There’s a new bracket in the mom on mom tournament. Pop your popcorn because this sport is always fresh! Sure, the smash down between working moms v. stay-at-home moms has all been thrown and the perennial conflict between homebirthers v. elective c-section crowd has gone stale. The room has cleared and the janitor is turning on the lights of the great Lactivist v. Bottle-Feeder fight. There might be a little blood in the circumcision debate, but that won’t culminate for several more news cycles. But like budding holidays, fresh mom fights are always springing up. (To iPhone or not to iPhone?) So wear your lucky bra and pick a dog in the momflict of 2013: Over-the-top holiday moms v. the grinches who hate them. Cue the music:
FUN HATER SEZ: Hey Pinterest mom, Who do you think you are, Martha Stewart over here? Dial the holidays down a notch, will ya? Stop showing the rest of us up by melting down your jewelry into gold coins for the hired leprechaun to steal on St. Patrick’s Day. You’re heightening the expectations of otherwise benign calendar days. You’re giving my kids bad ideas – like that I should be making snow angels out of dried beans on my kitchen floor to celebrate Hopi. I mean seriously, Pie Day is a thing now? Why do you have to make life into a mompetition with your Elf on the Shelfing and your Andrew Lloyd Webber-level productions for Dr. Seuss’s birthday and wearing themey threads like this for the Ides of March:
Get it? It’s a sweater with knives on the back. Oh, it’s good to be a geek.
Anyway. Pipe down about the made-up holidays sponsored by Oriental Trading Company and Target. I’ve only got so much elbow grease in this house and I need it for my Farmville game. Let’s harken back to the good ole days when families celebrated one day a year with nothing but the sweet joy of our own urine to keep us warm. Why are the expectations so grand? The rent is too damn high! I quit. I feel sorry for your kids. You’re terrible.
UBERMOM SEZ: Chill out, you’re just jealous of our ability to seamlessly make magic like graceful unicorn swan moms. Unlike you, I have fun with my kids and show my love by out-crafting and out-celebrating every holiday that has come before. Don’t judge me because I happen to enjoy constructing a life-sized paper mache planet Earth for the children to wake up to on Earth Day, complete with a special buried treasure hunt in my back yard with real gold bullion. Suck it up and be a parent, which means making every single holiday (Hallmark and otherwise) extremely special for the magic that is childhood. Won’t anyone think of the CHILDREN? So what we move the Elf on the Shelf every night starting in August and give our kids sizable gifts every day leading up to Christmas. Got a problem with me being better? Yeah, my tooth-fairy drops hundos and we campaign for prom with billboards. Suck it. I’m already pinning ideas for Juneteenth. I feel sorry for your kids. You’re terrible.
As is usually the case, the happy medium is where most sanity lies. I ain’t too proud to whip up some green pancakes in March. I own that. I even move my Elf while simultaneously mocking it. Most moms don’t fall into one extreme or the other, moving fluidly between identities of bomb craft mom and the phone-it-in specialist. Me, I dabble in all things mom. Natural birth with a side of epidural. Cloth diaper gusto tempered with with dash of I’m-over-it. Breastfeeding as long as I want and not a second longer. Etcetera. But the momopshere is eager to pit mom against mom (and divide) for the viewing audience. We’re pawns. It happened between opposing sides of the gun debate between by Adam Lanza’s “mother” and her infamous detractor. It happened between political parties with Ann Romney and Hilary Rosen. It seems the internet can’t get enough of girl on girl action. Dirty birds!
Let’s just agree to make our own choices and realize that 90% of us are in the middle anyway. We’re all doing the best we can. As a matter of fact, we’re downright amazing.
While we’re at it, let’s preemptively boycott a post-yuletide spying doll, like a Valentine on the Fridge or a Leprechaun on the Lawn. Deal? Now enjoy your Easter/Passover/Athabascan Stick Dance day, you fabulous human.
Just admit it. We all hate his face.
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