I knew I was getting really fat when I couldn’t fit in the desk at school. This was last January. I asked my professor to switch classrooms. He did. We were reassigned to a lecture hall. It probably seats 500. There were six of us. I still couldn’t fit. I managed to sit sideways all semester, on one butt cheek. I would sit all the way on the left of the auditorium, perched to the right, so my body language read, “oh, do tell me more about statistics!” In reality, my body was screaming at me, “You don’t fit. You are enormous and you must be stupid to be this fat.” Read more
A few months ago I was in line at the grocery store. I stood behind a woman with three children, two boys and a girl. They looked to be between the ages of 8 and 12. One of her sons was having a full-out meltdown. He did not want to walk. He did not want to get in the cart. He did not want to hold Mom’s hand. He just wanted to sit and rock in the aisle. He wanted to look at the little toys for sale on the rack. I was desperate to show this mom support, but I did nothing more than smile at her, and her children.
My daughter is 11 going on 37. Santa brought her a crappy tablet two years ago, and this summer it died. Replacing the port for the charger would have cost about $70, when it was not worth even $50, so we broke the news to her: no tablet. I swear, she cried real tears when she said, “But, how will I Pinterest? How will I dream?” Somewhere, somehow, despite our absolute limits on screen time, and additional digital citizenship awareness and general life lessons (like, YOU don’t post and send pictures of yourself to ANYONE except Grandma), we got away from what really matters. Her technology use was not truly meaningful; her tablet was just an over-exaggerated bulletin board.
I pretty much feel like a failure most days when it comes to parenting. For about three minutes, most days, I am convinced I am the worst mom around. So, another confession. If you haven’t read last month’s article where I began confessing bad mommy sins, click here (I am writing these blog articles to purge my soul of bad mommy sins.) Where was I? Oh, yeah. Confession: sometimes I look at my kids and think they are the most ungrateful, rude, little turds, ever. I am appalled every single time my eleven-year-old daughter sighs at me when I ask her to take out the recycling. I am equally outraged when I make Runzas (from SCRATCH! Here’s the link to the yummy recipe) and she tosses food in the trash saying, “You know I don’t like chicken.” (There is no chicken in a Runza, and she does too eat chicken). Or my bitty baby, she’s 18 months old, she refuses to say Mama. There are two Mamas in my house (lesbians, you know), and I just know she is being stubborn. She can say, “uh oh,” “bye,” “hi!” and “no, no, no.” But Mama? There are TWO of us answering to the name. When I feel the absolute rage fueled by disrespect, boredom or just developmental milestone charts, rather than drink (which if you need to – go on with your lushy self) I look for ANY sign that I am doing a good job, that I am not failing at life, and those signs come from the World-wide Web and all its glorious people.