From the monthly archives:

October 2009

Last year, on November first, I struck gold. My best friend and I found ourselves in retail utopia, otherwise known as Marshall’s just as the employees were marking down all of the Halloween decor. Giddy with excitement, I piled my cart full with signs and door mats and wreaths. When my first cart was overflowing, I grabbed a second. It was heaven— everything was marked down to a dollar. A dollar. No matter what the original cost, it was a buck. Can you even believe it?

To say that Jeff didn’t appreciate my finds would be the understatement of the century. He couldn’t even muster up the slightest bit of enthusiasm, so I offer them here for your viewing pleasure. {For the record, this is not a paid or endorsed post, blah, blah, blah. I just love me a good deal.}

The kid’s tacky contributions to our decor…

and my absolute favorite…

You better believe that I will be first in line the day after Halloween this year. And next year? Will be over the top.

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We’ve been Boo’d. Have you been Boo’d?

If you live in a heavily child-populated suburb, you are probably familiar with the tradition of getting Boo’d. It’s where a family prepares Halloween goodies and doorbell ditches another family, leaving the treats behind. Along with the goodies is an instruction sheet and a sign to hang on the door, letting others know that your house has already been hit. The house that has been Boo’d must do the same to two more homes, thus involving the whole area. Our neighborhood takes all things Halloween very seriously, and this game is no exception.

My family is not the most popular in our very tight knit, conservative ‘hood. I tend keep to myself and let my children run around like animals in our not-so-private back yard. Our lawn is an embarrassment, I take way too long to bring in the trash cans and there has been a popped out screen window sitting on my front grass for weeks. We’re just a bit… different and I know it drives the neighbors crazy.

Last night, our doorbell rang just before nine. The kids bolted down from their rooms and I let them peek out, sure we had just been Boo’d. Indeed, we had. The basket waiting for us was more than impressive— glow sticks, brownies, books, arts and crafts, the works… While the kids were tearing out the candy and battery operated toys, Jeff noticed that there was also a bottle of wine tucked in. Really, I asked, from the computer? That’s kind of odd, but sweeeeeet!

Later, as I was putting the rest of the contents away, I read the wine label:

Hell Raiser.

I believe this takes getting Boo’d to a whole new level.

And I do believe my neighbors are a bit cooler than I thought.

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Sibling Revelry

Growing up, my brother and I didn’t have the best of relationships. He was the typical pesky little brother and I was a total bitch. The moments when we actually got along were incredibly few and far between. Most times, they involved me bossing him around and him relishing the attention that I was briefly giving him. I recall dressing him up in my clothes and parading him along the main street we lived on, complete with jelly bracelets and lipstick. He didn’t even flinch. (And, no, he is neither gay nor a cross dresser. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)

There was a brief period where we played teacher and student. We ripped apart every Highlights and National Geographic we owned and glued them on the walls of the basement, transforming it into a classroom. We knew what we were doing was wrong, but it was fun. And we were in it together. We figured we’d deal with the consequences later, and it was totally worth it. To our surprise, there were no consequences. Our parents were so thrilled to have us playing together, that I think we could have done just about anything.

Unlike my brother and I, Lily and Ben play happily together for hours. They play zoo and safari and post office. They tell each other stories and have dance parties. Last night, they were quieter than usual. After about an hour, they came down, giddy with excitement. We’ve been having so much fun, Lily squealed. Come see what we did!

And there it was. All of their artwork lining the stairs. Tape, broken off craft pieces and remnants of chalk littered the floor. It’s a classroom, Ben chimed in. Isn’t it so cool?

And it was.

I’m fully expecting the cross dressing to start shortly. And there won’t be anything wrong with it.

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The Scariest of Mommies

You guys amazed me this week. When I asked you to write about how you were a Scary Mommy, I thought that maybe 20 of you would. I hoped for that. I feared that nobody would at all. The number of entries simply astounded me. Over the past week, I’ve read 114 amazing posts. 114 relatable posts. 114 heartfelt, honest, poetic, frightening and creative posts. Posts by moms of multiples, moms on the other side of the world, moms I’ve competed with and moms I’ve had the joy to meet in person. Posts that made me smile and laugh andtear up. A post written from the perspective of a child and a post that humbled me with its beauty. I’ve truly loved every last one.

If you haven’t had a chance to read the other entries, please take some time to. Bookmark that post and return to it on a day when you feel like you are the only one who doesn’t always do this parenting gig perfectly. Bookmark it for when you feel alone, and scared and overwhelmed. And, take solace knowing that you aren’t alone– we’re all here, reading, writing and supporting each other. And we’re all a bit scary.

Without further ado, I present to you the winner of the Flip video camera and feature on Eliza’s Motherhood blog…

A Very Wealthy Life by Sarah at Momalom

This is the place where we admit it all. Where we say what we can’t say to our friends at the playground. To our neighbors at a backyard barbecue. Where we coddle the voice that sits within. The one that whines in frustration at all the chores and the failures. The deeds undone. The lives we don’t have. But we want. The people we see inside ourselves. But can’t always become.

This is the place where we try not to portray ourselves as someone in particular. We place no judgment. We find no fear. We look for resolve.

This is the place. Where I am most me.

And perhaps this is what is most scary. About being a mommy. That motherhood requires this place. For me. Right now. A secret world of blogs and tweets. Perceptions unveiled. Truths revealed. Melodies sung among a harmony of sisters online. Women. Mothers. Caretakers.

And I am just one woman.

I’m not scary smart. I don’t have a superior IQ. I’m not scary beautiful. My face bears no resemblance to an Italian Renaissance sculpture – except for maybe its pallor. I’m not scary gifted. I have no defining talent. No artistic outlet or craft, nor study nor hobby that regularly distracts me from the mundane. No natural ability that defines me in any sense. Besides parenting, that is. And everything that “parent” connotes.

I’m not scary emotional. I’m not scary stylish. I’m not scary mommish. I’m not scary conservative, or liberal, or bland. I’m not scary obstinate, nor scary lame. I’m not scary rich. But I’m wealthy. Yes I’m oh very scary wealthy.

Because,
you see,
there are these children.

These, them, those guys over there. Yup, right there. The ones that are tackling each other in the next room. I have them. They are my weakness. They breed my weakness. And I have no trouble admitting to it. Any of it. My love for them and my contempt. My anger and dismay about everything they take from me and all that I am not because of them. My ache and joy and every wish for everything they hope for and deserve.

Because of this scary, scary wealth, I am very scary honest. This, above all else, is what makes me a scary mom: my need to breathe honesty and truth about everything and all that I have become since children poured from my womb and broadened the capacity of my heart to love.

I struggle with this need for transparency. This need to explore the depths of emotion brought on by mothering three children. By raising my boys in the best way I know how. With trial and error. With great failures and even greater successes. I don’t need to list all that I do wrong. Nor tag all my flaws. They are there to be seen. I curse. I cry. I crave freedom. I expose it all for the world to see. And though sometimes I fear what the world sees in me, I fear not what I see in myself. It is my sole reason for truth. For honest emotion. For honestly writing about these emotions.

I need to be everything that I can be. This is my only shot. I am their only mother. This “gig.” This oh so overwhelming gig of motherhood. Caretaker. Mouthfeeder. Nurturer. Hugger. Kisser. Keeper of the hearts in this home of ours. It is a tall order. To fill it is daunting. I’m not sure I know how. Will ever know. Should even strive to know. What I do know is I put one toe out there and let the rest follow along. I have to trust that what I am about to do is all that I can do in any given moment, and yet remember that there is always another way to do it, and I am not stuck. And I can always just stop, and give someone a hug. And admit I am often clueless. And move on. And try again.

What I hope is that this honesty enriches my life – and the lives around me. That giving this of myself will be a model for my children. That they will see how hard I work to share my truest thoughts with them and the people that I love. And that no one will hold it against me that I’ve found a small niche of the universe to share it with.

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Pretty fantastic, huh? I just loved it.

The fan favorite, and winner of the Motherhood t-shirt, movie poster and set of aden+ anais blankets is Leigh from Leigh vs. Laundry . Her post is terrific, and her readers were incredibly vocal in their support for her.

Thank you all so much for writing, this has been a wonderful experience. And you are all Scary Mommies in my book.