Being a mom is tough. We wear many many hats and uniforms.
This year, I have donned my chauffeur hat, and traded in craft shows and trade shows. I don't mind being a (meh) cook, a (really meh) maid, a taxi driver.
I manage (not very well) schedules. I am an exam proctor. A psychologist. A nurse. A teacher. An art instructor. A fashion consultant. Sometime, when needed, a fashion editor. I know how to hoist "the girls", mmmokay?
As they grew up, the kids, (not the girls, ) allowed me to finally retire from being a hair stylist, a sports coach, and kool-aid mom, and fishing instructor.
I do provide a virtual cheering section for teams, contests, and concerts. I am a "tiger mom" too, and expert nitpicker. A cajoler, a dealmaker, a fixer. Although, I had to take lessons in Catholic guilt from my hubby, I have achieved high amateur status, I'd say.
I have prayed to Buddha, Cheezes, Gd, the earth mother, Krishna, that the kiddos come home in one piece, not in pieces, and not with diseases. I have done a rain dance for grades. Kneeling by my bed before the Sat Gods and AP angels. Not that they listened. So, back to nitpicking and guilt slinging I traipsed.
They humor me when I sing to my roses, hopelessly name the fuzzy creatures that are inexplicably drawn to our home, as I talk to myself in the car, commenting on all manner of crappy drivers, ugly dogs, annoying weather, and wacky political garbage du jour. This is why Gd invented ear buds I guess. They are very good at smiling and nodding and not listening.
I see our resident duck, Quackie, return to her nesting ground in our dutch flower box, who provides us with ducklings. She quacks up a storm, summoning her brood. I witness the little things jumping onto the ground, 3' down, then following their mother to the canal. I wish my kids would do that. But, they don't. They meander, canoodle, stray, lollygag. In the animal kingdom they would never survive. They are lucky I am their mom. And not Quackie, who would have given up a while ago.
No longer can I control where they go, who they see, who or what influences them. I cannot tell them what to read, what to listen to, or who to follow. I tried. But, they have to make their own mistakes and learn. At least that is what I tell myself as I eyeball a possible foray into margueritaland...
You mamis know from what I speak. Our bodies have been sliced and diced, or stretched like a cheap budget on a bad day. The ehem, "celebrities" in all the rags, must sell their souls to the devil himself, cuz their ain't no hollah back, gurl... from all that... unless you like getting stitched and sawed and poked and prodded and hoisted with lil" lipo and silicone to rebuild what your mama gave ya. You tell me how they don't have the requisite mom flap!
Well, jealousy aside, I wish all of you moms and aunties a great day, and eat chocolate and enjoy a trip to margueritaland if that floats your boat...flaps be damned...