When I was 2 1/2 I was downright terrified of monsters. I had convinced my overactive already ADHD-addled brain that they lurked under my bed and in my dark closet. So, to conquer these fears I made up an imaginary friend. He just happened to be this MASSIVE furry huge-toothed growly, grumbly, snarly monster. His name was Monster. (I was nothing if not creative at that age.) But he wasn’t a bad guy. Monster was chill. He loved to give me hugs. He shared my crayons and he hung out in the bathroom while I took a bath and brushed my teeth. WHY did I choose to have a monster friend when I was scared of monsters? (I know, I know, some therapist someplace will try to explain something about humanizing my fear in order to make it easier to deal with. But that’s just dumb. You cant humanize a monster. Monsters are MONSTERS. Psshh.)
Anyway. Wanna know why?
Because I have always been a bit of a rebel at heart. Ask my mom. She knows. That poor woman FINALLY gave up a couple years ago on trying to understand me. She just tells peoples “That’s my daughter. She looks weird, she acts nuts, but she uis a good person at heart and an awesome mom. So, suck it.”
No. My mom doesn’t say that. I don’t think my mom has ever said suck it in her life. But she does listen to Lil Wayne now so there is some sort of odd mid-life crisis thing going on there…..but that’s for another blog.
Anyway, I have always bucked the system. Go ahead and try to tell me I CAN’T do something. I WILL prove you wrong. My teeny 5 foot tall hundred pound frame has moved heavy ass furniture all by myself many times, thankyouverymuch. I have never had the patience to follow the masses. They walk too damn slow anyway. Im stuck in the bak trying to jump up and see over everyones heads. So, screw that. Screw conformity. Why bother?
Who says a “good” mom walks around all day knitting sweaters and wearing an apron? Who says I have to speak and act a certain way and only ever discuss the absorbency of diapers and the color and frequency of my toddlers poop? Why does THAT make me a good mom?
And who says a bad mom can be picked out of a crowd merely on the basis of what color her hair is or how many tattoos she has or how many piercings she has?
I am a mom. A damn GOOD one. I don’t ask for your approval on that statement. I KNOW I am. My sons have their needs met. They go to school everyday in clean, ironed clothes. (Yeah, I iron. How many of you can say THAT? I even starch and iron our pillowcases, mm’kay?) I spend quality time with my sons daily. We discuss politics, world events, morals, career and college plans for their future, religion. My boys wont date until they are at least 16. And then, they wont date unless it is serious because I teach them dating is for seeking a potential lifelong mate. I don’t hit my kids. Ever. I try very hard not to yell at them. (sometimes there is no way around THAT rule, though. Im one person and there are 6 of them.)
But guess what? I also dress the way I choose to. This means lots of peasant skirts, bare feet and tank tops. Tye dye stuff. Sparkly stuff. Hemp jewelry. Mushrooms. peace signs. beads. dreadlocks. rainbow hued nailpolish. hair in a new color every couple of months or so. a nose piercing. I like to dance. In my livingroom. In my yard. I blast out the Mumford and Sons or Beth Hart or Beatles and I groove with the kids on the porch. My entire bedroom looks like a den for a buncha pothead hippies. I eat mainly raw vegan foods. I pick flowers and grow herbs (the legal kind, guys. Chill.) and cook organic meals for my sons that contain stuff you probably have never even heard of. Im hyper at times, silly, goofy, wild. I make up demented dance moves while I cook dinner and showcase them to my kids. (who are oddly never as impressed as I am with myself) I burn incense. I promote the legalization of medical marijuana.
Stick all that together and what do you have?
An assumption that Im a pure hippie who stays stoned all day.(Trust me, Ive heard the rumors.)
I. Don’t. Even. Smoke. Pot.
I don’t. I don’t like how disconnected and paranoid it makes me feel. I tried it a few times years ago and I was unimpressed. I don’t drink either. I don’t party. I don’t even HAVE a social life outside of FaceBook. And I refuse to call THAT a social life because then Im gonna look like a huge nerd. Next step would be to say “Books are my friends!”
(they kinda are though.)
I work all day everyday at keeping this house organized and clean. I homeschool my 4 & 5 year old sons. I read out loud every night to my boys and pray with them before bed. I work my ASS off. (Yeah, I said ass. Its in the bible so it doesn’t make me a bad mom.)
I take this mom gig real seriously. I just tend to do it all while marching to my own beat.
Guess what? You cant judge a book by its cover.
I know. I know. That’s deep. I just made that up. Im very wise. Like Buddha. Or Yoda.
Seriously. You can’t. Because if you walk around doing that stupid crap you might just miss out on meeting some very awesome folks. I have friends (yeah, on Facebook. So what? Shut up) who look/live/act/speak NOTHING like I do. But guess what? These folks have all impacted my life in very big, very real ways. Some of them are now listed as my “family” on Face book because of that trait. The trait of “different than me.” And maybe Im different than you. But newsflash: We Are All Different Than Each other.
But we all share something in common too.
So, try ignoring the stuff you may not understand and look deeper. There might just be a little bit of you in me. And a little bit of me in you. 🙂
So, to sum up.
Conformity is for losers.
And despite my appearance, my attitude, my political agenda, my religious beliefs, my dance moves (no. wait. maybe that last one should be BECCAUSE of) I am STILL an awesome mom, so suck on it.