Thursday, July 27, 2006

Yo Mama

This is not your mother's blog. Unless, of course, your mother couldn't cook, iron, remember to let the dog out, or bring herself to attack the pile of laundry festering as high as the ceiling in a corner of the bedroom. I am a new kind of mom--the kind that makes modern husbands yearn for reruns of Leave It To Beaver so that they can salivate over June Cleaver's pointy bra cups, the steak on the table, and her single minded devotion to making her men happy.

Yesterday I attempted to iron a white dress shirt for a meeting that my husband--who will, from this point on, be referred to as The Partner--scheduled for this afternoon. Plucked cleanly from the dryer, the shirt was not so much wrinkled as it was unsmooth. By the end of my wrestling match with collar, sleeves and--dare I say it?--pleats, the shirt was very much wrinkled. The shoulders were slumped over a plastic hanger as I handed the shirt back to The Partner. "You'd better button your suit jacket all the way up," I said.

I do a lot, but I can't do it all. My husband would probably say I won't do it all, and though I appreciate his confidence in my innate abilities, I have to disagree. Sanity is a precipice on which I've grown accustomed to balancing, but this I know: it won't take much more than a Swiffer Duster, a bottle of Woolite and a pooper scooper to knock me totally off the edge.

I'm the mother of a one year old I call The Boss. I'm a freelance writer. I'm the president of the local chapter of the MOMS Club and I'm the co-president of a professional communications organization. Since The Boss came along, I can use the term "well-rounded" to describe not only my stomach and thighs, but my experience as a woman. Instead of feeling pigeon-holed by motherhood, I've discovered that it's opened up a world in which I am free to be the fullest, smartest, most sympathetic and most gutsy version of myself. Me, much improved.

This is not your mother's blog. It is not a mother's blog at all, at least not any more than it's a freelancer's blog, a hopeless housekeeper's blog, or an over-committed wife's blog.

These are the musings of a woman who's just beginning to find herself. One who knew better than to look in the laundry room.

14 comments:

lynsalyns said...

I am the anti-June-Cleaver. I relate.

As for ironing, it may be more expensive but that $1.25 per shirt we pay to have them pressed at the cleaners is worth its weight in gold.

toyfoto said...

Mom! It's you!!!

Seriously, though. ... household arts? Not in my family's genes.

Kate said...

I don't iron. But at any rate, I'm excited for you in the new space. One step closer to paper and print!

Horray!

GIRL'S GONE CHILD said...

I love it! You look great! Feeling the new look, mama!

Karen said...

Good to see you here.

And ironing? Not so much.

Andrea said...

I love the way you write. Seriously.

Yeah, I can't iron to save my life either. Sometimes I wonder if my husband knows what he got himself into, marrying me. But I'm glad he did anyway.

Amy said...

I just attemped ironing this morning. The outfit looked so bad when I was done I had to find something else to wear.

mamatulip said...

Awesome.

Ironing is one of those idiot things that I let go until the very last minute. It bugs me that I let it get piled up, but I don't do anything about it.

Lauren said...

When I read your entry on the other blog, the first sentence scared the living shit out of me. "wait, she's leaving?!" But then I kept on reading and was relieved when I got to book mark this site.

Glad to see you are not gone forever.

Diana's pool might be a little fast for the wee one to swim in... there are some rapids, but there are definitely spots where she can stick her feet in. Let's do August. :)

Michele said...

I love the new spot. Adding it to Bloglines right now...

Jen said...

I've decided that my iron is broken... it has to be because it never irons out the wrinkles! Put a wet face cloth in the dryer on high with whatever you want ironed out... 10-20 mins it'll be all flat and crispy!

Jenifer said...

Iron..... what is this word iron?? Do I own one of those??

Linda said...

When I first started working at American Ambulance, I actually ironed my uniforms dutifully until I got my first yearly evaluation and got a lousy 89 for "uniform". As a veteran of the Air Force I was totally appalled and dismayed to see that kind of score so I did the only thing I could think of ... I quit ironing and now take my uniforms out of the dryer and hang them up within an hour or two if I'm lucky! Heck, if I'm going to only get an '89' why bother slaving over a hot iron?? I tossed the shoe polish, too! Viva la Freedom!!

Pamela Suzanne said...

YEY! I'm going to be like that when I get older. I still have no idea how to properly iron my shirt for work. It always has some absurd crease in some ridiculous place. I absolutely love it, even if my boss does not.

Down with Donna Reed, up with... well, the modern mom!