Please Do Not Call Me A Mommy Blogger

Post by Lucy @ My Life As Lucille

Apparently, if you're a blogger and a mother this makes you a "mommy blogger."

I don't know why, but it sort of pisses me off. A lot, actually.

It seems like a subtle derogatory stab. A joke, even. Say the words out loud. 

Mommy Blog.

 It sounds cheap when you say it, right?

Almost as if being mothers makes our content substandard somehow. Less important than what other people out there are writing about. As if all we have to contribute is about how precious our children are and how we did this amazing craft we found on Pinterest today before nap time. About breast feeding and bottles and diapers. School work and food allergies and organizing the mounds of paraphernalia that come with being a mother. As if anything about this is nominal or insignificant to begin with.

We contribute massive quantities of information out here on the internets.

And many of us here are published authors as well. The very fact that there are limitless numbers of advertisers pining and pawing at us to get ad placement and sponsor our content proves what we say matters.

But there is way more to my identity than the fact that I am a mother.

My blogging friends and I write about countless other topics. Like our careers and goals. Our journey and the lessons we are learning along the road of life. What challenges we're facing. What helps us balance our responsibilities. We write about news and current events. We engage in discussions about legislation and global topics. We share our stories of happiness and sorrow. Politics. Gun Control. Sex and how to keep our husbands happy while we juggle everything we have to manage. 

We write about health, disease, finance, business, exercise, gardening, cooking. We can not be defined so narrowly as if blogging and mommy-hood is all we know and write about.

We teach. We inspire. We influence.

So pardon me. But please, do not call me a mommy blogger.

Lucy is a former teacher, a published writer, 

and a blogger over at My Life As Lucille. 

A Rant On The Disappearance of Clothing in America

Post by Sarah @ The Sadder But Wiser Girl

I went to college in the early 90s when grunge ruled and we could get away with wearing flannel shirts and ripped jeans because they were COOL! 

This was also the era when bodysuits were popular. Remember bodysuits? It was basically a onesie for adult females. They snapped at the crotch, they were supposedly slimming, and by golly guys liked them. We thought they were sexy! In hindsight, being the frequent pee-er that I am, I wonder how the heck I wore them? I’m a big fan of being able to pee quickly… 

Now I look back on those bodysuits, while they displayed the chestal region amply, they were relatively tame compared to what people are wearing these days. Whatever happened to wearing CLOTHES? You know, the stuff made out of material that we used to use to cover our bodies? 

It seems that every year clothing gets smaller, and tighter, and sheerer, and the boobs are getting pushed up higher and higher. Is there a shortage on material? Do they have to make things smaller because it’s more cost effective? Is the world’s most advanced bra really that advanced-in other words, will it do my taxes? I might consider one of those then. 

It seems to be expected that EVERYONE should want to wear these clothes. I don’t know what they’ve done to t-shirts these days, but I don’t need a v-neck down to my navel and super duper clingy material showing off every little roll of fat on my middle. And jeans-I might as well just buy assless chaps. But I don’t want to, therein lies my point. 

It’s not just women, because it seems that men aren’t expected to wear shirts at all? My husband and I have an ongoing joke that one of these days he’s going to take his shirt off and go walk into Hollister. Apparently that is where you go when you need a shirt? This is because none of the models on the big displays seem to be wearing any. Maybe they’re vampires. Everyone knows that vampires don’t wear shirts (Twilight? Never seen it. Don’t want to.)

Nice Girls Always Finish Last

Nice Girls Always Finish Last

Post by Stephanie @ Mommy, For Real

I have a personal problem. I am too nice. Those of you who are familiar with my work may skeptically muse, “Hmm. For a “nice girl” she sure says the F-word a lot.”

Stay with me here. Blame it on my Midwestern, Lutheran, Scandinavian upbringing, but I was socialized to be pleasant, accommodating, and to go out of my way to make people comfortable. Many of these things I do even as an adult. (My husband may question the “pleasant” part of that description.) It makes me very uncomfortable to see other people uncomfortable. I try very hard to make sure that those around me do not feel self-conscious or awkward. I never tease people, as I am terribly sensitive and can’t stand to be teased by others. 

Sometimes this is a really great quality. Other times, not so much. I am extremely uncomfortable letting people know that I am displeased with them, particularly strangers whose services I have paid for. I don’t generally send food back at a restaurant if I don’t like it. It has to be truly inedible or unacceptable for me to return it. If I don’t like a haircut, I gush over it and then run out the door to find a new stylist to fix it.

I was getting a massage the other day, and the girl kept asking me if the pressure was okay. The pressure was so not okay and even when I asked her to lighten up a bit, the problem was not really solved. You see, I am a working mother of two, and though I have some serious problem areas in my body that need to be worked out through a nice, deep massage, I came there to relax. I wanted a fluffy massage, you know, the kind that evokes imagery of a cushy white robe and cucumbers over the eyes. Not Helga the Horrifying who seems hell-bent on bludgeoning my vertebrae into submission. Simply asking Helga to lighten up a bit was only the tip of the iceberg- I needed a completely different therapist. Helga sucked. And yet, desperate to not make Helga feel inadequate, I kept my mouth shut and tried to breathe through the pain. Seriously, y’all, it was like I was in labor, moaning through the contractions. 

There was really no way for me to relax during the torture my low back was being subjected to. For me, it was kind of like having sex when you’re pissed off at your husband. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed plenty of angry-sex in my 20s, and it serves its purpose. I’m talking about the passive-aggressive- he-really-hurt-my-feelings-and-may-not-even-know-it angry. There is just no possibility of finding any surrender or enjoyment- my muscles are clenched as though preparing themselves for a rectal exam from Mitt Romney. 

I’m not sure why I was unable to find my voice and say, “Excuse me? Helga? This massage hurts like a mother-fucker. Can you channel your inner Earth Mother please?” I paid for that goddamn massage, spent 90 minutes of my even more precious time, and had looked forward to it all week. And yet, I prioritized the feelings of some newbie masseuse that I never have to see again in my whole life above my own. That is just not right. 

How can I teach my daughters not to be doormats? When their tiny little tyrant friends come over and insist on always being the Queen and relegating my offspring to the role of Court Jester, should I teach her how to tell them, “Buh-bye! Don’t let the door hit you on your pretentious little ass on the way out!”? Somehow that seems wrong too. Yet I find myself constantly coaching my six year old to make her friends comfortable, even if it means she has to eat a pile of shit. Where is the balance in this scenario? Of course we all want to impart the values of community, respect, and kindness, but how do we do that without also teaching our kids that their needs should always come second?

No, seriously, I’m asking you! If you have the answer for transforming into the pleasant yet assertive patron, I’m all ears. In the meantime, I think I’ll go make another massage appointment. With Helen, the cherubic gal I am accustomed to, instead of Helga. 

Why Not?

Some things I've always wanted to discuss but I've just never had the courage to.

Abortion

I think it depends on the circumstances. Hear me out. I think that if you're a teenager and you're having sex and you get pregnant. It's your own fault and she should deal with it and live with the consequences of your choices. I don't think you get a "free pass" and get a "do over" just because you weren't thinking clearly. If you get raped I think you're allowed to have an abortion. Honestly, life or no life at conception, I'm sorry but if I get raped and got pregnant....I would not want a daily reminder of what happened to me, as if I won't be reminded of it.

Gun Control

I fully believe in it's people that kill people...not guns. I think guns in the hands of idiots is idiotic. After all the shootings that have occurred, I think if there were more attention, love, and care in the household or HELP. Than I don't think it would have turned out so bad. Guns in the hand of a person who can control themselves in a crisis situation is good but not in the hands of a person who can't hold it steadily. I honestly think there's no point in gun control...it's like trying to ban alcohol back in the day, and now it's legalized. People just have to be responsible...it's not like you can hold everyone's hand and make sure they're responsible. Gun control reminds me of tv/movies where there's a huge war going on and everyone is told to stay still and not to shoot until told to do so...but there's always ONE IDIOT who FREAKS THE FUCK out and pees in his pants and pulls the trigger when you weren't supposed to yet and kills everyone on their side. (Not yelling at that person....honestly I'd probably be that person, reason why I, personally, don't own a gun.HA)

Politics

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. If anyone watches any of the political tv shows ie. House of Cards you'll understand why I hate government. Stunts like they pull that only advances they're own career and leaves everyone else biting the dust. What sucks is that it affects thousands and millions of people and not just a few. Honestly, that's the reason why I hate it and the more I understand it the more I continue to hate it. I don't care WTF side YOU are ON. I do my thing you do your own thing. If you want to vote right, vote right or left or out there or for A LION just don't try and convince me to do the same or UNDERSTAND. It's not that I don't care about you or care about it but honestly it takes the right kind of person to actually stand out and make a difference and even if you did you wouldn't have enough money or power to get it heard. AND if you did you'd probably get overcome by power and money that you wouldn't care about the little people anymore and then just start caring about yourself. That's just what it's all about. I've played the networking game before on a small scale and it's ALL about WHO you know and WHO you SUCK UP to. It's a FREAKIN' HIGHSCHOOL all over again. I don't care if it's all OLD MEN with grey hair. It's all a POPULARITY CONTEST.

Gay Marriage/Parenting

My question is WHY NOT? I don't have anything against gay marriage or parents or parenting. I sometimes think that they're probably BETTER than SOME normal marriages. If they're married and want to have kids and think they can take care of it then GO FOR IT. Some people have kids and they can't even take care of themselves. I have a lot of gay friends and honestly they're awesome. I couldn't love them more...and if they WANTED kids I bet they're kids would be in the top schools and doing awesome. Although, I may not show it on a daily basis that I support but I do. It's not like anyone cares what I THINK anyways. Thanks for listening to me vent. That is all...for now.

Not So Happy Mother's Day

Post by an Epistolarian

This Mother’s Day is a balloon, found behind a couch, two weeks after the party. It hints at light and full of fun but as I hold it in my hands, I have no choice but to face the reality that it is a deflated, flaccid representation of what it’s supposed to be. 

Today is the first Mother’s Day that I acknowledge that my mother is a human being - a flawed human being. Having recently experienced the trauma of opening my eyes and seeing her fall off the pedestal she’s stood ethereally on my whole life, I am floundering. I judge her for not living up to the magical grandparent and mother I always believed her to be. At the same time, I have to accept that maybe she never was that person to begin with. Which leads me to question my own life experience - do I really throw glitter on everything until it sparkles and then grin and exclaim that my life is so pretty? Was my mother always so narcissistic and thoughtless but I simply refused to see? What else have I chucked glitter at and not seen for what it is? HOW STUPID AM I?

I feel bereaved. I feel that I have lost my mother and been given a cardboard cutout in her place. I miss my mother - the magical being of my childhood, my best friend and confidante - but am I missing an illusion? Did I simply grow up and realise that the magician was using sleight of hand... that the sets are tacky and the deck of cards has been stacked all along?

Bereaved. Cheated. Empty. 

Here’s a magic trick for you: C’mon up boys and girls! Who can lift this empty heart? You? No? You? No? Because emptiness is heavy. It’s a full heart that’s light. 

So, here I am, holding this wrinkly, lint-covered balloon . I tried throwing glitter on it but it wouldn’t stick. Can’t throw it away. Maybe I’ll keep it in a box, buried in glitter and gift-wrapped with shiny paper and ribbons. I’ll take it out, every now and again, hold it and remember the Angel-Mommy who raised me. I’ll tell myself over and over that it’s not all a lie. That she is everything I want her to be. If I don’t, it means taking off the rose coloured glasses and throwing away my abundant glitter supply. 

I can’t do that. Who knows what else will come tumbling down.