About a million gallons of completely-hypothetical-internet-ink have been spilled detailing the many battles that are summed up as "The Mommy Wars". I decided some time ago that the best approach was to try to stay out of it. For one thing, if you name a group of mothers to demonize, I've probably been a member. Teen mom, single mom, married mom, working mom, stay at home mom, student mom, military mom, deployed mom, hippie mom, drill-sergeant mom...been there, done that, and if they were giving out tee-shirts, I got robbed. For another, I am utterly terrified that someone will figure out that I have no idea what I am doing, and I'm making it up as I go.
I really want to say that all of us are making it up as we go. I really want to. But I feel like I can't. Because, while I know it's true of every mom (hell, every PARENT, regardless of gender) that I know, there is a chance that someone out there really does know what they are doing. If that magical unicorn exists, I'm pretty sure they are on facebook and pintrest. And every one of us has bumped into one.
I felt like I was doing a really good job as a mom when I threw my kid a birthday party at home. We had a couple of games, I made a cake (sheet cake, in the pan, just frosted on the top), and the kids ran around the yard for a couple hours. It reminded me of every birthday party I went to, or had, as a kid. It was great, right? Right, kids?
Nope. It was not great. Sasha (damn you, Sasha's Mom) had her birthday party at the skating ring. There was a concession stand. Cotton candy. Songs played especially for her, with a DJ who KNEW HER NAME and colored lights that flickered like magic, while she stood on her rollerblades in the center of the ring, and all her friends skated around her like moons orbiting the awesomeness of The Birthday Girl.
In that instant, I failed the Parental Love Test.
Do you know the Parental Love Test? Even if you don't, you've probably failed it. The Parental Love Test is the any one of the million things that we could, in theory, do for our kids...but don't. Somebody, somewhere, is drawing a detailed comic strip depicting their child doing amazing things. They are going to gift this collection to that child on their 18th birthday. They have passed the test. You? You failed. The parents who got the massive Anne Geddes-style portraits of their infant? They passed. Skipped that? Fail.
I tried to redeem myself the next year, by reserving that damned skating ring, but, by that time, it was old news. Trinity had her birthday sleepover at a hotel. With a water park. Bree's parents rented out a whole movie theater, so all her friends could see her favorite movie (complete with an introduction filmed by her family, telling her how wonderful and amazing she was). Shelby had a cake that spouted fire.
Failed again.
The fact is, I fail almost all the Parental Love Tests. I have never gotten up at 2am to stand in the freezing cold for hours in order to get my toddler into the right preschool. I didn't reserve Sam a spot at the charter school prior to six months of age. I haven't paid for my kids to have a meet-and-greet with the animals at the zoo. They have never gone on a cruise, much less a Disney cruise. They haven't even been to Disneyland! None of them! The only one of them that has ever been to a real beach (the kind with an ocean, midwesterners...the lake DOES NOT COUNT!) is Bryn, and her only because her dad lives on the East Coast. I don't start making their halloween costumes months in advance, and I flat out refuse to spend $100 on one night of playing dress-up, no matter how "TOTALLY AWESOME!" the costume is.
My latest Parental Love Test failure arose from my teenaged daughter's ethical dilemma. It's pretty much a cliche, isn't it? The teenage animal lover who decides they need to be a vegetarian. Suddenly, my meal plan has a little bit of a kink in it.
I suppose I could have told her to stop being silly. I could have laughed at her concerns, told her that the lives of the animals we eat don't mean anything. But I didn't. Because I don't believe that. In fact, I share many of her concerns about animals and their wellbeing. I've chosen to address those by trying to obtain as much of our food as I can from local producers who raise their animals in way that respects them. Bryn felt, pretty strongly, that that wasn't far enough for her. So, the menu needs to change a bit. No big deal; some extra veggies in the diet isn't going to hurt any of us.
It also means that she needs to pack a lunch every day. As I made up my grocery list, I decided to check out the bottomless pit of information: Google. "Vegetarian School Lunch Ideas", I typed.
First thing I learned: Bento boxes are, evidently, a REALLY BIG THING. In many cases, they are also a REALLY EXPEN$IVE THING. Holy cow.
Then next thing I learned is that, in Pintrest land, it's actually illegal to send a child to school with a vegetarian lunch if the strawberries aren't cut into hearts, the pineapple isn't cut into stars, the vegetables aren't formed into one of the Minions from "Despicable Me", and there isn't at least one grain that I don't know how to pronounce.
I'll be honest: I had been feeling really good about the fact that I managed to slice up a bell pepper into colorful little strips that she could dip into the single-serve organic hummus I got from Costco. Strawberry hearts and a cold, whole grain salad with saffron and lemon juice just seemed a little...involved. Especially once I checked the price of saffron (mother of god, are you kidding me?!?) I have no hope of passing The Parental Love Test: Vegetarian Child Edition. She is condemned to a life of boring lunches, unless she takes it upon herself to learn the ins and outs of Quinoa salads.
I love her. I adore her. I would move heaven and earth for her. But saffron? I'm just not that kind of mom.
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