Mothers develop their own logic, a sort of sixth sense that allows them to navigate the obstacles of parenthood. This logic is beyond what any other mortal can comprehend or understand. Once again, as a service to my audience, let me decipher Mom Logic for you.

Mom Logic #1
Apple pie or other fruit confection is fine for breakfast

From the outside this may look like I am feeding my child dessert. However, when the alternative to apple pie is either a Pop Tart, breakfast cereal, or a frozen waffle a piece of apple pie is actually a nutritional improvement.

Mom Logic #2
Any pacifier/rattle that has fallen on the floor can be picked up, licked clean by mom and returned to child.

I recognize that the saliva in a mother has never been scientifically proven to contain anti-bacterial components. However, my immune system is far stronger than my child’s immune system. My patience is far weaker. As a result, I’d rather lick as many germs off as possible and then give it back to my child in order to prevent a further melt down or tantrum. No harm no foul.

Mom Logic #3
If all is quiet something is wrong.

This kind of thinking is not because mothers are inherently negative, cynical party poopers. No, this logic comes from too many experiences discovering that your child has found a new way to entertain themselves that includes one of the following; washing their face in the toilet, unrolling an entire roll of toilet paper, smearing all of your make up on the wall, or putting all of your underwear on their head as a jaunty hat. (yes, I have experienced all of these things personally).

Mom Logic #4
Worrying insures that the outcome will be positive

You can tell a mother a thousand times that worrying is not productive and she will look at you like you are an idiot. This is because mothers know, for a fact, that worrying prevents bad things from happening. Why? Because if we worry a sufficient amount that means we have thought of, and prepared for, all possible problems or outcomes. If we have prepared properly than nothing bad can happen. However, we can only plan properly if we have worried sufficiently.

Mom Logic #5
Always make too much food

This always appears as if mothers are incapable of judging the proper amount of food to cook for their family. This is not the case. Instead, mothers have learned that whatever food they make for child A will also, spontaneously be desired by child B, even though child B has never eaten or shown a desire for that food before. As a result, mothers must cook extra food to account for any, and all possible meal combination. (see Mom Logic #4).

This post was supposed to be for a blogging contest, but I missed the entry deadline. Oh well. However, I still liked the idea so I wrote the post anyways. I’m sure I would have won.

When I was in fifth grade I wrote a series of stories about a squirrel and knew that some day I would grow up and be a famous author. I went on to study creative writing in college where I realized my dreams far outstripped my abilities. I wrote lots of bad poetry and even worst fiction. However, as time has gone by I’ve learned to appreciate those young attempts at creativity for what they were – honest yearnings. I stretched beyond my own ability to communicate.

Recently, my father sent me one of those early poems and ironically said “I think you wrote this when you were 14”. No Daddy, I wrote it when I was 21. Although emotionally I was probably closer to 14. This poem will not win me any awards or accolades, but I did think it was a sweet tribute to my own father. With sheer terror in my heart I have decided to share it with my gentle readers (if you are not gentle, please don’t read).

Father

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions
And if it is “we’ll cross that bridge when we get there”
Math is just shorthand for English
And science is applicable to your everyday life
What are you going to do with that English Degree?
There are girls boys date and there are girls boys marry
Here’s 5 dollars who ever heard of a poor princess?
Don’t tell me how to operate the VCR, I’m an engineer
Who doesn’t know the name of Grant’s horse?
I believe I said NO, what didn’t you understand?
Go ask your mother
Spouting feminist dribble again? -Good
What have you learned in school? What do you know?
Actions speak louder than words
Mother — she’ll be just fine — let her go

David has been working very long hours. The kind of hours that breeds family dissatisfaction. This afternoon as Lucy and I sat in her pop-up princess clubhouse, discussing the many sides of Barbie, she said to me, “I can’t wait to party with Daddy tonight”. When I passed this along to David he felt obligated to bring “the funk” tonight. He declared that we would go to Chuck E Cheese. Now, I recognize that for most families this is a special event, but this took on even more significance in our house because this would be our first visit. Yes, at five years old Lucy has NEVER been to a Chuck E. Cheese.

There are several reasons why I dislike Chuck E. Cheese; the lack of teeth in the people taking my order, the unease that somebody is spitting in my food, the fear of hidden child molesters, bad pizza and the proliferation of germs on every hard surface. However, all of these could be overlooked if it wasn’t for the suffocating air of pathetic suburban living that seems to envelope me when I walk in. They should hang a sign above the door that says “Abandon all hope of ever being cool ye who enter here”. Chuck E. Cheese is a flash point of all things that are terrible about living in the suburbs. I’m eating bad pizza, on paper plates, watching a 16 year old dressed as a giant mouse make unruly children scream and march around a giant indoor park. I’m being charged $40 to play carnival games that are rigged so my kid can’t win, but instead receive 10 tickets that they can redeem for an equally tacky trinket that will be in my garbage in less than 24 hours. There is absolutely nothing redeemable about the experience and during the entire time you feel even more pathetic for having been sucked into this vortex of mediocrity and bad taste.

There are good things about the suburbs. I don’t worry about my kids playing in the backyard. We have a backyard. The house we own is about a 1,000 sq feet larger than what we could afford if we lived IN Dallas. We have safe, good public schools. I’m a five minute drive from anything I could ever want or need. However, my house looks like about 75% of the other houses in my neighborhood. My husband has to drive an hour to work. I can’t walk to anything except the doughnut shop and the middle school.

Unfortunately, sitting in Chuck E. Cheese I feel as if I’ve disappointed the younger more idealistic version of myself. As if I have finally sold out and perhaps this is what bothers me most. Sitting under those fluorescent lights with the odd combination of grease and disinfectant wafting in the air I feel embarrassed. I’m better than this. My kids deserve better than this. And all of this self-loathing and contemplation is spurred because of Chuck E. Cheese and their terrible pizza. That is why I doubt we’ll go back.

In this brief video Lucy tries to explain why things are going missing in our house. Specifically, she is concerned about the sudden disappearance of Max’s last pacifier. Hmmm……..

** sorry about the poor lighting. See what happens when an amateur is given a camera?

It took David and I several years to find our church. David has a degree in public speaking and a background in music, and so finding a pastor who was a great speaker combined with professional music was challenginge. Plus, we aren’t exactly the “dress-up” kind of people. I don’t even own a dress and David only owns the required wedding/funeral suit. I recognize that our church is not for everyone. If you are looking for a choir in robes, or Easter bonnets, well our church is not it. One of the things that really appealed to David and I was how hard they work to make the word of God accessible. Our pastors, who both have Phd’s in theology, are about as humble and hip as you could find. They are on Facebook, they have a blog, they post podcasts, they take questions via text message. Last night David and I were talking about the bible and had a question. I posted the question on Facebook, and in less than three hours I had a message back from one of our senior pastors. How cool is that? Our Easter service (which you can listen to HERE) was very unique. They opened up the service with a DJ spinning and the rapper Manafest performing. You can see Manafest’s video HERE. At any rate, instead of listening to the “what” of Easter (the resurecction) we heard about the “so what” of Easter. Once again, making me leave our church feeling empowered for the week ahead.

At fourteen my parents began openly cursing in front of me. From that point on swearing became a staple in our household vocabulary. Ironically, my parents also stressed that people who cursed were just showing their own limited vocabulary. As a result, I became a young adult who cursed but hated the fact that I did. Once I hit about 25 I began making the yearly resolution to give up swearing. It didn’t really take until I moved to Texas. Living in the bible belt REALLY makes you self aware of how much you swear. Although my vocabulary periodically trends to the colorful, as a rule I keep it clean. But what about the blog?

Deciding on the subjects you write about on your blog and how you go about doing it is a personal choice for each blogger. This reminds me of that quote from Jerry Seinfeld who said that using profanity is a “comedy shortcut”. When I look at bloggers that I find particularly funny, Dooce and The Bloggess, I wonder if it is because they use the f-word in relation to motherhood. Is it their frequent use of shocking language in conjunction with the banality of motherhood that actually makes them funny? If they didn’t swear would they still be funny? That doesn’t mean that I’m somehow superior because I try to go for the joke without the use of profanity. (I would only be superior if I was actually funny or if my jokes actually worked). Is The Bloggess funny because she is blatantly offensive to EVERYBODY or because she is truly witty and talented? I don’t know, but I’d sure like to see her write a post without the f-word and see how it works out.

David has one characteristic that is diametrically at odds with me – his inability to plan/think ahead. I, of course, am a first class planner and am known for discussing next year’s Thanksgiving day plans while still enjoying Thanksgiving dinner. I recognized this flaw while planning our wedding. While my mother and I were busy trying to determine flowers, music, colors, etc David didn’t understand what all the rush was about. I almost killed him. Over the years I’ve learned to appreciate this attribute. I’ve learned to recognize God’s wisdom in putting us together. In other words, I’ve learned to go with the flow a bit more. However, once in awhile these adamantly opposed characteristics rear their ugly heads for marital disputes that are monumental.

From the time the pregnancy test came back positive David indicated that he wanted to send our kids to private school. He had attended a private elementary school and felt that it had given him a solid footing in his education. I, having no strong opinions on the issue, agreed. As the time grew closer for Lucy to attend school I began doing research. I spent close to a year reading about schools, asking families, parents, co-workers, etc. I called schools, visited schools, and read about curriculum choices. I whittled the selection down to three schools which I presented to David in a Powerpoint presentation, including a full financial comparison. (Yes, I am THAT anal retentive). He then selected two schools from my presentation that he wanted to visit in person. After those visitations we selected a school. I then eagerly picked up the reigns and drove the application process until Lucy was accepted and we were ready to pay the bill and sign on the dotted line. Mission Complete!

Although we’ve had the final papers for admission for close to two weeks it is only now, 48 hours before the deadline, that I’ve gotten David to focus on signing them. As he waivered over the papers he turned to me and said; “why are we doing this again? I mean this is A LOT of money. Why aren’t we sending her to public school?” It is due only to the fact that we have been married for eight years that I didn’t instantly begin strangling him. After close to 18 months of research and examining the schools does he only NOW want to talk about this with me? It is only NOW that the costs seem prohibitive? Not the dozen or so times I had talked about it before? Every atom in my body began tingling when he said that. I wanted to say; “ARE YOU SERIOUS?! ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT ALL THE TIME AND ENERGY I’VE INVESTED IN THIS DECISION WAS A WASTE BECAUSE YOU JUST WANT TO SEND OUR KIDS TO PUBLIC SCHOOL?” or maybe something more like; “IF YOU DON’T SIGN THESE PAPERS I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU EAT THEM.”

However, I said neither of these things. I calmly explained (for the 1,512th time) why we had decided on this particular school. I listened to his objections (again) and answered his questions (again) struggling to not let neither sarcasm nor resentment creep into my voice. When my answers failed I pulled out my ace; “you know, you should call your mother and talk to her about this”. My MIL is a woman who has got my back. After a quick fifteen minute conversation David was back on my side and signed the papers. Crisis diverted.

You see a good marriage is not between two people who don’t fight, but between two people who have learned to fight effectively. I could have pointed out his inability to think ahead and how much it drives me crazy, but that wouldn’t have gotten me what I wanted. I needed to let him wander around and turn over all the rocks one last time before he committed our money. I knew eventually he’d sign the papers, he just needed that time. Although if he had delayed signing those papers just a minute longer I would have kicked his ass.

I won’t do it. I refuse. I cannot support one more fictional character invading my house and giving my kids candy. I’m all for Santa Claus and even the Tooth Fairy, but the Easter Bunny? C’mon people. I have a daughter who at three years old told me the characters at Disney World were really people wearing costumes. You think she’s going to believe a giant rabbit busted into her house in the middle of the night and left eggs? Oh, and last year she asked me how the Easter Bunny carried all those eggs. How does he do it? I have no idea. Not to mention that I have a hard enough time balancing Passover Seder and Easter dinner you want me to throw in some pagan spring rituals too? I can’t do it people. I won’t. Happy freakin’ Easter!