Wonder Mommy....does it again?

So no responses from yesterday's post but we'll just call it growing pains ;).  At any rate, I was talking with my sister yesterday about my blogging plans and she gave me some really excellent insight on where I'm headed with this thing.  Let's face it, I'm not an expert at blogging.  It was like playing with a best friend as a child who had the coolest toy that you begged your parent to buy you and they eventually caved.  So you get the thing home, you tear into the box, but you realize you have no idea how to play with it.  Time to call your friend who already has that toy, because you are clueless :). 


We talked over some really key components of my blog.  She said it sounded like a rant.  Seriously people...crickets went over at that point.  Anyone who knows me knows that I don't accept criticism all that well so of course I went into it with her about why it WASN'T a rant.  Eventually she saw my point.  I grabbed the nearest magazine I have aimed at parents (trust me there are like nine I subscribe to) and flipped through the pages at her.  Page after page after page displayed all these women (models, half of them not even having children of their own I'm sure) draped across the pages in their clean homes, watching their genetically superior progeny write a symphony while they play.  Well, maybe not a symphony but have you paid attention to some of the ads we see on a day to day basis?  My fave is Kelly Ripaa.  Here this lady is with a muscular toned body, a family, and she's the spokesperson for electrolux.  In this commercial she's magically whipping up snacks for her kids and effortlessly going about the laundry all while looking like she doesn't even have children.  Even the diaper box staring back at me when I walk into my son's room has this women on it smiling back at me like she's the best mom ever. 


Am I jealous?  I would be lying if I didn't admit that deep down inside somewhere past all the papers I have due, my issues at work, my husbands issues at work, my children's to do lists for school, the to do list for the house, that pair of socks in the hallway thought and the shirt of the back of the chair memory....It's in there.  I really do yearn for that type of "put-togetherness" but I think it happens to be a bit more rare than what media would like to lead on. 


The last mom I encountered was in the grocery store line holding her three year old (yep...3) wearing sweatpants, a shirt with juice stains on it, and her hair pulled up into a bun/pony (it was a tad messy so yes...it looked like a bun but had portions falling out so technically it qualified as a pony) tail.  Her 3 year old was throwing Cheetos on the floor, had orange sticky fingers, and was telling his mom to pick them up. 


Did I judge this woman?  Do we as a society judge this woman?  I observed her physical appearance and demeanor with her son, but deep down...I knew where she was coming from.  This woman was exhausted.  She didn't care what her son was saying at that point because she'd escaped to Mommy land.  Ahh..mommy land.  Such a nice place to retreat to for awhile.  There's everything you like there and everything you've ever dreamed of in this place.  It hangs off the walls with a white angelic hue, almost as if you're in a store!  Shopping, everything you love and have ever dreamed...right there in boutique-esque fun....I digress.  And not even just mom's encounter this.  It's not isolated just to the mom population. 


Men..you have man land.  It consists of cars you've always wanted, women you've always wished you had, that one you saw yesterday that required you to pull your jaw off the floor, your boss floating away on a cloud out the door, and other man type fantasies.  You escape there every chance you have...(date night when there isn't a game on in the restaurant to watch...can I get an Amen ladies??!). 


We all have ways of coping.  Maybe a juice stained t-shirt and sweats was all she could muster that day.  Maybe when picking her battles her bun/pony was the choice of the moment versus the extra 10 minutes she didn't have for a blown out, flattened, and shiny coif.  Some people would say this is letting go of yourself.  But what if it was really choosing the less of two evils?  What if it was a desperate choice in a sea of choices?  What if she was really clinging to every buoy around her in a sea of choices?  Is that really letting go...or is it fighting?