Where's the line?

I read a status on TheFacebook yesterday that cut right through my depression haze and ignited my mommy fire, which I'm taking as a good sign. You know, as much as burning rage can be a good thing. The status was written by a mommy acquaintance and went something along the lines of "I am that mom that wants to get in [son's] face and yell at him to not let the other kids win!"

I'll pause while your brain absorbs that.

Yea, you read that right: She wants to scream at her child for showing compassion over a desire to win. (In case you are wondering, her child isn't even in kindergarten yet.) So, not only is winning more important to her, but she is willing to embarrass or inflict emotional hurt on her child to ensure that is his priority also. Please, tell me that I am missing something here.

I know how obsessed our society is with winning. I'll even admit that I can get caught up in it. I've been known to stomp around for hours after FSU breaks my heart loses a football game. Hell, I once pushed myself through a major injury in order to compete, only to end up needing surgery to repair the damage done. I understand competition & the need to win, but have we gone so far that we are now projecting that need onto our kids before they even learn long division?

I wish this mom's status was an isolated case of an overzealous competitive spirit, but I don't think that is the case. I see how school-aged boys act. There is no such things as a friendly video game or playing sports just for the enjoyment of it. Everything has a winner and quite a few losers sulking because they fell short. I can't help but feel that society crossed a line without even realizing that there was a line. In doing that, everybody became a loser because we lost sight that the entire point of sports is enjoyment.

I understand that competition will always exist, especially in boys, and I don't think that is a bad thing. Competition can be a great thing, if we let it develop naturally and take the time to teach our kids that winning isn't everything. Or keep doing what you've been doing, but I can tell you that there is at least one mom out there creating a new sport called "Slap-The-Fanatical-Parent" and I have every intention of setting the high score.

The black hole.

I'm being swallowed by a black hole. I think the black hole is currently residing on my couch, but it's hard to say. No, not the inexplicably large pile of unfolded laundry, but thanks for reminding me of yet another domestic failure. The depression sort of black hole. The sneaky quicksand that steals my energy, wrecks my perspective and leaves me thinking "The kids can eat goldfish, fruit snacks & string cheese for dinner. Again." It took me over an hour to get my butt off the couch to write this post, which I can all but guarantee will be sh*tty, unfunny & rambling, but at least I am doing something. I'll pause while you muster up some weak applause.

Sigh. The most obnoxious part of this depression, if there is such a thing, is that I saw this storm cloud coming from a country mile away. I even had the hubris to think that I would be fine & could sail right through it after a day or two. I guess that joke's on me. Ya know, if self-deprecating & pathetic jokes are your thing. 

I'm soldiering on, trying to answer work calls without bursting into tears and playing, what I'm fairly certain is, the slowest game of keep away ever. I smile at my kids (even when I'm crying), try not to snot all over TheYankees' shoulder and fake normal text conversations with my judgy friends. Then, when I've used every last ounce of energy doing a horrendous job pretending to be fine, I pick up my phone, open twitter and tell the truth.

That being a good mom right now is the hardest thing. That just getting myself through the evening is brutal, much less attending to the never-ending needs of two kids who deserve better than a snack food dinner served by a sobbing mom. But that is the best I can do.

So, I promise myself that when I finally kick this sh*tty black hole out of my head and my house, that I'll enjoy every minute until bedtime and maybe even a few extra, just to see their smiles. That I will cook awesome meals and clean up all the messes. That I'll use my days off for more than skipped showers and zoning out. That I'll climb into bed to do more than give in to exhaustion. That I'll be me again. 

But right now, I've got tears that are desperate to escape and no energy left to fight 'em.

It's getting personal.

My weekend started out in the usual weekend fashion: with a huge list of things to do (read: a list of things I had been avoiding all week) and a birthday party for one of Monkey's classmates. As it turns out, my darling Monkey was not in a partying mood or at least not in the mood to attend a party in someone else's honor. He may or may not have refused to play with any other kids, refused to wait his turn at every game, refused to sing happy birthday to the birthday boy and instead sang happy birthday to himself, had a full-on meltdown when I tried to encourage him to play with another little boy, disrupted the opening of gifts and snagged food & drinks from at least 3 people. I may or may not have been completely mortified and ready to leave the party after 20 minutes, but I persevered as long as possible (read: 40 minutes).

When things got really rough, I sought out birthday boy's mom to make a face-saving quick apology & exit. She happened to be talking to another mom, that I have since taken to thinking of "InappropriateQuestionMom". I waited for an opening and politely acknowledged that my kid was acting like a banshee 3 year old and that it was time for us to leave. Birthday boy's mom (who happened to know that I have been having some concerns about Monkey's social development) kindly said that they all have those sort of days and not to worry about it. I told her I appreciated her saying that, that I was hoping that Monkey would want to interact a bit more, etc. and then InappropriateQuestionMom opened her d*mn mouth and asked the worst possible questions that you can ask a complete stranger in that given situation: "Have you gotten a diagnosis yet?"

In retrospect, I have thought up at least a dozen responses that would have been better than the way I responded. I think I have it narrowed down to "Yes, the diagnosis is that YOU are an idiot!" or "The diagnosis is that he is three years old and the treatment is to avoid b*tches like you." Sadly, I did not respond with snark, wit or even outrage. I cried like a sissy little girl. How's that for MommaBear tough? (I better get my sh*t together before he gets out of preschool or I am really going to be a mess.) This stupid, inconsiderate woman who has seen my child once (on a bad day, no less) managed to rip a hole in me, letting my anxiety & emotion boil over. Mommy Fail. 

The things is, I really don't care that this twit thinks it was her place to insinuate that my son has something that warrants a diagnosis. I don't care that I shed tears in front of people that are nearly strangers. (OK, maybe I do care about that, but only a little.) What I care about is that IF my darling Monkey does have a developmental delay or any other challenge to overcome, that this is what he will have to deal with. Rude, nosy and judgmental people that will assume that because he is boisterous, independent or just having a rough day, that there must be something wrong with him. That I should rush him off to a doctor for a diagnosis, therapy and/or drugs to "fix" him.

Maybe I'm over-reacting. Maybe my mommy anxiety is getting the better of me. Maybe (definitely) I'm emotional, but I don't think that anything is gained by inferring to a complete stranger that something is "wrong" with her kid, no matter what your intentions are. I'll freely admit that judgement is a part of motherhood, but so is teaching your children tolerance and inclusion. How are you going to teach your children to see everyone as equal when you spend your time judging children for acting like, *gasp*, children?

I doubt I'm the first mom to encounter an idiot like InappropriateQuestionMom and I probably won't be the last, but I hope the next idiot is prepared because tears won't be the only thing flying. That is, if we get invited to any more birthday parties. (Sorry about that, Monkey.)

Let's take a step back, shall we?

I'm a mom. Chances are you are a mom. Or a dad. Or a mom-to-be. Or you enjoy reading snarky mommy rants and laughing at how much cooler your life is than mine. Whatever, you're probably on the same level as me and hopefully you are on the same level of inebriation sleep deprivation, so that this post actually makes sense. So, let me ask you a question: What in the holy heck is with the play-by-play potty training updates? SERIOUSLY. The only thing I want to know about your kid's potty training is when you are going to be done so you can come over to my house and teach my kid. I'll even begrudge you an uppity "I never have to change another sh*tty diaper" status post, and that is only because I can harass you with a "Good luck getting him/her to wipe his/her own ass" comment and giggle to myself at the light bulb going off in your head.

You think you are showing off, but the thing is roughly 1% of your friend list is actually impressed. That 1% includes your parents, in-laws and other relatives that have no business being on facebook and they didn't need a status update because you sent them 7 pictures of your precious pooper sitting on the potty! Trust me, the 75% of your friends (we are using that term liberally) that do not have kids think you have lost your damn mind & the 24% that have kids think you are a braggadocios prick. Do you know what your childless, unmarried friends think when they see your "Mary Grace pooped in the potty twice today! She is SUCH a big girl!" facebook status? Answer: They are determining how exactly to unfriend you or block you from their news feed on the ever changing beast that is facebook. And those are the people you want to stay friends with, if you ever plan on attending a social function without the Wiggles soundtrack playing in the background.

So do as all a favor and keep that bit of maternal/paternal pride to yourself, please. Seriously, I'm a parent and I don't even give a sh*t (pun intended).

Yet another reason to drink.

Why do I always feel so caught off guard by major events? It is definitely not because I procrastinate. (It totally is, but let's just pretend, OK?) I was just cruising through the usual weekday stuff (#shittyjob, #shittyinlaws and some headbutting from my kids to round things out) and was *shocked* to look at my calendar & realize that I have less than a week until my tiny fragile baby strong, energetic Monkey starts school. I am going to be the mother of a preschooler. Sh*t. I'm not ready! Can we rewind? PUH-LEASE? Seriously, I'm not ready. Yes, I still need to shop for the perfect backback & lunchbox combo. And they will probably not want him to wear crocs, so I guess shoe shopping is in order. Plus he grows like a damn weed, so I need to get him some new shirts that fit. Preferably without ketchup stains. But I can handle all of that. Maybe. (He will probably be attending school in too short, ketchup stained tshirts, wearing crocs and with his lunch in a grocery bag, alright. Whatever.) What I CANNOT handle is the realization that my baby is not a baby. Oh dear heavens! He's going to be signing his MLB contract with the Yankees next week, isn't he? I need a drink.*




*Are all moms this unreasonably emotional when their oldest child starts preschool or is it just me?**


**If it's just me, I don't want to know. Lie to me. Seriously.