So I learned a new word this week. It is ‘sanctimommy.’ It is defined as a mom who in every way, shape, or form is raising their kids totally right, and you are raising yours totally wrong, and sanctimommies are sure as hell going to tell you all about how wrong you are doing it, and how right they are doing it. Odd they would have enough time to troll the internet and mom shame the day away, seeing as how they are at their kids beck and call 24/7, but I digress. Basically they just plain suck. In all ways and forms of the word suck, because sometimes that is the only word perfect enough to describe a-holes, They. Just. Suck. Especially the sanctimommies who don’t actually know you, yet personally attack you, they are SUCK foam on top of a SUCK drink. Give idiots a keyboard and an internet connection and watch the suckfest commence. I am not ignorant, I mean, I know there are people that will not agree with what I write, duh. I don’t agree with lots of things I read. But I also don’t flip the hell out and tip tap away my anger, blasting away about it to a total stranger. And truly, I am a total stranger to my readers. You are not my next door neighbor, I don’t see you on the playground or at the grocery store. You only see a few paragraphs of me. And I really am a lot more that a few paragraphs. Yes, I know I can expect critics, and if I write and put myself out there, I will be criticized. I guess I am getting more and more ok with that. Oh, almost forget, here is a big thank you to the sanctimommy who emailed me to remind me that I can and will be criticized. No really, thanks again for reminding me people suck.
The suckiest of the suck are the ones with no sense of humor. I am a humor writer. Well, I write about a lot of things (books, running) but for the most part, I live an insanely hilarious life and I write about it. What happens in a household of four boys makes for some of the most epic writing material on the planet. And because I literally can’t believe some of the days I have, I HAVE to write them down. You can’t make this stuff up. I also write them down in kind of a revenge journal, so l can remember the days from hell, and act upon them at a future date. Like how when my sons get their first apartment, I will be coming over and taking a shit on the carpet, then I will draw a personal portrait of myself in black sharpie on the wall, and finally I will throw the dinner they planned, shopped for, and prepared with love – yea, I will totally be throwing it against the wall, and instead I will demand ice cream and goldfish. I. Cannot. Wait.
Anyway, I am not a child psychologist, or a child development expert, or a parenting expert. I don’t follow a certain method of parenting. I may have when I only had two kids under age three, and they had a limited vocabulary (BTW, the teenage years=surprisingly articulate talking back) but now I would call my parenting method the “whatever gets us through the day” method. I’m guessing you can relate, since you are here reading this, you are fans of the blog, and I think I know what kind of audience you are. You all need a laugh as much as I do. You need someone to say out loud what you are feeling inside. You have days where you find yourself looking around your house, looking at your kids and your spouse and your bills and your burnt cookies, and you are thinking, “ Holy F-ing shit this is N-U-T-S nuts. I can’t be the only one going through this.” I am here to tell you, you most certainly are not the only one. Trust me.
Now back to the sanctimommies. Yes, they exist, bless there little perfection producing hearts. I often wonder if there is any laughter in their homes. Do they ever just bust out a good old fashioned “WHAT THE FUCK am I doing? “ Or a “I cannot do this shit anymore?” because if they don’t, I want to know what medication they are taking, and how much they pay their au pair. Because if you can calmly, and perfectly handle all your offspring 7 days a week, 24 hours a day, well, we can’t be friends. Period. I need people who, like me, do it wrong all the time. Luckily, as years go by, I am trying to no longer look outside of my home for validation. Nope. Not gonna go there anymore, and it’s been a long time coming. I think it only comes with age. Truly. If you are in your 20s and you have figured this out already, good job, because you have half the battle down already. For me, I am grateful as these years pass by, because I think it keeps making me a better mother, and a much better friend. Even if your type of parenting is totally the opposite of me, I don’t judge, condescend, or tell you that you are doing it wrong. I know you are doing what is right for YOUR family, and maybe you too are just trying to get though the day.
Motherhood competitions are lonely places. Motherhood journeys, which are made up of friends who ‘get you’ even if they don’t mother like you, are wonderful places. And on your journey, don’t forget to opt out of the race for the perfect kid, the perfect home, the perfect marriage, and that irrational and unreachable motherhood perfection finish line spurned on by peers, media, and child rearing theories. Instead, learn to laugh and just do it your way, not her way or the book’s way, or the ‘supposed to do it’ way. Just do it your way. And don’t forget to lighten up on the mom journey, and pick up a few weary travelers along the way, because we all need each other in this race. Plus, it’s gonna be real hoot when we whiz by the sanctimommies, and get to the finish line before them, and trust me, we will, and we will still be standing tall, like badass superhero moms. Because with genuine support and laughter, nothing can slow you down on your motherhood journey. Rather, it can only build you up, help you fly. And that is the kind of sanctimommy I want to be. The superhero kind. Cape anyone?