Mommy Confessions Volume III

 

Hey y’all, and welcome back to another installment of Mommy Confessions. This is where we talk about things that we do…thoughts we have.. things we don’t do…as mothers…that are not usually widely accepted. I mean. It’s what we do. This is Rage Against the MOMachine..is it not? 😉

Ok, so Ashley here today to spill the beans on one of my Mommy Confessions. Are you dying to know? Are you sitting on the edge of your seat?

Alright. Alright. WHAT is it you say?

Here’s the thing. I don’t censor myself in front of my kids. Specifically I don’t censor my language which is what I’m here to mainly talk about today. However, I don’t censor much of anything. I don’t censor my body. I don’t censor the music I listen to. I don’t censor conversations I have around them (unless it’s a surprise for them – or something that would just hurt them). I definitely don’t censor my opinion.

Before I became a parent and even during those first few months of Cooper’s life – I felt like at some point I’d have to start giving up all those things I listed above. I’d have to watch the words I use, because heaven forbid he says a curse word. I thought that basically I’d have to not be myself in front of my kids. The thing is… That’s crazy. I know that as they grow their view of me will change. They will lose that childlike innocence that they see everything and everyone through; however, I don’t want them to be in middle school or high school and wake up one day and realize that I’m not actually the person I portrayed myself to be in front of them.

I know that we all have different value and belief sets. I know that language I use or behaviors I exhibit may not be acceptable under someone else’s set of values or beliefs. I’m not here to shame you because you don’t cuss in front of your kids or let them listen to music with mature lyrics. I’m just saying that in my household, those things are non issues. So why would I censor that?

Cooper recently picked up the word ‘fucking’. I know exactly where he heard it. I use it. I don’t use it in a derogatory manner. I don’t use it in reference to it’s sexual meaning in front of him. I use it as an expletive. Maybe we’re behind someone driving frustratingly slow..I might says “Geez why are you going so fucking slow?” I don’t use it all the time. He picked it up though. He uses it just like I do. At first I didn’t even really acknowledge it – other than to ask him why he said it. We were sitting in the Target parking lot and there was this huge very nice white pickup sitting across from us in the parking lot. Cooper says, “Mommy!! Will you just look at that fucking truck?!” He was in awe of it. It WAS a nice looking truck. I think a legitimate use of the word …right? 🙂

Anyway, I told everyone I was ok with it. I told his grandparents that if they didn’t want him using that word in their homes  – to tell him just that. I DIDN’T want anyone making a huge ordeal over it. Drawing attention to his use of that word. I didn’t want anyone to give that word more power than it should have.

For a while it was just here and there that he used it. Then all of a sudden it seemed like he was using it every single day. Just to describe things. On the Fourth of July he was looking out the window at his Uncle Shane’s new lawnmower and said, “Look at that new fucking lawn mower.” Why? Because he was impressed by it.

He’s going to school now, and he needs to know socially accepted use of language and behaviors. Also, even though I have no problem with the use of the word fuck…I don’t want to hear it in every single sentence. From anyone. So I started just suggesting other words. He asked me why I did that. I let him know that there was nothing wrong with the word fucking…but isn’t it boring to use the same word to describe everything you’re excited by? He agreed. He’s a pretty smart four year old .. 😉

The bottom line is… I can’t be a hypocrite. I can’t use words that I’m telling my children to not use. So I don’t do that.

 

Mommy Confessions Volume II

Rhonda here, taking my turn at the Mommy Confessions.  I have a lot of shit to confess, but we will start here.

I knew my entire life that I wanted to be a mother.  I always knew it would be part of my life.  I looked forward to reading to my children, making them healthy lunches, and playing games with them (HA! Joke is on me, because here’s a mini-confession for you…I hate doing ALL those things).  I knew that parenting wouldn’t be a big walk in the park, of course.  As a child playing House, I would role-play not just the rocking my baby to sleep, but also the yelling at my toddler to PLEASE be quiet and take a nap.  One thing I didn’t expect for when I had children is that I just might spend a large amount of my time yearning for them to go Grandma’s, go play in the other room, go to the store with Daddy, go to bed…. Just GO.

I am in the first few days of a two-week period with no children.  They are at their dad’s house until after Father’s Day.  I can’t tell you how I have excitedly waited for this week.  Oh, the solitude!  Wandering every aisle at Target, getting some work done at Starbucks, aimlessly weaving in and out of shop doors, deep cleaning the kitchen for four hours, being naked when I want, watching TV on the couch instead of in my room.  It’s glorious.  Of course, there is also that whole thing where I get to spend quality time with Stuart.  The thing is, he works super long days so I am getting lots of Rhonda Time.  I ain’t mad at it.  I have always been a person who needs some time alone to do whatever I feel like doing.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I know the old cliché is kinda true – The days are long, but the years are short.  Parents spend so much of the day watching the clock and not enough time soaking up the moments.  I know I for sure am so guilty of that.  I fully recognize that one day, I will miss them being needy and totally into me.  I will miss a tiny boy climbing into my bed to tell me I’m her best friend.  Supposedly, I will someday miss my house being a wreck (not fucking likely).

Here’s the thing, though… my real confession is that I don’t give a single fucking fuck what you think about how much I enjoy being away from my children.  I love it.  I love the hell out of it. I am not sorry.  I could just about cry for joy when I wake up in the morning and realize I can go get coffee without tiptoeing around, trying not to wake someone before I can drink my sweet nectar of the gods.

People always have a comment about what other parents do and this certainly is no exception.  When learning that my kids would be gone for 15 days and that I was making all sorts of plans, people have said, “Oh wow, I couldn’t stand to be away from kids for that long” or something to that effect.  And it’s always said with a tone that suggests that I am not on their parenting level because I don’t want a small person up my ass all day every day.  If that’s you and you enjoy that, then more power to you!  You go, Mama.  (But also, you can’t complain that you haven’t worn makeup or gone on a date in 12 years – that was your choice.)

So yes, I am going to enjoy these days with my children left in the beyond capable hands of their father.  I’ll be a better mother for it.