The Problem With Supermoms

super-lexGod, I hate Supermoms.

You know the type. They always have the perfect plan for the perfect day with their perfect children that goes perfectly as planned, as documented by perfect Instagram pics and Facebook posts. They always have An Answer for everything, and a Tsk-Tsk Comment for anything. And they’re all full of crap.

Let’s take what just happened to me over on Facebook, for example. Yesterday, Trey – who is nine years old – suddenly decided that he needed Play-Doh in his life RIGHT NOW, so we went to the store and he picked out a playset. The one he decided on was something to do with a Sweet Shoppe and cakes or whatever, because I didn’t really care as long as he was buying something that made him happy. I mean, it’s Play-Doh. It’s not like I was taking him down to the gun show of the week to pick out his umpteenth pew pew phallus or anything. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, nothing. Because it’s freaking Play-Doh. But earlier today, I noticed that one of the tools in the set kinda/sorta totally looked like a penis, then posted a pic of it over on Facebook, followed by a quick Vine to the tune of “I Just Had Sex” because I thought it was funny. Of course, this particular tool made the Internet rounds well over a year ago, which I immediately mentioned in the first comment on the picture, but that didn’t stop a Supermom from swooping in to tongue-cluck my post.

playdoh-penisI was told that this was “all over Facebook a few months ago” which should’ve been warning enough for me to stay away from the playset. I tried to make a joke that nobody remembers random Internet things from over a year ago, because really, nobody does – as evidenced by the endlessly recycled Obama Myth Of The Day memes constantly posted and re-posted by my crackpot Tea Party friends and every old person on the Internet. But anyway, I was sternly informed that, when it comes to toys her child wants, she remembers. (Never mind that my child didn’t want this particular Play-Doh set a year ago. He suddenly wanted it last night for mysterious reasons known only to himself, and I’ve got enough to keep track of just remembering where I put my damn car keys five minutes ago than to worry about memorizing every last inane detail about every toy ever made on the planet.)

So sue me if I can’t recall which toys released in the past decade may or may not have included a penial shaft extruder in their big boxes ‘o fun. I guess Supermoms are just better at that sort of thing than I am.

Which I guess maybe is easy when you’re a helicopter parent with a toddler, but once your kid is capable of earning and saving his own money and making his own decisions on what to buy with it – and when what he wants to buy is mother humpin’ PLAY-DOH – then, well… You tend to step back and let him make his own lifestyle choices.

This particular Supermom is not ordinarily a supermom, mind you. Most of the time, she just likes to antagonize me (which is probably all that was happening here). Still, it was a good example of how actual Supermoms behave all the damn time, so I’m going with it. Sorry, Kristy!

With actual Supermoms, it’s not just the occasional dip into the passive aggressive Facebook pool, though. Supermoms – as a general rule – are just out to make every other parent look like a jerk at any given opportunity. It’s their whole purpose of existence, really. Because I’ve seen the kids raised by Supermoms. I’ve interacted with them. I’ve seen them play with other children. And they are, almost without exception, horrible little shits.

  • Entitled
  • Self-absorbed
  • Aggressive
  • Bullying
  • Whiny
  • Possessive
  • Spoiled

Brats. The whole lot of them – and that’s just the moms. Their kids are basically the same, but with less Facebook and more SCREAMING.

Look, I get it. We all love our kids and we all want everyone else to know how much we love our kids because we tend to love them so damn much, it hurts. I really do understand that. But you can love your kid and profess your love for your kid without being an asshole to other parents about it.

You don’t need to tear down other moms and dads either directly or through passive-aggressive “observations” you make behind clicking teeth and manicured talon nails. Trying to prove how far above other parents you are doesn’t actually make you a better parent. It just makes you obnoxious.

And controlling.

And kind of an asshole.

tabletop-party-ipadI love my child. I even call him my son when he’s “just” my stepson, because I don’t make distinctions over accidents of blood. He’s a child with four parents, who all love him. You can take your “step” labels and shove them right up your taxonomic piehole, for all I care. I love him as if he’s my own son because, to me, he is my own son. And I’m just as proud of him as you are of your kids, and as much as supermoms say they are of theirs.

I even talk about parenting a lot. For example, here’s something I wrote on how to be a stepparent. I post tons of pictures of my kid. I brag on my kid. I make blog posts about my kid. I buy him things. I make things with him. I plan and execute elaborate birthday parties for him with celebrity guest appearances. I play with him, I listen to him, I grow with him. I do all these things, and I never feel like I’m doing enough.

And that’s the real difference between Supermoms and the Rest Of Us. They have it all figured out. They know what’s best. They know what they’re doing with their organic, gluten-free, hand sanitizing, free range, essential oiling, locally sourced, vaccination-averting parenting style. They have that shit locked down. Best Parents Ever. Pro at Parenting. GOLD STAR.

Which, I think, is the exact opposite of what makes a good parent. Or at least a normal one.

The rest of us never think we’re doing enough for our kids, or that what we are doing is the thing we should be doing. We fret over every decision, and wrestle with every major choice because we don’t actually know what the hell we’re doing. None of us do. Our parents didn’t, either. They made it up as they went along, and just pretended to have all the answers to the questions we’d ask them when we were kids. Now it’s our turn, and nothing’s changed.

spockSure, we have Facebook and Mommy Blogs and hundreds of thousands of people telling us The One Right Way to raise a child today, whereas our parents just had Dr. Spock and a wooden spoon – but it’s all still bullshit.

Kids don’t come with instruction manuals, because kids aren’t robots. They’re not all the same.

I know my kid is well-behaved, caring, sensitive, and very empathetic. He’s kind and outgoing, gives to others and cares about people. He doesn’t act up in school, all his teachers love him, and he gets good grades. HE IS A GOOD KID.

But is that because of me? I don’t think so. I recognize that my wife and her ex-husband just won the genetic lottery when he was born. I’m sure some of my influence has influenced him, but mostly I just think he’s a naturally good kid. I’ve known him since he was two years old, and he’s always been a low-maintenance child. I AM LUCKY, AND I KNOW THIS.

I also know that none of my experience with my own child qualifies me to cluck my tongue at other parents and tell them The One Right Way to raise their children, based on what I’ve done with The Greatest Kid Ever To Walk The Planet. (That’s a true fact. No need to look it up.) I honestly don’t know what I’ve done. I’ve just loved him the best I know how, and taught him the best I can. He’s had to do the heavy lifting though, because in the end, every kid is his or her own person. And every child is different, which means every kid will react differently to the same things. Which means…

What worked for me will not work for you.

What worked for you will not work for me.

Pass this on to any Supermoms you know. It’s a short, open letter to the entire Übermutter Community. I think it might do some good.

Dear Supermom,

You are not a Supermom. You’re just a parent like the rest of us. The only difference between us is that you’re sure of yourself, and we’re all consumed by self-doubt. Which means we’re always trying harder to be better, while you’re just going to keep doing what you’ve been doing, because you’re right. You’ve always been right, and you’ll always be right.

Isn’t that right?

Sincerely,
Regular Parents

"The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt." - Bertrand Russell

“The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt.”




Want some books? 'Course ya do!


NOTE:  I know times are hard and yeah, I need to make a living too, but if you want to read any of my books but can't afford to buy them right now, hit me up.

I'll take care of it.


Humor | Nonfiction
Available now from the following retailers

Have you ever lived through an experience that was so humiliating that you wanted to die, but when you tell it to all your friends, they can't stop laughing?

Have you ever made a decision that seemed like a good idea at the time, but you're still living with the hilarious consequences years later?

If so, then grab a snack, get comfortable, and prepare to have all of your own poor life choices seem just a little bit more bearable.

You're welcome.

Short Stories
Available now from the following retailers

The nine stories of rage and sadness collected here range from the most intimate of human experiences to the wildest realms of magic and fantasy. The first story is a violent gut-punch to the soul, and the rest of them just hit harder from there.

Those who tough it out will find a book filled with as much hope as despair, a constant contradiction pulling you from one extreme to another.

Life might knock us down, over and over, and will the beat the ever-loving snot out of us from the time we're old enough to give it attitude until the day we finally let it win and stop getting up.

Always get back up.

Gaming | Nonfiction
Available now from the following retailers

This isn't just a book. It's a portal to other worlds where there be magic and dragons and hilarious pirates. Okay, not really. But this book is about those portals, except they're called video games.

The Life Bytes series of books take a deep dive into one man's personal journey through childhood into kinda/sorta being a responsible, competent adult as told through the magical lens of whatever video games he was playing at the time.

Part One starts way back in 1975 and meanders down various digital pathways until, oh, around about 1993 or so.

If you're feeling nostalgic for the early days of gaming or if you just want to understand why the gamer in your life loves this hobby so much, take a seat in your favorite comfy chair and crack this bad boy open.

I'll try to not be boring.

Horror
Available now from the following retailers

What you are about to read is not a story. There is no beginning, middle, or end.

What follows is nothing more than a series of journal entries involving shadow people, sleep paralysis, and crippling fear. It’s not pretty, it doesn’t follow story logic, and nothing works out well in the end.

You've been warned.