Once upon a time, there was a fair maiden. She lived an extraordinarily normal life, believing it to be an average story. Charmed by Prince Charming himself, she married and had children (that's when she got her name, Mom! Mom! Mom!). She pursued motherhood awesomeness in her fairytale castle. She worked hard, coming off building a career and then dedicated to building a family. She cruised around in her mini-carriage, which quickly became the familiar: eat, get kids to sports, sleep, repeat.
Amazingly blessed, grateful, livin' the dream. Focused on the job at hand, growing her children. Not perfect for sure. Doing the deal. That's how the story goes, right?
This was me alright. But my life seemed to slowly revert to the pre-princess part of the story, more of a "Mamarella" scene (on-call with a mop, perfect classroom snack and everything it takes to be a "good mom"). In the thick of it all, I began to wonder. And randomly sing with cartoon birds. Occasionally talked with mice.
I'm average I thought. I've felt distracted and on autopilot for quite a while. That's ok, right? The mice kindly agreed and asked, "what do you think about it, Momerelli?" Well, average in this culture is not gonna cut it. Everyone has to be a rockstar, right? Moreso, I pondered, "am I growing myself or just others?"
I chose to leave my career and become a stay at home - but that job is so "easy", all the time in the world (the only problem being that the kids are always there). I figured out parenting, was all in and even helped others along the way. Except that is not a W2, that proves you are working, you get credit for having a brain and it comes with office parties, bonuses, conversations, validation, and feedback. The average mom shows up every day (and night) and, in 18 short years,.... wait for it.... we'll just see how she did.
So, I really was living the typical American life, not the kind that is on the news. Just an average family (well, actually "above average", settled on three whole kids instead of the two and a half average, not to toot my own horn...).
Then came the shock of my life. The audacity of the universe to throw me a curveball. Against all odds, I found myself pregnant in my 43rd year of life. A whole 5 1/2 years after the snip, you know the big V (vasectomy). Maybe it was that intrusive, clueless, absent-minded, wand-happy fairy godmother? Either way, life would stop in its tracks. And I would have to stop with it and face some reality.
Welcome. Welcome to the journey of shifting my illusions and realizing I was living an asleep, autopiloted life. Welcome to journeying with me, perhaps opening to your illusions? Unexamined beliefs? Exhausted into complacency? (and you don't even have to have a baby to participate, right?)
Over time this blog invites you to get real, be honest and open. With yourself. To peel back the layers of what this society expects from the role of Mom and to get intentional and decide for yourself if you are on board with all, some or none of that.
This is an imperfect place. There may be typos. The grammar will be truly questionable. Topics will include the serious and the silly. You are encouraged to show up as you are. If you find you don't resonate, travel on along your path my friend and know you are wished well. It's a simple invitation for you to belong to a group that is open to getting to the Heart of the Matter. Big and small.