It was bound to happen eventually. But MUST all mom jeans look so, what’s the word, hideous? I get that once you reach a certain age weight begins to accumulate around your middle, unless you’re Heidi Klum. (I hate you Heidi Klum. No, really, I love you. But honestly girl, this “let me pop out babies and look 22” stuff is so last season!) And that means finding jeans to accommodate your new girth. But seriously, friends, this aging bit is on my last nerve.
And an aside, because I know some of you are not of that certain age and you’re saying in your head, “Oh, that’s never going to happen to me. I will never wear mom jeans.” Bad news, you probably will. I have proof. Go stand in front of a mirror. Who do you see standing there? Heidi Klum?
Anyhow, MY moment has come. I’ve lost some weight. Actually, quite a bit. I’ve not bought jeans in years and one pair of jeans does not a wardrobe make! I had a second pair, and um, blew out the thighs of those ridiculously thin and poorly made denim. My jeans are bagging off me so much I don’t even bother to unzip to pee. Not to mention the serious case of “granddad butt” going on. So, it was time. I just had no idea I’d be walking out of the store with a pair of mid-waisted dark wash mom jeans.
I tried for chic, I honestly did. I can’t explain why  every pair of  not mom jeans I tried on looked ridiculous. I kept looking at myself and thinking, “You’re not fooling anyone.” Besides, do I really need sparkly hearts and roses to decorate my mom ass? I don’t think so.
So, reluctantly (as in after 3 separate and loaded trips to the dressing room) I crossed the aisle to the adult jeans department. Elastic waists? GOD kill me know. Hidden “comfort” bands? Is there no shame? And then I saw them. A pair of mom jeans that promised  to “secretly slim” me.
I’m not sure if they’re actually slimming me. Upon closer inspection the tag doesn’t promise to make me look younger, in fact it reads, “sits higher on the waist.” If that’s not code for “mom jean” what is? It’s official. I’m a woman of a certain age.
A gift from my son. Which just proves my point, I don’t think this kid is listening to me.
Whew! We survived yesterday. On a humorous note, I have to tell you: if this blog’s stats are any indication, there’s a whole lot of angst over this holiday! Last week’s stats was lit up with google searches for “honest Mother’s Day Cards.” If you’re an enterprising sort, there is clearly a market for “telling mom like it is” on Mother’s Day! I’m not advocating it, as much as observing. You could probably follow up with “Honest Father’s Day” cards and cards for “Ungrateful children who don’t send Mother’s Day Cards.” Seriously, folks, that’s what been bringing traffic to my blog all week.
That’s what I get for writing a post about not being a fan of Mother’s Day. IZ got my full fledged sermon on our walk yesterday—everything I’d say to all those people out there about the holiday, about what real mothering looks like and how it is imperative for those of us who “celebrate” to “mother” those who can’t. Lucky for you, he’s a built in congregation  of one and sermonizing is now out of my system. But it was a good sermon, complete with emphatic hand gesturing! I’ll just sum it up with what I told facebook, “Rejoice with those who rejoice. Mourn with those who mourn. It’s really not that difficult!”
Or, it shouldn’t be. I saw a lot of evidence to the contrary, last week. People, so called loving mothers, eager Christians, behaving in ways that were neither. There is something about this holiday that brings out very raw emotions—no matter what side of the issue. Ultimately, when I get past my ire and angst, I just feel sad. Sad for those who are mourning. Sad for those who cannot do the very basic act of the mothering that they insist on celebrating!
Sigh.
I should know better.
Anyhow, I don’t celebrate, but apparently my kid didn’t get the memo. He bought me a blank card, telling his father that he didn’t want one of those “sappy” cards. (GOOD BOY!) And he bought a replacement orchid for the one I accidentally offed with too much love last year. His father got around the edict by having a “non-mother’s day dinner” the night before. I love them.
And here’s the thing, the very bottom of my philosophy (for lack of a better word) on the matter: NO GUILT. I was touched and honored and completely charmed by their efforts. But I don’t have expectations. Our son remembered on his own (HUGE!!) and insisted on doing something with his own money. I’m not going to say “no” to that. I’m going to rejoice in the fact that my kid is kinda really great. But I’m also not going to get all weepy and demanding when, eventually, some other woman is the center of his universe.
I’ve been thinking about Mother’s Day a great deal this week. Part of it, is that the dreaded holiday is nearing. Part of it, is finding a card my son wrote to his uncle when he was just 5 (I never mailed it, because Boy Wonder had taped his favorite piece of crayon to it, and I didn’t have the heart to let him part with it.) while I was sorting through old photos. How quickly time passes.
I’m not a fan of the holiday, though I understand Mother’s Day means something to most of you. And I say, “Go, Celebrate.” Just don’t ladle guilt on your children when they don’t live up to your expectations. Because eventually, there will come a time when you are not the center of their universe. That’s a good thing. Embrace it—rejoice in it, you did this! You reared your children to adulthood and autonomy and the ability to be parents themselves.
Observing today: Mothering seems to be a “two steps forward, one step back” proposition. It’s important to keep that in mind, I think, especially as you parent into the teen years. Sometimes, your child isn’t ready to be as independent as they claim. And in our case, I feel like it’s time for a remedial course on time management.
It’s too easy to say, it’s a phase or “welcome to teenagers.” It’s also too restrictive to expect adult behaviour, when so many adults don’t seem to get it either! I’m certainly not the paragon of organization. So, we’re taking a step back together. Because parenting is also a collaborative endeavor. We don’t teach lessons to blank slates; our children have moods and personalities and wills and minds of their own! We learn, or don’t learn, together. Give and take, whether we like it or not!
And so we’re learning that actions do have consequences. Which means he’s grounded. Which means I’m grounded. And we start over. Begin again. Me, more present. Him, less free. Eventually, he’ll get it. And then I’ll have to learn the only solo lesson that parenthood has to offer. . . the lesson of letting go.
Until then, we’re in this together, kid.
Note: I read an amazing post on mothering this morning: if you don’t read Dropped Stitches, you really should!
