Monday, April 12, 2010

Pearls before whine

The Roo-girl had a dream recently.

In her words, a weird one.

In her dream, she went into a house. Was it our house? She wasn't sure.

In the house was a mom. Roo was clearly aware that it wasn't HER mom. This mom, she explained, was like a 1950s mom.

Donna Reed. June Cleaver. You know the type: perfectly coiffed hair, a lovely belted dress, pearls, the quintessential stay-at-home-bake-me-some-cookies-domestic-goddess mom.

Pretty much everything that I am not.

I don't vacuum in pearls. I pretty much don't vacuum.

I don't bake much anymore either. I used to. But somehow there isn't time these days.

And I am NOT a lovely belted dress person. The first thing I do when I get home from work is strip out of my business-casual clothes in favor of jeans and a sweatshirt.

Do I have guilt over this? Yes, over some of it. The domestic goddess part, for sure.

I wish I could be the kind of mom who had freshly baked brownies to greet my child after school.

I wish I could be the kind of mom who was THERE to greet my child after school.

But that has not been my lot in life. These days, with my non-newspaper new(ish) job, I get off work significantly earlier, but when Roo doesn't have cheer practice after school, she comes home to an empty house.

And that's been her world since the fifth grade, when she convinced me to stop making her go to the afterschool daycare until the stroke of 6 p.m.

So she tells me her dream of the 1950s mom, and I die a little inside.

And then she finishes the story.

"I told her I had to go," she recalls, "and she said, 'I'll be here when you get back.'

"I wasn't sure what she wanted from me. I thought it was really creepy."

Ok, then. The 1950s mom was creepy.

Perhaps that's because the 2010 daughter can't relate.

And I think that still makes me a little sad.

Crossposted at Mid-Century Modern Moms

9 comments:

Indigo said...

I think it says on some levels Roo is content with the mother she has. I used to be a one woman printer in a family business. What that meant - when I picked up my daughter from school I would have old ink stained clothes on and ink smeared somewhere across my face. I usually didn't have time to even glance in the mirror, rushing out the door.

Then we would come back to the shop and she would have to sit quietly for an hour or so until I finished working.

Honestly I don't think the 1950's mom could hack it these days. Just saying. (Hugs)Indigo

Roger said...

Imagine having brownies waiting for you when you get home from school.

Now, imagine how fat you would get.

I wouldn't fret over Roo's dream, unless it was in black and white, because that would be weird. :)

Kaytabug said...

That was her version of Coraline!!
We are our own worst critic.
She loves the Momma she has!!

Jaina said...

I know without a doubt that Roo still loves you and is blessed to have such a wonderful mother, pearls and brownies or not.

LceeL said...

Gah!! The last of my illusions ... CRUSHED! And here I was willing to bet you made bagels from scratch.

Tara R. said...

I used to feel so guilty when I worked away from home, now that I am home 24/7 I feel unappreciated. I don't think I'll ever win.

You do what you have too, and I think the kids understand.

Burgh Baby said...

Y'know, I don't think I like that 1950s mom who can't at all relate to kids because she's too busy making sure her pearls are on straight. I'm just sayin'.

red pen mama said...

I'm actually pretty proud to be a WOTHM — I think my girls will get a sense of self-worth knowing that there are lots of ways to "be there" for your kids.

That being said, I also love our weekends (most of the time) when we are all together. It's all a balancing act.

I'm sure Roo loves the mom she has!

Karen said...

Don't be sad - you're looking at it all wrong. Everyone loves the mom they have best. If you tried being the mom you idolize, you'd lose the adoration of your family. They love you for who you are.

So do I. I need other moms to be less than Cleaver because I'm hanging in jeans and a sweatshirt, covered in dog hair. But we're happy here. Just like you're happy there.

 
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