Can I just say that raising children is tough? But raising kids amongst other mommies has to be the toughest. Along the way, there are so many theories about what to feed them, how to punish them, how to talk to them, what activities they should do, what activities they shouldn’t do. And then all of those theories filter down into subtheories with each mother having an opinion or a clause that they cannot wait to share with you.
If you feed your child kale boiled on a moonless night with two drops of ginger mixed into it, their immunity will be built up, but only against infectious shark bites.
If your child makes the track team, make sure they don’t get Mrs. Paperstitch as their coach. She likes to make the children put on ballet slippers and sauté down the field while she dresses up as a mouse and screams for cheese.
If you always talk to your child in a whisper and never let them hold a match but always let them hold the dragon-shaped firework obtained from the tallest fairy in the mushroom patch, they will grow up to be doctors.
So many darn theories.
And it does not matter.
It always happens.
At every single open house.
Words of wisdom and advice will be given.
And sometimes I can hear them coming from my own contaminated lips. The words rolling from my open mouth before my brain can shut the fleshy doors to the sounds. My advice probably not needed. My council preferably not recommended. My need to share more for my own validation than for another’s benefit.
And yet, we all do it.
We mommy other mommies.
It is as though becoming a parent to one or a few has made us capable of judging all of the other parents out there simply by how we are deciding to do things. Oh, I do it, too. In fact, I do it all of the time. In my mind, I am probably even slow motioning a theatrical, “Ohhhhh,” as my inner eyes roll and my gavel bangs down. Of course, some mothers make it all too easy to prosecute them. I am not speaking of those select few. I am speaking of the average mom. The mommy with chocolate on her pants and shredded cheese on the floor of her car. The one who got tired and bribed her child in front of you or gave the kid a form of food you would not feed your own.
Can we agree to stop this nonsense? To form together and not care what Joan is feeding Timmy or what teacher little Suzy got. Guess what? It will all work out. It really, really will. Suzy will be just fine with Mrs. Prudence. Timmy will grow up to become a vegetarian. And no one will remember what your child did. They will remember only how you made them feel about their own child.
I call a truce.
No more mommying oth…
Did you hear?
No, it really is true!
All you have to do to make your child behave is to dress them entirely in blue from the age of four to the age of ten and feed them milk from a tig…
*If you are wondering if someone set me off to write this post. Well, they did… It was me. Ugh, sometimes that woman deserves more than an eye roll.
Also, please do not attempt any theories read on this post at home. I heard the mommy who invented them is crazy. At least that is what one voice in my head keeps telling me.