Fun Mom

I've got almost 4 years of mamahood under my belt and with that has come a bit of knowledge of self-as-parent, and gawdamn, I am a fun mom. I'm a regular party with a purse. I'm the mom who rents the double decker firetruck shopping cart at the mall and sprints down the aisleways making siren noises as I swerve to avoid collisions with regular stroller pushing moms and my kids scream "faster, faster". A couple of weeks ago at a 5 year old birthday party, I was the only mom to go down the water slide while Minna cheered me on. I'm the mom who takes my kids on naked walks (them, not me, I'm not THAT much fun) through the neighborhood and do not give a fuck what the neighbors think. I'm the mom who always says yes to the free cookies at the grocery store, lets the kids paint my face AND doesn't wash it off before going out in public.

I guess being the fun mom goes along with my general philosophy of not taking oneself too seriously. That has got to be one of my biggest pet peeves ever (that and pushing the seasons). I often find my self thinking "lighten up bitches" in regards to other parents whilst in group situations. I'm often the only mom (dads tend to have different funness thresholds) actually willing to get wet at the fountain park. I usually end up soaked by the end cuz I would spend all my energy trying to avoid getting splashed otherwise, and what is fun about that? Once, I actually saw a mom who was standing at the edge of the water area get super pissed after getting splashed by a kid at play. She huffed and puffed, grabbed her son and left in a hurry. Her cunty disposition and her fear of water had me scanning the skies for flying monkeys.

Being a fun mom is not all about the kids, either. It can definitely be used for selfish purposes. Example, if the kids want to play restaurant I can stretch the length of time they will be occupado by at least 50% if I let them use real food. So, I hook them up with crackers, raisins, apples, popcorn, pitchers of water, and let them have at it. They get a really fun experience, and I get 20 minutes of peace to dick around on the internet or whathaveyou. Of course, I'll pay for that bit of funness later when I have to fish raisins out from behind the bed, and vacuum crushed crackers from the carpet (decidedly not fun), but being able to loosen up enough to let them cause that kind of a mess buys me time when I need it most. Also, letting the good times roll can diffuse a tense situation or switch the trajectory of a whinefest with relative ease. Instead of getting sucked into the bad vibes that often accompany the pre-dinner hour, I put on some fun dance music and we all bust a movay. The kids love it because they get to get naked and jump around on the couch, and I love it because it gives me proper justification for popping open that bottle of wine. Hey, its a party, woot woot! and I'm reeaaallly fun with a buzz on!
I am grateful to the kids for letting me stretch my fun boundaries with them, and I hope they will thank me for being the only mom at the playground in the princess cape and wig at least once before they deem me totally embarrassing.

Weaner

Northern elephant seal(Mirounga angustirostris)females nurse their young for about 30 days. During this time the young quadruple their birth weight and the mothers fast, unable to leave their young to return to the sea to feed. By the end of the month, the "weaners" are robust and ready to begin their independent lives, while the females are depleted and starving. So much so that the even though they will have mated about 24 days after giving birth, the fertilized egg will not implant in the wall of the uterus for about four months... a rare phenomenon called "giving the poor bitches a break"...or technically speaking "delayed implantation". After 30 days, at risk of death, the females must leave their young, weaning them abruptly by desertion.

Any mother who has nursed a baby can feel a bit of sisterhood with the elephant seal ladies. The proud, satisfying feeling of being the fount of life...knowing that each ounce gained is an ounce transferred directly from our own resources. The deep and powerful connection experienced when we can satisfy our babies' most primal needs with the unbuttoning of a blouse. The warmth of the suckling infant connected to us once again as they were in the womb. The feeling of being trapped, and of being sucked dry as the little one drinks greedily of our time, our space, our person.

At some point the time comes for every mother-offspring dyad to end the nursing relationship. For some of us the need to do this presents itself with urgency, as if we risk death by starvation if we don't soon return to the sea. For others, it is a lengthy dialogue that requires thorough processing. Sometimes, its the baby that calls it quits, leaving these mothers vacillating between feeling wounded and relieved. Regardless of the nature of the transition, weaning marks a notable shift in the mother-child dynamic, and causes psychological and biological flux.

I'm presently weaning my 20 month old son. He is our last child. He is the last baby that will settle into the rhythmic suckling which, at its best stirred powerful feelings of euphoria, and at its worst stoked the embers of resentment. I can't desert him and head out to sea, so we are going through the transition together. I'm torn. Ready to know the freedom of not being needed quite so much and afraid of becoming irrelevant. I'm moody and irritable due to the crashing levels of prolactin, and the sore boobs that I have to hand milk in the shower. Why deal with feeling so freaked out and bovine when I know exactly how to easily remedy both symptoms? He asks me to nurse. I pause. I tell him mama's milk is going away because he is getting SO big. He asks to just "try it". I pause. I tell him no. He cries for a moment or two and then he is on to the next amusement. A couple of well-timed lollipops and he glides through the usual nursing times with very little drama. Me, I need something a little stronger. I'm mourning the end of the essential maternal connection with my children. Drying up the flow of love that can be tasted and can fill an empty little belly. Marking the end of my tenure as an actively reproductive woman. No wonder I'm a little bitchy.

Mostly I wish I could bottle the milky smell of his breath after nursing. Oh, how it gives me an almost giddy feeling of well-being that I will sorely miss.

Thanks for the 38 months of active duty, boobs. You did an amazing job.

coffee people

I'm in the PDX airport waiting for my family to pick me up after a brief trip to Davis.
Being in an airport with a latte and my laptop is my kind of an outing. I can eavesdrop and peek into little snippets of people's lives as they stop for a drink or a snack before proceeding on to their next destination. For me, this is the destination. for me, this is a fix.
I get a comforting feeling being the voyeur. Present, but not accounted for. When we get together with old friends, there is always a time in the evening when all I want is to become invisible and listen. Sneak away to a spot unseen and follow the conversation of my dearest friends as if listening to them on the radio. Laughing along quietly, making comments to myself. Interaction takes an energy I can't always spare, but observation is restorative.
I find the normal business of strangers compelling as well. Bearing witness to the details of a mother lovingly folding each tiny onesie as she reorganized her carry-on in search of her daughter's small stuffed penguin. Imaging the conversation between the two bohemian guys, dressed in black, as they pick at lomein and orange chicken for breakfast.
I fucking hate reality tv, but I could watch and listen to ordinary people doing ordinary things for days. If I had super power it would be invisibility and I would sneak into your house and watch you prepare supper....follow you to work and listen to you bullshit with your co-worker about your weekend....uh...am I starting to sound creepy? Don't worry, I'm not in your closet or your trunk...I'm here at the airport stealing small moments from strangers and savoring them like sugar cubes.