DotMoms

What makes a Good Mom?

By Jenn

I've been wondering lately: What makes someone a good mom?

(Or dad. I will be using "mom" generically because, well, let's face it, I am a mom. I know nothing of being a dad. So, for the wonderful and much loved dads here, this is not exclusive to the female parent.)

I found myself saying to my best friend the other day, "I'm just so scared that I am not a good enough mom and that by working full time at home, I really won't measure up anymore."

Measure up to whom? 

We all know it's easy to point out the bad parents, the ones who are neglectful or abusive or don't care one bit about their kids. The worst of the lot are easy to see. And we do all we can do to protect the children from them. But what about the "good mom"? 

Is there a long list of "Good Mom" qualities that you must have in order to pass the test that you really can't study for? Is there someone keeping score somewhere?

Who decides who is a Good Mom?

Is it the Mom who logs in the most hours volunteering? Or the Mom who worked extra hours this month so her son could get those new cleats for soccer that he wants so badly?

Is it the Mom who went through 20 hours of labor without medication? Or the Mom who asked for an epidural while still at the hospital door?

Is it the Mom who won't let her kid watch any movie with a rating higher than PG? Or is it the Mom who lets them watch an R-rated movie, but watches it with them so that she is there for questions or censoring?

What about the Mom who makes her children do a lot of chores and work around the house? Or perhaps the Mom who cleans her children's rooms and washes their clothes for them?

Could it be the Mom who makes sure every meal is a balanced meal, no matter what? Or the Mom who is always willing to pick up the phone and order a pizza?

Is there a scorecard? Does it go on your permanent record?

Last week, when my son was sick, he answered these questions for me. He was restless and upset and running a low grade fever. So, I snuggled up to him in his bed and began to rub his back, talk to him, tell him stories. After a while I felt him relax and could tell he was drifting off. But just before he did, he turned his sleepy eyes towards me and said in a voice just barely audible, "I love you. You're the best mom in the world."

It was all clear to me then. It doesn't matter what the "model" mother should be. There is no Standard Mother Behavior that makes someone a Good Mom. The critics make no difference to me.  There are only three people whose opinions matter when it comes to this topic. 

And I received a rave review from one of them.

Jenn is a 36-year-old freelance writer and mom who works from the Texas home she shares with her husband and three children.

Sugar and Spice and Three Dog Night

By Jenn

One of the promises I made myself when I was pregnant the first time around was that I would not talk down to my child or sugar-sweet him into a sensory overload catatonic state. My son is now 13 and I am realizing that it was the best thing I could do for him and for us. Now, when we need to talk, we cut through inane dialogue, avoid the awkward stammering and just say what we need to say.  Granted, that means I have heard more than one "inappropriate" word come out of my son's mouth when we are talking freely, but I can handle that because we are talking. A 13-year-old boy and his mom are talking without boundaries. 

I carried that self-imposed rule down to my second son, as well as my daughter. All three of them know that they can say anything to me when they want to talk. That doesn't always mean I like hearing what they say, but I do like that they are willing to say it. This freedom comes with another unique set of problems for me. It has nothing to do with my children, actually; it has to do with the fact that my entire life as a mother has been spent without doing "sugar and sunshine," so I have a very hard time figuring out how to do that when other mothers do. 

When a group of women gathers and talks about the joys of motherhood and how perfect it is, I listen and nod, but stay silent. What I want to say is, "That puberty sure is a pain in the butt! There are days I just feel like running away." However, many times when I mutter such a thing I would get The Look. The look that would normally accompany someone who said, "I sure would like to sell my kids to the circus and take a trip to Hawaii with the money earned!" (For the record, I only said that once and I was mostly kidding.)

When other mothers told me about dancing around singing lullabies or educational songs with their children, I thought to myself, "MY kids love hearing Aretha Frankin or Three Dog Night." These moms would talk about getting up super early and making sure their kids were dressed, fed and ready to go to Mommy & Me by 9 a.m. I was thanking the gods of infant sleeping if mine would actually sleep until 9 a.m. Mommy & Me was for after coffee and the "Today" show.

I questioned myself more than once about whether or not I was doing my kids justice as a mother. Until I realized where I gained my mothering style. From my own mother.

She's the one who taught me by example to not apologize for who I am. She showed me that to earn the R-E-S-P-E-C-T that Aretha sings about, it has to first come from within. And most importantly, if what you are doing works for you and for your family, make no apologies. That is the best mothering advice I could ever give or receive.

Jenn is a 37-year-old freelance writer and mom who works from the Texas home she shares with her husband and three children.

Legacies and Motherhood

By Jenn

First, I want to thank Julie and all of the DotMoms writers for the extended leave of absence I took this year. I had no idea it would last so long. After my Mom was sick for several months and then passed away the beginning of this year, I needed time off.  Thank you for your support.

It has been months since I have been able to sit down and write without the first thought being my Mom. She passed away in January. Every article, every blog entry and every essay I begin to write starts first with a thought of my Mom. Sometimes funny, sometimes sad, each of them have one thing in common: She is with me.

I try to fight writing about her. I try to keep things upbeat. I have even tried to force myself to ignore any writing that was centered around my Mom or feelings I had about missing her. But is that reality? What am I teaching my children if I pretend that my thoughts are not so tightly entwined with those of missing my own Mom? Why should I push this away? This is DotMoms, after all. We are Moms writing about being Moms.  Why should I feel unable to speak about my own Mom? The answer is that I shouldn't.

Every day I look at my daughter and I see how life comes back around to us full circle.  My mother and I were so close. My daughter and I are so close. More times than not I find myself playing the same games, singing the same songs and laughing at the same things with my daughter that my Mom and I shared. Full circle. Life goes on.

When you lose a parent, you question who you are.You question your life. You begin to wonder about your role as a mother. Suddenly you wonder what your legacy to your own children will be. And then you see your daughter (or son) laughing at the same things you laughed at with your own Mom. You see them look into your eyes the same way that you looked at your Mom. Suddenly you realize that you are the person you always wanted to be. 

You have become your mother. And suddenly, that is not such a bad thing.

Jenn is a 36-year-old freelance writer and mom who works from the Texas home she shares with her husband and three children.

A mother's need to protect

By Jenn

From the moment my doctor placed my son in my arms after 28 hours of labor, my first thought was Whew! The hard part is over! (Yes, now I do realize that the hard part was just beginning. Like I said, it was my first baby.) It was then that I felt the first stirrings of deep, primal feelings. Maternal feelings. Among them, that feeling of protection. I looked into that tiny, brand new face and knew that nothing would keep me from doing everything in my power to protect this little person. Nothing.

Last week a student threatened the life of my son. Explicitly. To a teacher and the assistant principal. It was direct. Forceful. And very serious. This child stood in the office of the school, looked at the assistant principal and emphatically announced that he hated my son and was going to kill him. It was not in a heated moment or during a temper tantrum. But calmly and directly.

The only reason I found out about the threat was because I was calling the school to talk to the principal about a physical confrontation with this boy that same day. I was calling to express my frustration at the entire classroom situation. It was then the principal told me that by law she was required to let me know a threat had been made on my son's life. I will let that moment sink in as you imagine those words being said to you about your child.

In all my years as a mother, I have never before felt that deep primal instinct to protect more strongly than I did at that moment. And following close behind was a fear unlike any I had known before. Deep, gut-wrenching fear. That fear was kept at bay by the intensity of my desire -- my need -- to protect my son.

My first instinct was to question this principal and find out exactly what she was going to do about the situation. The only answer I could get from the principal was that the school was doing all it could to protect all students. I insisted that they tell me if -- at the very least -- this student would be in the classroom the next day. She said she was unable to tell me anything due to laws governing the privacy of students. In order to protect the other student, no one could assure me that my son would be safe if I sent him to school.

Is this a case of privacy over protection? Have the schools become the last place in this world to realize that sometimes in order to protect the innocent, we need to loosen up some of the tight laws on privacy. If you have flown recently, you know you have to take off your shoes to get into the terminal. You can be subject to intense searches if something about you seems suspicious. Yet, a mother cannot find out if her son will be safe if he is sent to school. It makes no sense to me.

At the heart of this is not anger or frustration. It is not bitterness or revenge. It is fear. Fear for my son. I wish I lived in "Leave It To Beaver" land where all is well with the world, but today there are bigger worries than Eddie Haskell talking smack to the Beave. We live in a land that is post-Columbine. Post-9/11. You cannot tell a mother that she has to trust that her child will be safe when there is no evidence of that and no one can reassure her. 

When they first placed my son in my arms, I never thought I would be fighting to protect his life. Never imagined the fear that would keep me awake at night imagining every horror that could possibly happen to him. But you can be darn sure that I will move heaven and Earth to ensure that my baby will not be hurt.

It's deep and primal. It's a mother's instinct.

Jenn is a 36-year-old writer and mom who works from the Texas home she shares with her husband and three children.

Things to do while waiting in line

By Amy H. and Jenn

It pounces on you like an animated Tigger. You're standing in the checkout line when your children realize they are so over holiday shopping. Whining becomes crying, crying becomes screaming and screaming becomes a full-blown temper tantrum. (And the children aren't behaving much better!) You have two choices: leave all your gifts in the cart and run for the nearest exit or try one of these tips instead.

• Whip out a magic erase board from your bottomless purse and have the children take turns drawing pictures of items in your cart.
• Start a game of I-Spy. Immediately lose so that your children do all of the spying while you try to squeeze in a power nap.
• Play the ever-popular game, "What's in Mommy's purse?" The winner gets to take all trash to the nearest trashcan.
• Have the kids load the purchases onto the counter like robots with sound effects and stiff movements.
• Finally, promise them a special holiday treat (aka, a bribe)!

Amy H. is a thirty-something SAHM and part-time psychology professor living in the deep South with her husband and two children. Jenn is a 36-year-old writer and mom who works from the Texas home she shares with her husband and three children.

It's just a phase

By Jenn

This year my oldest son started junior high school. It was a big change for him. Apparently, it was a big change for me as well. With the beginning of his new life as a middle school student, his brain must have grown three sizes larger this year. (An academic Grinch, if you will.) Suddenly, he knows it all. Everything. Sadly, this coincided with the fact that I have become a complete idiot.

Whereas once I was Super Mom Who Knew Everything, now I am Mooo-oom, Who Just Doesn’t Get It. I don’t actually feel like my IQ has dropped that significantly, but to hear him tell it, I am lucky to be able to dress myself in the morning. (Although my son has pondered aloud more than once how lacking my sense of today’s fashion actually has become.)

If you must know, I think it is completely unfair that I am the one who is now being seen as the idiot. It is his vocabulary that has been reduced to just a few simple words and phrases: fine, whatever, Mooo-oooom (now stretched to three completely independent syllables),You just don’t get it, and the ever popular Can I borrow some money?

I was actually very excited to start this new chapter in our lives. Junior high!  Personally, I hated junior high, but it was my hope that he would enjoy it. I wanted it to be a year that he came into his own. A time when he became his own person. Which brings to mind the phrase "Be careful what you wish for." 

He certainly has become his own person this year. He loves being a big man on campus. Independence is his new obsession. He is officially a middle school student. Shortly after the school year began, I remembered why I hated junior high school. The eyerolling. The foot stomping. The bad attitude and whining. And that's just me! He's much worse.

I have found over the years that every stage in motherhood comes with the inevitable advice that is meant to make us mothers feel better: It’s just a phase. It will pass.

What these well-meaning advice-givers don’t add is that as soon as this phase passes, another one is fresh on its heels waiting to pounce on you. From not sleeping through the night to the terrible two’s. From the terrible two’s to the newly-found independence your little one discovers in elementary school. It is never ending and will always keep you guessing as to what "phase" will take over your life next.

I once asked my Mom at what point a parent finally stops worrying about her children. She replied, “I’ll let you know.”

It’s a good thing that I have become an idiot this year or an answer like that would really scare me.

Jenn is a 34-year-old stay-at-home mom who lives in Texas with her husband and three children.

Mommy blogger and proud of it!

By Jenn

A question that has been tossed around the Internet lately is "What is a Mommy Blog and who are considered Mommy Bloggers?" To me, a Mommy Blogger is a woman who writes a blog and has at one time or another written about her children. 

Some of these blogs document the daily lives of their children as well as the major milestones their children accomplish. Other Mommy Blogs cover a variety of topics including children, but the writing is not solely focused on motherhood and children. Of course, we also have the Mommy Blogger whose only mention of her children is in the context of how motherhood has an effect on her decisions, beliefs or personal stance on certain issues. Children are usually the only connecting factor linking most Mommy Blogs. They are as varied and unique as the women writing them.

I was recently honored to speak on the panel of Mommy Bloggers at BlogHer where I was thrilled to hear so many opinions on the use of this term. Some of these writers are bothered by the title of Mommy Blogger because they felt marginalized. They write about so many things, yet many of these women don't feel the term covers all that they are about. 

In addition, some felt the phrase was used in a derogatory manner. In fact, many of these women have been discounted as having a valid contribution as soon as the label "Mommy Blog" is attached to her writing. Although, there were a number of women I spoke with who were not bothered in the least by the label "Mommy Blogger." They felt that the term is only derogatory if you allow it to make you feel "less than." The general consensus was to embrace the term and make it our own. Make the term one that causes others to understand that we hold the power of the future.

"Why do you blog about your children?" I don't know many Mommy Bloggers who have not heard this question. The overwhelming response is this: not only so that these writers can look back on the fleeting moments of childhood captured so frequently online, but so that their children will have a written record -- in a rather informal format -- they can look back on years later. Who has not wished at one point or another that she could get into the mind of her mother to see what she really thought (including the real emotions that come with the job on a day to day basis)? For most of us, by the time we are old enough to care, our mothers have forgotten some of the smaller moments that make motherhood such a wild ride. What a great way to share those stories that otherwise would just remain a vague footnote of childhood!

Some critics ask, "But what about the safety and privacy of your children?" The overwhelming response when someone asks that question of Mommy Bloggers is that you have to trust your gut and go with that. Draw your own lines of comfort and stick with them. No one else can make that decision for you. The same thing applies to the privacy of children. I have two older children that I will usually discuss an entry with before I post something about them. I respect their right to privacy. I have found that to work for all of us -- just showing respect to those who are close to you.

As for me and my feelings about Mommy Blogging (both the term and the phenomenon), I am proud to be included in the Mommy Blogger category. I feel that the most important contribution I can make is the act of raising the next generation. If I want to talk about it and how it affects my life, I am going to do it with pride. The name Mommy Blogger doesn't bother me in the least. In fact, I am ready to claim it and make it "the" blogger genre to be included in. (Remember when the word "geek" was an insult?  Not so much anymore, right?)

On a more personal level, I would give anything to be able to read about my own mom when I was a young child. To read her thoughts about me and motherhood would give me a connection beyond what we already have. As I write this, my own mother is in ICU. Suddenly, I have a million questions about motherhood that I would love to ask her. So many questions about her own thoughts, fears and hopes when it came to be a young mother. If I could read a blog she wrote, it would mean everything to me.  Everything.

I am giving that legacy to my own children. They will never have to wonder what they were like as children or what I was like as their mother. It is all there for them to read about and remember. (And for their future dates to Google when they are 16 and dating.) In fact, I second what Jenny Lauck declared -- tongue in cheek--"I don't think I would even let my children date someone whose mother didn't blog their life." 

What more is there to say after that?

Jenn is a 34-year-old stay-at-home mom who lives in Texas with her husband and three children.

The jabber gene

By Jenn

I have been staying home with my kids for nearly 12 years. More than a decade. One third of my life. It's what I signed up for and what I love. But, can I share a secret with you? There are days it sucks the life out of me.

When my husband comes home from work he is bombarded with mindless chatter that would make a lesser man's head explode. After a long day with no one but children to talk to, I really have a lot to say! Sure, much of it is completely insignificant, but the fact is I am usually so desperate for adult communication by early evening that any person over the age of 21 will fit the bill.

This is why my husband encourages any kind of "Ladies Night Out" when I suggest it. It is also the reason he signed us up for a cell phone plan with more minutes than any human being can possibly use. The poor man just wants me to get most of my chatter out before he gets home.

Early in our marriage this probably would have hurt my feelings. I would have come at him with a sob story about how he just didn't love me enough to want to share every single detail about my life on a daily basis. Today, I am more than thrilled that I can talk until my jaw goes numb and my ear starts to bleed from having a phone attached to it all day.

I sometimes wonder if moms who work outside the home have this same deep need to just be with and converse with adults or if those needs are met in the workplace. I do know that for a stay-at-home mom, friendships are vitally important to the sanity of the entire family. Not only can they be a lifeline when you are feeling lonely, but can definitely make a marriage happier. (Just ask my better half!)

In fact, my husband no longer goes into convulsions within a half-hour of being home because I no longer have a burning desire to talk to him until he passes out. I have girlfriends. I have the phone. I have friends who understand that there is more to life than which Dora episode is on, what park has the best monkey bars, and where the nearest clean pool is located.

Now all I need is a plan for my daughter Gabriella. She has definitely inherited my jabber gene. Her future husband will need patience and a great cell phone provider!

Jenn is a 34-year-old stay-at-home mom who lives in Texas with her husband and three children.

Don't inherit THAT trait!

By Jenn

I have a confession to make. (Don't judge!) I am a procrastinator. 

I am terminally late with everything. (Christmas cards should go out before the 24th of December?!) In fact, I am terrible with deadlines. (Shhh, don't tell my editor, Julie.) It was always a strike against me in school. Yes, I was the student who waited until the last minute to get her work done. Thankfully, I was able to maintain an A average in spite of my irresponsibility. Besides, if I missed a deadline, I was the only one who suffered.

Then I had children.

Suddenly there are reports to be written and permission slips to sign. There are meetings and conferences to remember. The children have to be on time to school.  EVERY DAY!

You would think that by the time my oldest was 11 years old, my bad habits would have been turned around. You would think. They have, in fact, become worse. There was a time when I only had to remember my own information. Now I need to remember the information of five people. FIVE. My brain gets very overloaded.

Many mornings I have awakened to the choral strains of, "Mooooommmmm! I need my [fill in the blank of item that has to be completed, signed or purchased by that morning]! Where is it? I HAVE to have it right now, Mommmmm!"

Of all of the traits I wanted passed down to my children, this was not one of them.  Brains? Check. Integrity? Check. Procrastination? Not so much.

When you look at your children and can see eyes that are so similar to your own or when you notice that they set their mouth in the same quirky way that you do when they are concentrating -- well, it warms your heart. 

When  you hear them screeching from down the hall that they have once again procrastinated and are running on adrenaline and a prayer -- it doesn't so much warm your heart as make you shudder. And really, at times like that there is only one thing you can do...

...blame their father.

Not so Super Mom

By Jenn

The hardest part of becoming a mother was giving myself permission to make mistakes. 

With my firstborn son, I thought I had to do it all. I had to be the Super Mom that I envisioned all other moms to be. In fact, I allowed other moms to actually fuel the "I'm not good enough" fires that many new moms have flickering just below the surface.  "You're unable to breastfeed?  What a shame!" was translated in my mind to "You horrible, horrible mother! How could you be such a failure so early on?!" 

Every other mom seemed to have it all together. I would go to playgroup and return home in tears. Their houses were always so perfect. I was lucky if I was able to get my dishes washed before we ran out. They always looked so put together. I was lucky if I could take a shower every OTHER day. No one ever talked about the fact that sometimes this job known as motherhood is hard!

With the birth of my second son, I started cutting myself some slack. I realized that my baby wouldn't end up in therapy if I breastfed him in the bathroom while potty training my 2-year-old. Admittedly, I thought I was terrible for doing that, but I didn't think he would suffer long-term psychological damage. If I was so exhausted that I forgot to have my 2-year-old brush his teeth before bed, he wouldn't end up in dentures by the time he was 12. (Although, we'll see. He's only 11 now.)

I was still hard on myself, though. Too hard. I turned to "aids" that were not only enemies, but were in fact counter-productive to being a good mother. I came so close to losing everything I loved that I vowed that no matter what, no matter how hard it seemed and no matter how much I questioned myself, I would no longer try to be Super Mom. I would never achieve it. Never.

Shortly after I pulled my life together and was given back everything I held dear, I found out I was pregnant with my daughter. I saw her as a chance to enjoy motherhood without the fear of not being good enough. I promised her while she was still in utero that I would relax enough to enjoy being her mother.

She is four years old now. I have yet to break that promise to her. Sure, I lose it now and then and get frustrated. I am not Super Mom. I mess up. I make mistakes. She probably doesn't eat enough vegetables. I know she has gone to bed -- and to school for that matter -- without brushing her teeth. Moreoever, I know that I am way too sarcastic when talking to her sometimes. Nevertheless, I really have relaxed enough to really enjoy her for who she is and who I am as her mother.

I suppose when it comes down it, I have yet to find a Super Mom. Not a real one. Once I've peeled away the layers of superficial masks and fear of being found out for who we really are, I've discovered that I am not alone in wanting to be the best mom I can be and feeling like sometimes I fall just short of that. If you've ever felt that way too, welcome to my club. We're not Super Moms and we make mistakes, but we are real. 

And we will admit it.