Balancing Act

This morning I was stopped in the hallway of my kids' school by a mom with whom I have a friendly acquaintance. My good morning greeting was met with the increduluous question: "You have time for blogging?!"

I should elaborate further -- this is no ordinary mom. Indeed, she is the quintessential uber mom, the one who unknowingly kicks all the other moms' asses in the playground. Not only does she have four great kids (any one of whom I would gladly like to come back to life as because they are so unconditionally loved), but she is probably the single, most physically perfect specimen you might ever hope to meet. She is actually so gorgeous that you do a double take to make sure she's human, and here's the kicker, folks -- it's all natural. Add to that, that she is a multi-faceted, gregarious, intelligent person who is super organized, super involved in her kids' activities and always manages to keep her cool. (For those of you who have multiple kids, you have to realise how nearly impossible that last one is). Who else but super duper uber mom would actually cheerfully wake up at some ungodly hour on a regular basis so as to have the pleasure of freezing her butt off at the hockey rink?

Yeah, so to recap -- in a Shakespearan play, she would be cast as my foil. Unlike her, I struggle through each day, grumbling all the while; my house, car and life are in a perpetual state of chaos; my kids are probably steps away from ratting me out to Children's Aid, or at the very minimum, future candidates of long-term therapy for the many hours they've endured listening to me shriek at them like some kind of steroid charged lunatic; I devote more effort into trying to talk my children out of extra-curricular activities than I do escorting them there. My long range plan is to teach my kids' by counter example. "When you have your own family, just do the opposite of everything you grew up with".

My one comfort -- the only thing I have over uber mom is that I can find time to blog. Gee, what a surprise ... given that I don't do any of the other uber mom related activities.

What I've learned in my old age is that life is all about choices. (This is something that I have tried to pound into my kids' heads to no avail; my daughter is currently resisting learning this concept. When faced with choice A or B, she chooses C, which apparently is to flop face down onto the floor and imitate a rock).

Anyway, my point is that uber mom obviously chose to be the way she is (although she has no control over the disgustingly gorgeous and exceptionally, abnormally youthful exterior she projects on a daily basis) and I chose to be the uninvolved mom. I freely admit it. In fact, while I sit here composing this, my two older children are currently amusing themselves with a stapler and a pair of scissors. (I plan on intervening when there's the imminent threat of bloodshed).

My mother recently published a book entitled "Full-Time Mother". That's the only part I was able to read, as she wrote it in her mother tongue which unfortunately, is not one of the languages I am well versed in. From what I understand, it's a collection of personal essays somewhat along the style of a memoir. Apparently, a great number of the essays contained therein are about none other than yours truly. During the writing of said book, it became evident that my mom ran the full gamut of emotions; in the throes of incredibly cathartically induced guilt, she would phone me, quite out of the blue, full of apologies for not having spent significant time with my brother and I during our childhood. Invariably her monologue would be followed up with the defensive statement: "Well, back then, I didn't have a choice".

The most painful part of my life came long ago when I realised that in fact, we all have choices. Sure, more often than not, we are choosing between two less than desirable alternatives. (Hence, my daughter's innovative and brilliant move of opting for Plan C). But nevertheless, we still have a choice. You therefore own all of your mistakes.

When I chose to stay home following the birth of my first child, I realised that I was giving up a lot. Much of my identity was wrapped up in what I did and how successfully I did it. So I threw myself enthusiastically into newfound motherhood and embraced all the responsibilities and joys that accompanied it. As my brood grew, I started looking for other diversions. I guess, maybe I'm somewhat of a dilettante, because I felt I'd sort of reached the threshold of my abilities as a mother. Also, I think I'd shed some of my neurotic fear of what others might think of me.

The truth of the matter is: were I to choose the uber mom route, I still don't think I could pull it off with even a modicum of success.

So here I am ... electing to blog rather than to parent actively. I console myself with the lie that I'm teaching my children to be resourceful and independent, when the fact is that I just don't feel like playing right now. Maybe I should get a t-shirt made "Bug off ... I'm blogging"?