real
Heather has tagged me to post about being a real mother.
I'm supposed to write about being a 'real' mother and then post a photo, if I want to.
This is an interesting time for me to write about being a mother. A real mother.
I'm not entirely sure what constitutes 'real' but I'll tell you what I think is real.
I find it oddly coincidental because my anonymous troll wrote negative things about my children and I was very conflicted about whether or not I would defend myself against the things she said.
I wondered if my readers would believe that I live in denial and that my children have the serious issues she wrote about.
During the time that I obsessed about who it was (I know who it was now) and why they'd hurt me (they are hurting) I spoke to my psychic friend, M. M asked me why the comments upset me so much - and we talked about that, and she told me that everything the person wrote about me was really the truth about herself. And M was right.
Both M and my friend D suggested that I step back and think about writing a post about being a mother and the truth.
So.
A coincidence? Probably not.
Real mothers see their children's faults, defend those faults to the world and help their children be better people.
Real mothers fly by the seat of their pants, read books for inspiration, and check with their mothers for advice.
Real mothers never lie to their kids, unless they are watching a Disney film and have to explain what happened to the mom.
Real mothers scream and curse at their kids, are often ashamed of their behavior, and are their children's most primary source of support.
Real mothers realize that it's not always someone else's fault.
Real mothers embarrass kids every day with kisses or hugs in public.
Real mothers always do too much.
Real mothers fret and worry and cry and laugh and blush.
Real mothers let them play guitar and drums really loudly, in the basement.
I could go on for hours - you may have read my thoughts on my job before. This is very important to me, this mothering thing - it's my very first priority, and I have a lot of rules about it, as I do my writing.
And, I guess, that's why the troll's words hurt me so much. They implied dishonesty, and the fact of the matter is, I'm nothing if not honest.
Those of you whom I am lucky enough to meet this summer in Chicago will probably be put off by it.
I am terribly, horribly, wonderfully real.
I'm supposed to write about being a 'real' mother and then post a photo, if I want to.
This is an interesting time for me to write about being a mother. A real mother.
I'm not entirely sure what constitutes 'real' but I'll tell you what I think is real.
I find it oddly coincidental because my anonymous troll wrote negative things about my children and I was very conflicted about whether or not I would defend myself against the things she said.
I wondered if my readers would believe that I live in denial and that my children have the serious issues she wrote about.
During the time that I obsessed about who it was (I know who it was now) and why they'd hurt me (they are hurting) I spoke to my psychic friend, M. M asked me why the comments upset me so much - and we talked about that, and she told me that everything the person wrote about me was really the truth about herself. And M was right.
Both M and my friend D suggested that I step back and think about writing a post about being a mother and the truth.
So.
A coincidence? Probably not.
Real mothers see their children's faults, defend those faults to the world and help their children be better people.
Real mothers fly by the seat of their pants, read books for inspiration, and check with their mothers for advice.
Real mothers never lie to their kids, unless they are watching a Disney film and have to explain what happened to the mom.
Real mothers scream and curse at their kids, are often ashamed of their behavior, and are their children's most primary source of support.
Real mothers realize that it's not always someone else's fault.
Real mothers embarrass kids every day with kisses or hugs in public.
Real mothers always do too much.
Real mothers fret and worry and cry and laugh and blush.
Real mothers let them play guitar and drums really loudly, in the basement.
I could go on for hours - you may have read my thoughts on my job before. This is very important to me, this mothering thing - it's my very first priority, and I have a lot of rules about it, as I do my writing.
And, I guess, that's why the troll's words hurt me so much. They implied dishonesty, and the fact of the matter is, I'm nothing if not honest.
Those of you whom I am lucky enough to meet this summer in Chicago will probably be put off by it.
I am terribly, horribly, wonderfully real.
Comments
I'm enjoying the lying about the Disney films years while they last.
You're my kind of mother!
You wrote a lovely post bb, don't diminish your life one more minute by thinking of the words from that person.
And that pic of your boys....f*cking AWESOME :)
You are wise, kind, clever and definitely REAL.
The pic? Inspiring...it says way more than it shows.
Very honest post.
your kids are very, very lucky.
May be your best post yet.
And that photo of the boys? Brings up the tears, it does. Oldest with the dark hair! Midddle with the advanced musical abilities! Youngest who is just A Dear -- Look at him!
Your troll hurts and feels low. I feel sad that she lacks the skills and support to communicate her suffering and grow out of it.
Real Moms make mistakes ~ and know when to admit them.