The Pointlessness of Pretensions

I am beginning to wonder if I had an original thought at all this month. This is ½ my reaction to another blog and ½ my reaction to a real life scenario.

This past week I saw a blog posted by a mom about her rock bottom MOMent and ended up having several interactions with friends of mine that ultimately reminded me 1) why we are friends, and 2) that this woman was a %$#@. The bottom line for her post was that she had her three children, clean, dressed, entertaining themselves, and feeding each other in a quiet, organized manner BUT one was in Christmas pj’s in January and the other was in a car seat she was too big for. She was also lamenting that two of them were playing with their iPad’s, while she was getting ready for a social engagement. Poor, poor, privileged children, and poor, poor, socially engaged mother of three able to juggle all of it while maintaining the cleanest floor I’ve ever seen. Sigh. She just HAD to capture her “rock bottom mom moment on film and share it with the world!” because we are too focused on everything being so picture perfect. She really only wanted a compliment but it got me thinking…

I think my rock bottom MOMents are hilarious! I have so many but my favorite was when Gwen had Vesuvius like diarrhea on a flight. It was a short flight and I had 3 diapers. We hadn’t even taken off and Vesuvius erupted. Gwen wasn’t even acting sick, she was giggling! Ok, fluke I thought to myself, I’ll change her and that’s that. I was very wrong. She erupted FIVE MORE TIMES! There was turbulence. I smeared Vesuvius on SEVEN people I passed in the aisle by accident! Apologetic and trying to keep her as high above them as I could, I reached muscle failure, and deeply regretted never having worked out so that I had any arm muscles to hold a two year old over my head, dripping with poo. In the bathroom, a flight attendant from Scotland told me, and I quote, with a brilliant accent, “For God sakes, don’t leave that diaper in THERE!” every time! Every time I returned to my seat I accidentally put the offending bags of steaming poo in my best friend’s purse instead of mine in my hurry to try to bury the wreaking pile, I never looked down to clarify the bag I was making a deposit in. After I was out of fresh diapers, I had no choice but to clothe my darling child in plastic bags from the waste down. I had to deplane my homeless looking cherub, muttering things “your mother will be appalled when she finds out!”  I drove her all the way home, in plastic, praying the eruptions had stopped, and they had, from her rear. Out of her mouth, sitting in traffic, came a perfectly enunciated, “Fucking go!” to the cars in front of us, while I was on the phone with my sister to witness it.

I will admit my pretensions do exist. I’d like my child to learn to curse in a few different languages, but vague ones, not easily recognizable ones. I think cursing sounds more dignified with an accent and en Francais! 

I wished Gwen was interested in Barbie. She loves the Monster High series of dolls. She asked for a Barbie mansion once and I got excited! She immediately turned into a Monster High Whore House of the Damned (because you know, those dolls aren’t dressed like puritans), and I hung my head, pretension defeated again. 

We all stage moments. We have to! We should all have a pristine memory or two. I understand that, I just wonder about the people that only share the staged part of life? We all know one, one person that only posts the staged, perfectly poised “I just dressed my kids perfectly for our Disney vacation in their little Cinderella outfits” people. Gwen dressed like Mulan flashing gang signs and photo bombing those kids at Disney when we were there in 2010. True story.

I can’t help but wonder what those people are afraid of. Maybe they aren’t afraid. Maybe their lives are so horrible that all they have is a perfectly staged world of fiction on Facebook.  Maybe they need to fish for compliments in their pools of ambiguity because they have no confidence in themselves. I would hope that’s not the case. I would hope every Mom I know has undefeatable confidence. I don’t care if you pretend to be the alpha blonde of the play group, we are all share the same fears in the end and our children should have some freedom to be their creative selves. 

I can go on for hours analyzing other people but we are talking about pretension so I’m going to make chocolat chaud and ponder why people do as they do so I don’t completely waste a Harvard education.

 

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