This Is Not Your Mama’s Mommy Blog

The first thing anybody asks you when you tell them you write a blog is, “What’s it about?”

That question isn’t an easy one for me because how do you explain that your blog is about all the bizarre crap that bounces around inside your head? Nobody wants to hear that. They want to hear, “I write a mommy/decorating/fashion/couponing/homeschooling/living-on-a-budget/how-to-blog blog.”

Sorry, folks. I’m THE LAST PERSON who needs to be dishing advice on anything. I’m barely passing the whole adulthood thing myself. The fact that I gestated another human being and have kept him alive for fifteen years is no small miracle, considering what my track record is with plants.

I guess my blog can best be described as random chaos with some humor mixed in. I don’t really have any rhyme or reason to what I write. A topic usually starts swirling around in my head as something in life is going on and I usually already have an outline and a few zingers ready to go by the time I sit down with the laptop.

And sometimes, like my I Love Rock n Roll post, the ridiculousness just drops in my lap like a gift from the writing gods.

Two of the most popular kinds of blogs are Mommy Blogs and Fashion Blogs. I did think it might be fun to imagine what kind of “nuggets of wisdom” I might impart if I were to have one of these niche blogs. You have to write about what you know, so here’s what I know…

AWS as a Mommy Blog

Hello, dear readers, and welcome to the Angel Who Swears Mommy blog. Today’s topic is all the ways the world makes you feel like a bad parent.

You will feel bad because you didn’t breastfeed your kids until they were in kindergarten. Or possibly because you DID breastfeed until they were in kindergarten. Or you didn’t breastfeed at all. Well, guess what bitches…?

You will feel bad because you sometimes open a box of Mac and Cheese for dinner instead of making a 6 course meal three times a day.

And speaking of mac and cheese, my toddler called it “Crap mac n cheese” because he couldn’t say “Kraft”. And guess what? I didn’t correct him. I made him say it over and over and laughed about it.

That’s right. I laughed at my two year old saying “Crap”. If I allowed it, the world would judge me and make me feel badly about laughing at a toddler saying “crap”. But I never claimed to have a sophisticated sense of humor. Beavis and Butthead makes me laugh.

Before you start freaking out that I’m one of “those” parents who lets their kid go around saying or doing whatever he wants in any situation, I will say that although the language is pretty “loose” in our house, the boy knows how to behave around other people and that some people are offended by the colorful vocabulary we embrace in our home.

What happens in our casa stays in our casa.

You will be made to feel bad because you bought a Halloween costume instead of making one and you didn’t spend the thirty days leading up to Halloween making crafts and recipes you found on Pinterest.

That’s ok, though, because my kiddo loved his Spider Man costume from Target and he ate all the cookies I baked from the tube that I also bought at Target. It didn’t matter to him that I have no sewing skills or that I was too tired to make cookies from scratch. A happy kid is a win in my book.

You will feel bad because the internet has a way of making you feel that other moms have their shit together. You’ll actually believe that other women have struck the perfect balance between work and home or that SAHMs (stay at home moms) have found enough hours in the day to get it all done.

Ummm…yeah…I’ve got a crusty kitchen floor that says otherwise.

When your husband has to wear his work boots to go to the refrigerator, you KNOW the “home” part of the work/home balance has been neglected.

You will be made to feel bad because sometimes you need to get away from your kids, even while you’re in the same house with them. Especially when someone has taken somebody else’s toy or pulled somebody’s hair or looked at them funny. Especially after they screamed for two hours last night and you gave in and let them sleep in your bed and they kicked you in the head 20 times like a mini Sumo Wrestler. Especially when they’re throwing a fit because you gave them the wrong color sippy cup.

Especially when they’re 14 years old and “forgot” about their research project they’ve known about for two weeks and it’s due tomorrow morning.

And it’s 8:00 p.m.

And The Walking Dead just started.

And you need a fucking poster board.

As far as I’m concerned, you can’t call yourself a parent unless you’ve actually hidden from your kids in a bathroom with liquor, snacks, and your cell phone at least once.

Sometimes you’ve gotta steal time for yourself like Patrick Swayze grabbing money in the bank in Point Break.

Only without the Ronald Reagan mask.

Unless you’re into that.

Freak.

 

 

AWS as a Fashion Blog

Hello, Fashionistas!

I hate rules. Especially rules that treat me like I’m not an adult and can’t make simple decisions for myself, like what I’m going to cover my naked body with so that I don’t traumatize my teenager and get arrested when I walk out the door. But some of the fashion blogs geared toward women over forty are FULL OF RULES.

Some examples of “rules” I’ve actually read in these blogs include:

• Don’t wear “message shirts” or shirts that otherwise have writing on them.
• Don’t wear dark lipstick or black eyeliner around your entire eye.

I’m totally not making this list up. These are things I’ve actually read!

• Don’t wear cute, trendy clothing that your 21 year old would wear. For example, jeans with bling on them or jeans that are distressed.

Well, shit, Carrie from Sex in the City…if I can’t wear my favorite dark plum lipstick, ripped jeans, and Iron Maiden T-shirt, what am I SUPPOSED to wear to scare all the soccer moms at the Farmer’s Market on Saturday mornings?

• Don’t wear leggings with a short top.

Ok…I might agree with that one. Nobody wants to see your camel toe. Your hoo-hah is reserved for your intimate partners, your gyno and any human beings you might have pushed out of it. None of the rest of us want to see it, especially when it’s in the process of eating your pants.

But then again, who am I to judge? I’m sure I’ve showed off my share of muffin top and back fat too. If you like leggings as pants, embrace it. Own it. Work it.

Do you see what I mean about so many rules? I guess I’ll just bust out the elastic waist pants and sensible shoes so I can watch “60 Minutes” and be in bed by 8 p.m.

It’s no secret that a lot of the women who are now writing these “Over Forty” fashion blogs are the types of girls I never had much in common with in high school. They were the girls who were tying their sweaters around their necks and wearing cute lacy ankle socks with their pastel shorts as they ignored people like me from the Mean Girl Table.

It’s also no secret that I used to push some of these girls down the stairs sometimes and pretend I had “stumbled”.

When this occurred, I was probably wearing black spandex, studded leather boots, and a gallon of Aqua Net in my super teased hair. At least on free dress days anyway. I went to a Catholic school where we wore white button down blouses and grey and red striped wool skirts most of the time.

Wool! In the desert! They knew how to make us LIVE Catholic Penance!

Anyway, these “rules” just don’t work for me.

How would I describe my personal style now?

I would describe it as, “It fits. It’s comfortable. It looks good on my 46 year old ass.”

Ok, but this is supposed to be my imagining of a fashion blog, so what’s my fashion advice? If you have made it to your mid-forties at least somewhat intact, then wear whatever the hell you want. You earned it. Just don’t expect to show up at the store in pajama pants and hooker heels and not end up on the People of Walmart website.

Want more tips? Here are a few. Heed them at your own risk:

Sock Monkey hats are highly underrated. I highly recommend that every woman over forty wear a sock monkey hat out in public and then sit back and enjoy watching people wonder if you’ve got early onset dementia or if you just got separated from your Furry Fetish Support Group.

Resting bitch face never goes out of style. This particular accessory has served me well over the years because I’ve been able to avoid unnecessary and/or unwanted conversations just by looking normal. Also, I found out years later that some of the girls in high school were somewhat intimidated by me, which I thought was bizarre, since I mostly kept to myself and my small circle of friends. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the whole “stumbling on the stairs” thing and was totally because of my RBF. Right?

Carry a purse big enough to stash a small child in. Remember that scene in The Breakfast Club when they were going through each other’s wallets and bags and Ally Sheedy dumped her purse out on the table and a whole box of tampons, underwear, makeup and food fell out?

That’s me. Except I don’t have a cool response like, “You never know when you gotta jam!” Mine is more like, “I have kids and grandkids and I’m kind of a hoarder that forgets to clean out her purse.”

To be fair, I come from a long line of women who could survive in the jungle with just what they had in their handbag. My grandmother used to steal all the sugar, coffee creamers and napkins on the tables at restaurants. My aunt would buy her the gallon jug of creamer from Sam’s to use at home, but it didn’t matter. She needed those five creamers from Grandy’s “just in case”.

I used to make fun of my Mom for her own big-ass purse when I was a teenager, but in my old age, I’ve come to appreciate a well-stocked, bigger-than-both-of-the-Olsen-twins-combined handbag. I mean, if the Zombie Apocalypse happens, that stack of napkins is going to come in handy for stopping the flow of blood from amputated limbs that were hacked off so that the zombie bite doesn’t spread and change you.

You know. Just in case.

Plus, if you happen to have kids, you don’t even need to bring a diaper bag when you go out with me, because I have diapers in 3 sizes, pull-ups, and a whole container of wet wipes and butt cream.

Don’t judge. What if you break down on the side of the road at lunch time? You’re going to wish you were with me and my Coach® Vending Machine. It’s stocked with peanut butter crackers, Goldfish, protein bars and breath mints plus an insulated bottle with a refreshing beverage.

Conclusions

Here is my take away from all this:

• I’m no expert. Seriously. Don’t ask me about anything. My advice could result in sudden injury or even death.
• Following my advice could also possibly result in an appearance on “People of Walmart”. Sock monkey hat. Ginormous handbag full of stuff. Resting bitch face. Toddlers saying “Crap Macaroni and Cheese”. Dude, we’re going to be famous!
• Pushing people down the stairs is not nice. However, being a Mean Girl is also not nice. So, Karmically speaking, I think I’m ok.
• I suddenly have the urge to watch “Point Break” and “The Breakfast Club”.

Wearing a Ronald Reagan mask.