I will Mary Poppins the shit out of motherhood, but when I’m off the clock? Do not expect me to offer a spoonful of sugar to help the conversation go down.
I like to swear. Sometimes it’s not needed just like when you’re painting a pastel, do you really need another shade of blue?
But it helps me identify the other inside of me. Not the mom or the pretty little wife. It helps me differentiate from my “Supposed to be” with the “Reality”.
I used to ask for forgiveness when I swore knowing full well that my grandma reads this here website. So does my mom, sometimes Aaron will check in, my mother in law …
And I still cringe when I know I’m running hot and impulsive with my words. When I punch out the anger and the four letters lay in front of me, white with fury.
There are times I’ll edit them out but most of the time? I say it loudly and rampant because it’s in me. These words I don’t want to hold on to, the ferocious little bird pecking away at my resolve.
I’ve just decided (I do that now, decide things.) that I don’t have to choose between my image of a mother and my yearning to meet that with the reality of my darkness. Of my imperfections, of the colorful life I already have. I don’t have to color inside the lines, or, scribble wildly outside of them.
I am the role model for my children. I read this somewhere recently: about how to react to your kids when your temper is short (or insert any number of reasons why it’s difficult to be the level headed human being you’d like to be in front of your kids) and I keep repeating that one line over and over again.
I am the role model for my children. It’s not anyone else’s job; in fact, I fight pretty damn hard for that title. And I want my kids to be more than one dimensional. I’m not interested in vanilla ideas, one way thinking, archaic design.
Why then have I tried so very hard to give them just that?