a woman walk in who actually looked like she had eaten a sandwich in the last week. Upon closer inspection, I realized she was pregnant. What the hell, that doesn’t count! She should be at home eating! Isn’t that what we all do when we’re pregnant? Way to make us all look bad, pregnant lady.
3) About halfway through the class, the instructor will tell you to “slide into your best split.” This is not a joke. You will look around and realize that everyone in that room is a gymnast. Except for you. You do whatever you need to do during this time. Fake it til you make it. It’ll all be over soon, I promise.
4) Nobody in this class sweats because they are all superhuman robots. If you keep telling yourself this, you’ll feel better about being the only one who does. Well, no, you won’t feel better. But you’ll chuckle a little.
5) The shaking. Can we talk about the shaking? Apparently this is your goal. Instructors will actually yell out ” Great shake!” when you’re in the middle of what feels like a grand mal seizure while doing one of the barre exercises. You won’t be able to walk straight for the rest of the day. Good luck.
So. After reading all this you’re probably congratulating me on finishing my assignment and leaving that place as quickly as possible. Actually, I’m still going. Here’s why: It doesn’t matter if you’re not a thin supermodel. It doesn’t matter if everyone else is. You’re not there for everyone else. You’re there for you. It’s pretty amazing when you start seeing changes in your body and feel yourself getting stronger. So there are worse things than being in a room full of supermodels. Embrace the shake

Dear Sir,

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About a month ago, your son Bill (*not his real name*) and mine spent some time playing soccer together after school.  My son was SO excited because he rarely gets to play with Bill and this was a special treat for him. I do not know you or your son very well, but my child speaks of him often.  The kids were having a blast and I thought it was great until you turned to me and said, “Wow! I can’t believe your kid can kick a soccer ball like that! I mean, look at him! He’s the size of a fly!” Then you laughed at your own stupid joke. You were too big of a prick to notice that you were the only one laughing. Then you decided to be extra classy and add, “Eh  Well. Hopefully he’ll grow for ya, hey?” I wasn’t raised in the same barn that you apparently were raised in, so I believe I mumbled something along the lines of, “My kid is perfect the way he is, blah,blah.” Then I looked to my left and noticed my son had stopped kicking the soccer ball (which never happens so I assumed there was a state of emergency) and was listening to our entire exchange. He heard you.  He heard everything. My kid knows he’s small but it has never affected him. We have dealt with his size from the day he was born and here is what you should know:

My son was 7 pounds 1 ounce when he was born. Totally normal size for a baby, yet he looked so much smaller than the others in the nursery. He just didn’t have those pudgy baby legs and chunky baby rolls that we’re all accustomed to seeing. Clean bill of health, wasn’t born premature. Lost a bit of weight while in hospital but gained it back at home. Our first couple of doctor’s visits post hospital were fantastic. At his three month checkup, the doctor mentioned that my son wasn’t gaining as much weight as he should be. At six months, my son was perfect developmentally, doing all the things a six month old is supposed to be doing. However, his weight gain was minimal and the doctor was not pleased. We told her we have no concerns about our child developmentally and is it possible he’s just small? She told us to quote, “give him a stick of butter over the holidays because his weight is going down the toilet!” Needless to say, we never saw her again and I often wonder if her medical degree has been flushed down the toilet as well. I sure hope so.

So we switched doctors. The new doctor ran test after test after test after test. All tests came back negative but still more tests were ordered. Throughout this entire ordeal, my husband and I continuously repeated, “He’s just small!” The first two years of my child’s life, instead of enjoying my time with him, I worried myself SICK. I was so depressed I couldn’t function. I saw my child every day and thought he was perfect, but everyone I met with a white jacket and stethoscope was telling me otherwise even though they had no proof of any abnormality existing. Somewhere in my perfectly healthy little boy’s medical chart is a diagnosis of “failure to thrive.” He never failed to thrive. Ever. His doctors just failed to listen. My son was about 26 months old when I finally had enough. Enough with the tests, enough with the doctors. My son was fine and I told my husband if my son’s doctor ordered one more test I was calling bullshit and switching doctors yet again. I could hardly breathe at this checkup waiting for the verdict. The doctor looked up from his paperwork, smiled, and said, “Hey, you know what? I think the kid is just small!!!” No shit, Sherlock. Medcal degrees are clearly easy to obtain. I should have been a doctor. Luckily, my child finally now has a doctor who understands he’s.  Just.  Small.

So you see, sir, why I’m a tad sensitive about my kid’s size, even though he isn’t. Also, you are an adult. Children hear every word we say, even if they pretend not to. So your snide remarks and mocking really isn’t appropriate. My kid is perfect. So is yours for that matter. My kid may be small his entire life and that is perfectly fine. The worst that could happen is that he won’t be able to shop in the Big and Tall section like you do ( yeah, I went there.) Watch your mouth around kids and back off. Pick on someone your own size because there’s nothing more disgusting than an adult bully.

Signed, Me

 

 

 

 

 

School’s are closed, local pools are open, and summer is finally here. And so are our kids. Every. Single. Day. All day. At home, in our faces, no schoolwork to keep them busy. Like many parents, my hubby and I sat down about a month ago and talked about what we should do over the summer to keep our six year old son occupied. In an effort to save money and since I’m lucky enough to be able to work from home, we decided no day cares or rec programs. We will make sure the little tyke is happy and having fun at home. We’ll do art projects! Crafts! I will find ways of keeping the boy busy so I can still get some work done. I will create a list of inexpensive activities that will last us all summer long. I can do this!! I. Am. Awesome.
Now June is here and I’m wondering what the hell I was thinking. I’ve been scouring the Internet in a panic and waking up in a cold sweat because I’ve finally realized this is all on me. There will be no teacher assigned homework. Teachers are off during the summer. Teachers don’t make house calls (wait, do they? Please tell me they do!) Keeping my son busy is my task and mine alone. I counted on my friend Google to help me find ways of keeping the boy occupied. I forgot that Google and the awesome parents of the internet do not know my child. My son is obsessed (I’m talking Glen Close, boiling bunnies, Fatal Attraction, OBSESSED) with soccer. If he is not kicking a ball he’s…well, then I’m not sure what he’s doing because he’s ALWAYS kicking a ball. So the activity suggestions I found…well, let’s take a look:
1) Plan an outdoor scavenger hunt/hide-and-seek mission! Yeah, only if I’m able to hide that damn soccer ball and buy myself some time away from kicking it.
2) Have your child write poems and read them to you! Also known as good effing luck getting my kid to pick up a pencil this summer.
3) Play board games together! The people who suggested this have never met my kid. He makes up his own damn rules and cries if he’s losing. Hell, he cries if he’s winning!
4) Make your favorite ice cold drink together! Really? Make margaritas with the 6 year old? Actually, this one might be doable. If I’m caught, spending some time napping in a jail cell might be a nice break.
5) Mail handmade cards to family and friends! Mine will be the one with HELP ME! written on the front.
6) Create art! I swear to God, I just heard my kid roll his eyes. Yes, eye-rolling makes a sound.
7) Play some game I’ve never heard of called paddle pong! This will slowly turn into chase mom around the house with the paddle until she cries.
8) Play school together because a small part of your child is surely missing his classroom. Can’t I just drop him off there? Someone has to be there, right? A janitor? Anyone? Help!
9) Tie dye t-shirts! Do people seriously still do this? In 2016? Why?!
And my personal favorite:
10) Invite your child’s friends over, give them each a shovel and have them dig for treasures in your backyard! If 10 six year old boys show up at my front door with shovels, I will find the person who suggested this activity and personally escort my son and his friends to their home. I will sit on their porch with my homemade margarita and watch the destruction.
Honestly, these are all fantastic suggestions (except for the shovel thing…WTF?) Bottom line: We all love our children. We would die for them. We love spending time with them. But thinking about a long hot summer with nothing but time on our hands is terrifying. I won’t throw away our summer to-do list yet, but I won’t sweat it either. Beautiful memories don’t come from a list. The boy won’t be six forever. What seems like a long summer now will fly by in an instant. So this summer I will take a deep breath and enjoy every single precious moment with that little man before he grows up to be a big man.
If you need to find me this summer, I’ll be the one standing in front of the soccer goal. All. Summer. Long.