Friday, October 23, 2009

Among the many aspects of being a modern day mom is this notion that we all have to be super healthy. It starts of slowly, we buy the organic frozen veggies instead of the plain old Birds Eye version and then it suddenly progresses to swallowing Chinese mushrooms with lukewarm water, which is what I'm a little embarrassed to admit is what I've just done. And I've just talked to my bff on the phone about doing a detox cleanse if that doesn't cure what ails me.

This has got to stop. First it was the organic business, now I'm giving my kids cod liver oil in there juice, I'm even making my own sprouted bread today. For months I've entertained the idea of buying a milk cow so we can stop drinking that poison they call pasteurized milk and so that I can (in my spare time) make my own yogurt, cheese and sour cream. The same said bff I mentioned above has been making her infant daughter's baby formula for months now and you can't imagine the lengths she goes to to procure the ingredients for this formula, most of it I haven't even heard of before. This little girl will defiantly graduate from high school by the time she's five I have no doubt, and she is the happiest, little bundle of baby roll you can imagine and when she comes home from high school mad at her mom because she won't let her go riding around with a senior, I will be able to tell her "I don't want to hear it - your mother MADE your formula!" Who does that??

We do. We are the new manic motherhood. We manic mothers plan our child's nutrition, we read labels, we self diagnose, and more importantly - we research stuff on the internet. I can safely say my mother not once even glanced at the box of Lucky Charms cereal to find out the sugar content and wondered, "hmmm, I wonder if this is whole grain. I wonder if the combination of Twizzle Sticks and Kool Aid will put Michelle into a diabetic coma." No, I grew up on Big Red and beef jerky and enough preservatives from the Hamburger Helper that I should still look like I'm ten. I worry about the dangers of high fructose corn syrup and the sugar content of fruit juice and forget that I've had enough cola in my life that I'm surprised have any teeth left.

We plan more activities for our toddlers than I had in junior high. I don't remember having activities as a child. I was kicked outside to ride my lead based paint bicycle up and own a street laden with unknowns, allowed to find the ice cream truck by myself, build forts in the backyard and hose down the cement porch to make a make shift water slide. I don't think my parents once looked at me and said, "you know I think we need to nurture Michelle's creative side. let's find some art classes to enroll her in or maybe we should put her in ballet before she's five."

I'm driving an hour back and forth to town so that my son, who is five can play soccer. Were you on an organized sports team at five? Or did your neighborhood friends just ask you over to play baseball? A group of gals in my town have organized a playgroup, complete with art instructors and paid musicians. There are actual invitations sent out, not just a phone call saying, "hey, let's meet at the park at 3:00."

I've invested a lot of money in the past few weeks feeding my paranoia of the swine flu. My kids don't leave the car without being rubbed down with anti bacterial gel. It makes sense because we live on a ranch and not a day goes by that my dog doesn't drag a half eaten javelina carcass into the yard for the kids to run across, or we don't have to deal with the yearly rabies or tularemia scare. My husband drags in more bacteria in the form of cow manure on his cowboy boots than I will ever encounter on the shopping carts at the local grocery store. And thanks to a morning talk show I now know my washing machine is the most unsanitary place in the world because of my husbands dirty man clothes. But that doesn't stop me from spraying down every inch of the table at a restaurant with alcohol spray and not letting my kids put their lemons into their tea. They can, however, go home and play in the sandpile behind our house that doubles as the cats litterbox.

Manic mothers need organization, we need to be in control. We meal plan, have household chore websites we frequent, we make shopping with coupons an art form. And after I grow my own wheat so I can make my own bread, I'm going to sit down and blog about it. Because that's what manic mommas do.


Kelsey said...

Ha ha! I love the part about the lemons! I am soooo afraid of lemons now!

Karin Katherine said...

Oh my word, how true, sad and funny this is----all rolled into one.

Girl, I wish you lived at the country club with me. We'd be fast friends.