For the Realmomsters who dance in the rain and paint with their fingers.
Is there anyone who hasn’t yet seen and adored Mila Kunis and Kristen Dunst loosen up and enjoy their miserably funny ‘mom lives’ to the fullest in Bad Moms ?? I didn’t think so. In a time when being a mother has reached this impossibly unattainable standard, where you are expected to be always calm, always compassionate, clean, and silent, and your kids should never act out at the grocery store and should definitely not watch more than 13 minutes of Netflix a day and also preferably follow a vegan diet please, we, normal moms, sometimes need to stop what we’re doing and think about what we really wanna look back at. Counting the number of carrots he put into his mouth for lunch, if they finished their pea soup, and if they were in bed by 7 pm? Or do we want to know how often they laughed out loud, who they picked a flower for and what they’re imagining when looking the clouds?
Who are these Bad Moms?
What and who are these specimens really? Well, they are us: beautiful, regular moms, that take motherhood naturally, that are relaxed, that sing along with their brats in shops, that allow them to eat spaghetti with red sauce for three nights in a row, and that sometimes forget to turn off the TV so that they can take a long shower and dress up for a date. A what? Yep, a date, because bad moms are allowed to go on a date whenever they find a nanny or a grandma at hand, and they definitely do not feel guilty about it. In fact, they feel kinda sexy.
It’s us who allow them to hold on to the shower upside down and make an ocean out of the bathroom just for their amusement, and us who have some kind of home delivery service on speed dial for those impossible nights. We’re up for all those things that seem a “no go”, but are actually a go-go for the sake of our sanity.
You know what, I never actually tried to act like this ‘ideal’ mom you read about in those boring parenting magazines. Our house was always filled with (loud) laughter and giggles, and crying, and screaming. The TV was on ever since Sasha was a baby, because mom and dad were addicted to House Hunters International while he was playing on the floor – big freaking deal, nobody died and the kiddo is not a TV freak up to this day. He now enjoys his daily portion of Peppa Pig, but knows that all good things come to an end, and so does the 467832th episode with the English pigs. I don’t feel guilty about this, and I honestly think he’s enjoying some extra English PIGGY education (you should hear his accent, his saying ‘peeaze’ and ‘oh deaaar’ in every sentence!). Pesto pasta has been among is top 5 favourite foods since he was about 7 months old, and yes I was grating parmesan on top, because that’s the only freakin’ way to eat pasta. Sounds good?
It does to meeee.
He’s now spending lots of time barefoot outside in the parks or while riding his scooter on the streets; he plays with dirty water in the sand while I proudly encourage him to make a mess, we jump in muddy puddles together (this is the proof we do watch too much Peppa Pig) whenever there’s rain, and we sometimes let him skip nap time so that he can go to bed earlier at night and let us enjoy the evening. We’re all craving some quiet evenings with wine and Friends, ok? And if you don’t, then you’re taking it for granted, and you shouldn’t.
I never really got these moms of the park, as I like to call them, whom you can hear screaming every three seconds “please don’t get dirty again, these are freshly washed”, “hey you are getting all muddy there”, or “careful with that puddle, Jim!”. This was oh so true back in Romania, and I was seriously scared of these creatures. I feel so much better seeing that here in Holland, we are all kind of bad moms.
These creatures let them PLAY, get dirty and happy, they take out snacks that consist of cheese sandwiches and apple juice (love!), and they even get barefoot in the sand themselves to join the monsters. This is what it’s all about, right? How else can you feel their joy, if not by joining them in their beautiful mess? How else can you understand when the sand burns their feet if not by taking your shoes off? How else to get their sadness when its going home time, if you don’t go down at least on one slide yourself?
I wanna keep dancing in the rain and jumping in mudd-eih puddles, with or without rain boots, and I wanna keep getting wet and dirty and then come straight in the hot shower with my boy.
I wanna get ice-creams every time it’s warm outside and even when it’s not. We can always come up with a special occasion.
I wanna laugh out loud no matter where we are. Even when we happen to be in cheese stores (because he loves cheese tasting, duuh), and he starts to invent songs and I laugh so loud and the shop woman gives me angry looks and I so don’t caaaare and he laughs even louder and I love it.
I don’t wanna keep hearing that I spoil him because I take him in our bed every night at 4 am, because I love waking up to his smelly feet and baby smell.
I want him to love the nature, listen to the birds sing in the woods and walk barefoot on the beach.
I want him to keep stopping from riding his scooter to smell the flowers, and let him bring me as many wild flowers as he can, while he will still do it. I can’t imagine a greater happiness than this.
I want him to know that he can do whatever he puts his mind to. I want him to climb hills, and run on the beach and go down really high slides. Because he can do everything and anything.
I want to just be. With him, for him, always.