Like ... dude .... why is it called the *missing the mom gene*?
Apparently, they don’t know me.
Because if they did, they would understand.
Certainly my children do. (And to protect the guilty, I won't name them.)
In my banner photo, you will notice the four empty beach chairs.
(I love the beach, the smell of the ocean, the squawking of the gulls.)
*sigh*
Whoops, I wandered a bit there. Back on point.
Four empty beach chairs for four grown children who have flown the coop. Making me an empty nester. WOOHOO!
Well, maybe that is more like a WooHoo. One has returned home after college. A story for another day.
But back to the reasons for my blog title.
*missing the mom gene*
When I began my blog, I thought I was going to yakkity yak about my kids, grandkids, other people’s kids, the good, the bad, the ugly. Yak about my own imperfect parenting style as well.
But when I started blogging, I found myself wandering into other subject matters. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. Sort of like Lou Bega’s Mambo #5.
A little bit of Monica in my life
A little bit of Erica by my side
A little bit of Rita is all I need
A little bit of Erica by my side
A little bit of Rita is all I need
Whatever. (See, I'm meandering again!)
As a result, my blog is feeling a bit eclectic. Not focused on any one topic or audience. A sure road to the Blogger Graveyard.
My meandering way, I suppose, is my way of experimenting with my writing and to discover where I feel comfortable. Sometimes I push myself out of my comfort zone. It is necessary. But not always pleasant.
I don’t have a desire to be controversial (I save that for The Professor and my kids), or make money from my blog, obtain a lucrative book contract, or become a guest columnist.
But I do have a desire to write. And sometimes a desire to shed light where there is darkness.
So for those of you who may be in the dark as to why my blog is called missing the *mom gene*... (and sometimes the *wife gene*, the *friend gene*, the *empathy gene*), let me explain.
I am not perfect.
*GASP*
Now that you have picked yourself up off the floor, let me continue. Ready?
I was more like a *My Way or the Highway Mama* rather than a Helicopter Mom. Not one for indulging excuses, complaining, whining. I did not coddle.
And when there was trouble. I assumed guilt. They had to PROVE innocence. It made me very unpopular as a mother.
Don’t judge. It worked. Kids are extremely creative liars!
My biggest offense?
I threw away my son’s school trophies. After storing and lugging them around through three moves, I cleaned my garage, called Goodwill and sat them by the curb along with other hodgepodge of collectibles of my adult 20 years.
I didn’t call my son and ask him if he wanted them. I just gave them away. Didn’t bat an eye.
And as of today, I think I’m still unforgiven. And rightfully so.
I am guilty of other *not your typical mom* stuff.
... I did not share my Haagan Dazs ice cream.
... I begged not to play board or card games.
... I dreaded attending Open House nights.
... I pretended not to hear them when they searched the house for me.
... I bought store cookies instead of baking them.
... I made them walk to school or wait for the bus alone.
... I hated boring swim practices and swim meets.
... I pretended to listen when I really wasn’t.
... And I refused to go in the kiddie pool.
Awk!
So, you see, not the typical sweet June Cleaver mommy.
By today’s hovering mom standards ... I am soooo *missing the mom gene*.
Soooo imperfect.
Lest you be offended by my lack of mothering standards, I did do some things right.
I illustrated by my own behaviors, that with goals and ambitions, all things are possible.
I read to them. Hugged them. Talked to them. Taught them responsibility. Honesty. Independence.
I may not have been the best mommy, the most nurturing mommy, the most coddling mommy, the most engaged mommy.
But you know what? They were and are loved. Fiercely. Maybe imperfectly, like this blog.
And maybe it’s not the best blog title for my meandering tales, but I like it.
Imperfect, just like me.
Stay tuned. One of these days, I’ll write about how I’m *missing the wife gene*.
I have no doubt that The Professor will probably want to tune in to THAT story.
*snort*
Thanks for stopping by,
missing the mom gene
