Supermom Breaks a Nail

by Kristen Easley

  “So he is active?”

  “Yes”

  “Loud?”

  “Very”

  “Runs around when he should be sitting?”

  “All the time.”

  “Doesn’t want to do what he is told unless threatened with repercussions?”

  “Never.”

  “Pushes the boundaries to see what he can get away with?”

  “Constantly.” 

  It’s like he was reading my mind.

  Dr. Godsend regarded his notes and cocked an eyebrow.

  “Wh-what is it?”  I asked with great trepidation. 

  He took a deep breath and said, “There’s good news and bad news.”

  “What’s the good news?” I asked, relishing the possible shimmer of hope.

  “I have seen this before.”

  “And what is it?”  I asked anxiously.

  “Your son is a three-year-old little boy,” he said.

  I gasped.  “What’s the bad news?”

  “It gets worse.”

  “HOW?!?”

  “Adolescence.”

  “Is there anything you can prescribe for it?”

  “Valium”

  “For a three-year-old?”

  “For you.”

  I don’t care what Nate says. Next Christmas I am getting Dr. Godsend a summer home. 

  Chapter Seven

  You Light Up My Life

  After you select your spouse, the second most important person you select is your babysitter.  I knew I was supposed to be very concerned about who would watch my baby.  Their ability to discern a choking child from a giggling one should have been paramount in my thoughts.  All I could really think of was: NIGHT OUT.

  Soon after Logan was born, I was given a recommendation for a sitter. Since the woman who gave me the name seemed generally concerned with her child’s well-being, I went with her recommendation. I called the sitter, told her how I had come by her name and could she babysit?  I was not prepared for:

  The interview.

  Let me introduce this fact now – childrearing today is more about interviews than anything else.  You interview anyone involved in your child’s life.  Worse, you are interviewed at every interview as well.  So is your child.  Childrearing is fraught with potential rejection. 

  For the interview with our prospective babysitter, I had a professional cleaning crew come in to steam clean the house.  I kept trying to slip them 20s to zap the kid, but they weren’t going for it.  I spent the days leading up to the interview selecting an outfit.  I contemplated a dress for a “Donna Reed” type impression, but my dresses give more of a “Cher” impression.  I settled on an old bridesmaid dress from the 80s – heck, let her think we were fancy.  I bought scones from the store that were rock hard by the time of the interview.  I became obsessed with the look of Nate’s hair.  I made him brush it five different ways before the sitter arrived.  Poor Logan, who was only three months old at the time, was changed repeatedly into different outfits, each one getting increasingly more Victorian in its appearance.  Finally she arrived:

  Mary Poppins. 

  Okay. Her last name is not really Poppins, but I am not revealing her last name.  You might live in my area and need a sitter.

  I swear she had a heavenly glow surrounding her when I opened the door.  Nate says it was just a sun glare off of a Chevy across the street.  We drank tepid tea and gnawed on scones as we exchanged pleasantries.  Then there was a pause.  We smiled and looked at one another.  Finally Mary leaned in and asked, “Is there anything you would like to ask me?”

  I raised my eyebrows and glanced at Nate.  “Uhm…ask you?”

  “Yes, about my experience or philosophy or…child-raising things?”

  I honestly hadn’t thought this was about us interviewing her.  But as soon as she said it, it seemed like such a good idea.  She was brilliant and I loved her.

  “How much do you charge?” asked Nate.

  She told us. 

  Once we were able to breathe again, we tried to think of some other questions. 

  “I am curious, Just from a Humanist’s point of view, what do other families ask you?” I ventured.

  “Well, some like to know how I discipline.  Some like to know what I am certified in.”

  “You mean like martial arts?”

  “No, more along the lines of CPR, first aid, that type of thing.”

  “That, oh -- of course, those would be good things to know.”  I said, losing hope of ever seeing her again.

  Mary asked if she could hold Logan, who had been quite fussy through the whole event.  Upon reaching her arms, he laid his little head on her shoulder and promptly fell asleep.  He smiled as he breathed heavy sleep breaths.  I began to wonder if he liked her better.  Eventually we placed Logan in his crib, led Mary to the door and shook her hand.   I knew it was appropriate to wait three days, but I couldn’t.  I needed to know right now. 

  “So do you think you might have room in your schedule to sit for us on occasion?”  I asked expectantly.

  Mercifully, she said “I think we can arrange something.” 

  When she had left, I picked up the phone and started dialing.  Nate asked what was going on. 

  “I am applying for a line of credit.”

  “Is that necessary?”  he asked.

  “I’m not taking any chances.”

  “She did seem competent.”

  I looked at Nate and smiled a wide smile.  “Do you know understand what this will mean for us?”  I asked wistfully.

  “I do.”  he said, returning my smile.

  We both said our answers at the same time:

  “Movie night” I said.

  He said, “Sex.”

  Tomato, Toe-mah-toe. 

  Chapter Eight

  What the Blog?

  I was not prepared for the amount of questions I would have when I first had children.  “Wait. Why is it doing that?” became my mantra.  I asked The Mothers how they answered these questions when they were new moms.  Their form of networking was a letter to their mother or a phone call to a sister.  They told me to rely on common sense and gut instinct.  Dismissing these addled-minded adages, I called Dr. Godsend.  He said he did not like to diagnose over the phone and that, although he was sure Logan did produce an odd-pitched wail while yawning, my attempt to duplicate it wouldn’t help find out what caused it. He suggested I expand my avenues for finding answers -- perhaps to consult a couple of blogs.   I agreed and conferred with my “How to Raise a Kid” books to find out what a blog was.  This is how I discovered the Mommyverse. 

  The Mommyverse is a cyber-world for moms filled with advice, counseling and proverbial shoulders to cry on.  At first, I thought I would consult the Mommyverse only occasionally.  But after I found an army of like-minded, tormented and misunderstood moms, I couldn’t stay away.  Not only can they tell me the best way to dislodge a block from my child’s nose, they confirm that Nate is completely wrong – regardless of what he’s done.  I get sympathy when I decry The Mothers’ outdated theories about discipline (like actually doing it).  I am omnipotent – and finally not just in my own head.  What started out as a mild fascination quickly turned into an addiction. 

  In the beginning, I had trouble deciphering Mommyverse speak.  I tried to find some kind of Mommyverse dictionary, but there wasn’t one.  My sister-in-law decoded some of the acronyms for me. People in the Mommyverse refer to their children as DD and DS.  The first initial stands for “Darling” or “Dear” and the second initial stands for “daughter” or “son.”  I thought, “these people must really adore their children.  I wished I liked my kids that much.”

    But then I read sentences like “my D(darling)S(son) flushed the cat down the toilet while my D(dear)D(daughter) painted the kitchen floor in Jell-O” and realized I was home.  As for a husbands, I read “My D(dearest)H(husband) and I were at it again last night
.”  I think I am going to read about some juicy bedroom antics.  But the Mommyverse blogger will go on to say, “DH is an idiot who has no idea how to raise a child and is generally undermining me as a person.” Ah, she called him “Dearest” – how sweet.

  Gigi asked why we use such euphemisms in which to couch our anger.  I tell her I certainly don’t want Sassyknitter38 judging my family.  She wondered if maybe the best way not to be judged would be to not tell the Mommyverse, in the first place.  What does Gigi know? She’s short.

  If I work myself into a proper dither, I can be lost to the Mommyverse for hours.  Once I lodge my complaint, I sit back wait for the responses.  Hundreds of my Momhood sisters vindicate me.  I rise from my chair through no force of my own but on the shoulders of my fellow moms.  I float into the living room, deposit a take-out menu on Nate’s lap and pour myself another glass of wine. 

  Like all addictions, I was forced to examine my behavior.   For me, the bend in the road came with “The Battle of DaphneDoesIt and WunderTwinsMummikins.”  It began when WunderTwinsMummikins blogged how upset she was by an incident that had happened at a park.  Her post chronicled how she deposited her kids on a play structure and went off to talk to her friends.  Shortly thereafter, a red-faced fellow park mom came up to WunderTwinsMummikins with one of WTM’s children in tow. 

  This child had apparently staged a mutiny of the playground and cut a sandy swath of startled children in his wake.  The Park Mom was pretty pissed and told WunderTwinsMummikins what she thought of WTM’s parenting.  WunderTwinsMummikins cried to the Mommyverse as soon as she got home.  What had she done wrong?  How can she be expected to dissect the latest reality show’s reject with her friends AND watch her children at the same time?  Why had this other mom been so mean?  The Mommyverse took the Park Mom to task.  Who was this bitch? How dare she physically remove WTM’s child from beating her own? 

  DaphneDoesIt ventured to ask if maybe WunderTwinsMummikins could have done more to manage her children in public.  DaphneDoesIt was the first time I witnessed a cyber-sacrifice.  She was devoured and not heard from again.   Sometimes I still wonder whether it was that she challenged or how she challenged.  Did she deserve expulsion, and where had she gone for refuge?  I wonder… but I dare not ask the Mommyverse.

  Chapter Nine

  In the Club

  After “The Battle” on the Mommyverse, I once again cast my net for answers and acceptance in the world of mothers.  My “How to Raise a Kid” books said to join a moms’ club; so I did. 

  A Moms’ Club is a support group.  You attend weekly meetings with mothers, who all have children around the same age, and discuss being a mom.  Usually there is a leader who may have an advanced degree in child psychology or maybe just “really, really loves kids and being a mommy!”  Unlike the Mommyverse, in a Mom’s Club I was surrounded by live moms who made sad faces and touched my shoulder.  They told me how what I said is just like their own experience.  Then they proceeded to tell me their story… for 20 minutes.  I was a new mom. I could make sad faces. And now I had mom stories.  I belonged.

  This is how I joined the Judgmental Moms’ Club.  We did nothing but discuss our children’s development… and by “development,” I mean “What my child can do and yours can’t.”  We compared various philosophies to childrearing… and by “compare,” I mean we said mean spirited things about the women who did things differently.  We condemned television for our child’s malleable minds -- well, unless we absolutely needed to get something done or to get a moment to ourselves or we were talking on the phone or to settle them down for bed or because we were exhausted or our soaps were on or…

  We proclaimed proudly that WE knew what was best for our baby and that our mothers and sisters and grandmothers were clueless.  I was wading in the pool of popularity, and all it had taken was ten months gestation and a few stretch marks.  It didn’t take long for the cracks in the foundation of the JMC to form.   The first was when we discussed sleeping through the night. Dawn warned me about offering up this information.  But one day we were asked to go around the room, tell how long your baby slept and what was working or not working.  We were not supposed to speak until we had the Time-to-Talk Teddy Bear passed to us.  It was a rule.  When the Time-to-Talk Teddy Bear came my way, I told the group “eight hours.”  There were a gasps and a few glares. 

  “Wow. What is working?”  Dr. Misty, our 23-year-old-just-earned-her-PhD leader asked.

  “Uhm, I am not sure.  He just kind of started sleeping longer.”  More glares.

  “Really?  Nothing different in your routine?”

  “No, I don’t think so.  I mean, you know, he’s changing, you know, developmentally but nothing more than what the books say,” I said cautiously looking around.

  “When is your last feeding at night?”  Dr. Misty asked.

  “Oh, uhm, I think…”

  A particularly vocal member of the group cut me off.  “What are you feeding him?”  she snarled.

  I sputtered “Oh, uhm, well, you see, he was an early teether so he bit a lot and I had to…well, it hurt quite a bit…”

  “Formula,” she sneered.

  A collective cluck came from the group.  The Time-to-Talk Teddy Bear was taken from my lap, and my views on sleeping were not requested again.

  Once we were talking about sitters.  Most of the moms were working up the effort to have their first sitter (although several had had their babies in daycare since they were three months old).  Some were even contemplating if they could trust their own parents to watch their children.  I was not asked much for my opinion these days.  However, I kept trying. 

  On some level, I believed that, if the JMC rejected me, it would be noted in some giant Unfit Mothers ledger that existed somewhere.  So I offered up what I thought would be helpful for some to hear.  “I have had a wonderful sitter for Logan since he was only a few months old.”

  “How long had you known your sitter before she sat for you?” Dr. Misty asked.

  “Oh, we met once, you know, at the interview, and then I think she came over that next week to sit.  It was wonderful.”

  “Were you in the house?”  one mom asked.

  “When?” I asked.

  “During the first time she sat.”  she said.

  “I was… out at a restaurant.”  I replied.

  The group gasped.

  “Oh, my, no!  You should never leave your children alone with a babysitter the first night.  What if something had happened?” someone said.

  “But isn’t that why she is there? So I don’t have to be?”  I asked.

  “Not the first time!” another barked. 

  “My sister still hasn’t left the baby alone with the sitter, and it’s been five months.”

  “My step-cousin and his wife would sit in the closet while the babysitter was there,” someone added.  Everyone nodded as if this somehow made sense.

  I shrank back and looked nervously at Logan.  Seriously, why am I not getting this?

  I did not renew my membership once my six weeks were up, and my new support group members did not keep in touch. 

  I asked The Mothers why their generation did not need all these groups for moms.  They said they did, but they called them Stitch and Bitch Clubs.  Not only did they solve the world’s problems, they usually got a quilt out of it.  No one cared if their husbands were co-sharing in parenting.  Frankly, the more their husbands were out from underfoot, the smoother their homes ran. 

  They dispensed advice like “Just put some scotch on it.”  Alcohol and cigarettes were present, if not the theme of the meeting.  Membership was free, and drop-ins were welcome.  Beware if you missed an evening, though. You were probably the subject of that night’s discussion.  Stitch and Bitch’s are no longer around.  Parenting is serious business now.  Any advice written before 1999 is null and void. 

  Nate suggested I organize my own Moms’ Club.
  Since I needed to meet more women in my area anyway, I took to the Mommyverse.  I posted on every site to which I belonged -- “Come join other bright moms who refuse to get sucked into today’s Parenting Vacuum.”  Well, that was what I was thinking when I posted.  I think I actually wrote something closer to “Anyone want to join a new Mom group on the Westside?”  I got a bunch of responses –

  “YYYEEESSS!!!!” 

  “Wow – it’s like you were reading my mind!!!” 

  “I would LOOOOOOOOOVE to join – sing (sic) me up!!!!”  

  “This comes at just the right time.  I was feeling so down on myself lately – you know, like nobody gets me and I keep messing everything up; and now I feel like I have a home, a place to go.” 

  This sounded like a nice gaggle of girls.  I wrote a personal message to everyone interested.  I explained how I wanted to do something different.  I said it was more of a women’s group than just a mom’s group.  I thought we would discuss all kinds of women’s issues and we would be free from criticism.  Everyone was allowed her opinion as long as no one made it personal.  The ladies were enthusiastic.  They gave me quite a few words of encouragement with an excess of vowels and exclamation points. 

  Our first order of business was to introduce ourselves via email and then to set our first meeting.  The introduction was easy.  I received volumes of emails as these nine ladies divulged every fact about themselves and any thought they had ever had on parenting or marriage or women in general. 

  Next, we were to set the first meeting.  This proved a bit tricky: there were babysitters to obtain, schedules to consider (kids, work, husbands, etc). Once the date was set, we were forced to cancel that first meeting and reschedule 16 times.  Finally, four months after my initial posting, we were all set to meet at my house.  Light refreshments, wine and no kids – for this first meeting.  I sent out my address and phone number for the third time that week.  My kids were thrilled to be going to Der Pizza Haus with Nate.  They dragged him out the door without saying goodbye.

  Two hours before the meeting I received an email from one of the group.  She was awfully sorry, but she did not realize how far away I lived.  This struck me as odd since it was one of the first things we discussed.  Anyway, she would need to bow out, and maybe this is not the time for her in such a group, but it is a great idea and she wished us the best of luck.  Once the first excuse was made, the floodgates were opened.  The others’ excuses ranged from life’s current direction taking a different course to self-image issues to pedicure emergencies.  My woman’s group had dissolved, and we hadn’t once met.