At my sister’s wedding, Thatcher was just 6 weeks old. I was in the wedding and Michael officiated. Trying to figure out the schedule of everything when it came to my two little munchkins was definitely an ulcer-inducing feat! Since I was required to be ready before the boys, my wonderful husband dressed the boys and brought them to the family portion of the pictures.

Imagine my surprise when Pierson walked into the room in highwater overalls. From the time I packed the outfit in the suitcase to the time Michael dressed Pierson, those overalls must have seriously shrunk 5 inches…either that or he’d grown that much (wink…wink). Parent fail. Note to self: Next time, try on clothes before the photographs forever confirm your parenting failure.

photograph by Nick Donner-http://www.nicholasdonner.com/

A friend complimented my newly painted toenails, which I painted myself.  And if you’ve ever experienced a humungo pregnant belly like mine, you know what a feat painting toenails can be during the time when you’ve got a bowling ball size tumor protruding from your abdomen.

I relayed the compliment to my husband who wondered why painting toenails was a big deal while pregnant.

Without another word, I went to the yard.  Grabbed a soccer ball.  Returned to the house.  Shoved it up his shirt and asked him to touch his toes continuously for the next few minutes.

“Oh.”

: one that is old-fashioned, unimaginative, or conservative

I am a fuddy–duddy.

In high school, cool teenagers place all mothers in a stereotypical mold.  To a teenager, a mother has too many strict rules; crosses her brow too often; never lets you have any fun; and drives a minivan.

As a college student, our perception of mom changes.  The child becomes grateful for the mother’s sacrifices; better understands why her brow was crossed often; yet she still drives a minivan.  In college, you also swear you’ll never be THAT mom (you know: ‘the minivan one…’). 

Yesterday, I became THAT mom.  Kicking and screaming, I entered into the world of  AMVOOA (Anonymous Mini-Van Owners of America.)  Yet, somehow, I don’t think I’ll be able to anonymously drive something down the road that (in my mind) is about as honkin’ as a semi.

It’s funny how our perception and reality adjusts as we get older.  ***Spoiler Alert: This is my “I-acknowledge-that-I’m-a-terrible-person admission of the day.***Prior to having Pierson, I saw dirty kids in the grocery store and swore I’d never be THAT mom.  My kids would ALWAYS be clean and well groomed.  HA!  It doesn’t matter how often I change Pierson’s clothes (sometimes several times a day), he still looks like I dragged him through the dirt cycle of a washing machine, if there was such a cycle.  My new standard:  He’s clean if there’s about a dime-size spotless area on his outfit. 

After all, Newton’s First Law aptly applies to my child.  I think it goes something like this: Every (messy) object in a state of uniform motion stays in motion until it lands on Pierson’s shirt.

I’ve given up caring. 

Our reality definitely shifts–I know mine has.  I’ve become more understanding of mom’s with scraggly-lookin’ kids, and have given up my judgemental ways.  So, the next time you see a messy kid in Kroger, smile.  I promise the kid has been bathed recently.  And the next time you see a lady driving a minivan, don’t judge.  If she’s anything like me, she’s probably imagining she’s driving a Mini Cooper and is still cool.  So, you should too.