You know where my Mom guilt derives from?
Not my bad ass parents. Not my low self esteem created from having small boobs in high-school or needing braces for five years with a 1980’s head gear. Nope.
It comes from the Satanic Crazy Making of Social Media.
“Let she who has not sinned cast the first status update.”
No more attention will be paid to the shaming and blaming from posts demanding I let my kids outdoors more, pull the plug on screens or feed them organic, GMO, overpriced, handmade snacks. I care not to share your chain posts insisting I “like” it if I have daughter I love. Of course I love my daughter. I don’t need to increase anyone’s attention to that but her own.
People who post that shit really piss me off. Oh sure you think you are being helpful. You are cheering on and coveting a perfect childhood you think you had.
Guess what? It wasn’t how much time you played outside or that your food was actually organic back then. It was the fact that your mother wasn’t going nuts trying to keep up to the Jones’s. She was aware of what they had, but she wasn’t afraid. Not like today’s “super mom” who has access to endless ideas. Your mamma wasn’t pressured to DIY her own laundry soap. She used what was on Sale. Full of chemicals. You ‘re fine right? And you have a sensory memory that makes you warm all over when you smell it.
She also didn’t take a picture of everything you made, ate or pooped, hence saving her from constant high fives online. You know what happens when you are praised by the words “adorable,” “amazing,” and “sooooo cute” twenty times a day? You eliminate all room for the shitty stuff. You can’t post normal crappy dinners you make out of a can, not after seeing at least six magazine- worthy entrées other moms posted that evoked “delish!” and “mmmm” comments. No one is going to “yummy!” your Beefaroni. Ever. Unless they are a sarcastic.
The only pictures you need to take when you are near food is of the waiter who served you. That guy is a hero. Other acceptable pics of food can be from professional food photographers, chefs or starving people who finally get a hot meal so we can all feel good about it.
But moms, really? Stop playing with your food and just fucking eat it, like your mama did. The only pictures of food from your childhood are of birthday cakes. And not that she was proud, but because the number of candles helped her remember what year it was when she finally developed the film five years later.
You want to share a “How to be A Better Mom” tip? Suck it. Don’t preach to me about letting my kids outside more. Don’t shame me for the hours upon hours of T.V. time. It’s all about balance.
In this helicopter-parent world, we spend plenty of time with our kids. If the T.V. is on a few hours more than society likes, it’s because you shared a warning that half my toys were recalled. Your mama never dealt with recalls. Hell, you only had ten toys that were all made in your own country. They were safe. Yeah, you licked a lot of lead, but you won’t know the effects of that for a while yet.
Just be normal on social media for once. I don’t want to like your coiffed, perfectly good looking selfie. I can see the shitty mess all over your bathroom behind you. You ain’t foolin’ no one. I get it. We are all amazed by photo filters that make us look like a super model. But one every now and then is enough. Selfies that are too pretty are today’s Glamour Shots. Remember those? You won’t want those selfies of today embarrassing you tomorrow.
And please stop saying how damn blessed you feel for every little thing. We’re all blessed. Get over it. Your mama never went around expecting all her friends to wish her a happy birthday. She maybe had a little party, if it was a milestone year. They ate jello-mold desserts and had some cheese fondue. She felt blessed at Christmas and Thanksgiving. She maybe said it to herself. But she didn’t send out cards to all her contacts saying how blessed she felt that the sun shines a lot where she lives. She just sat there and got a dangerous tan.
So maybe grab a tea and sit down with your mamma and ask her how it was back then. I bet she has some good advice on getting real.