It’s So My Mom.

Image by RichardBronosky via Flickr

My friend Tamre and I arrived at the same panic attack this morning, for the same reason, albeit from different sources: Yuck. One day we’re going to be mom-like. Not “Yuck, we’re going to be mothers,” but mom-like.

We arrived at this conclusion separately. I had been mulling the whole mommyblogger backlash to a Motrin painkiller commercial that depicted some clueless, first-time mom whining about the painful trend of “wearing your baby.” Poorly done? Yeah.

But the hysteric response from some blogger moms was a gross overreaction. And amateurish. Check out this shoddily edited montage from incensed mommyblogger Jessica Gottlieb, who compiled the angry tweets of other moms who reacted as though the maligned babysling were an actual child itself. (That MUSIC. The movies of the ‘80s called. They want their estranged-lovers-on-the-brink-of-reunion soundtrack back.)

Oh God, I could be one of these women in a couple of years. I’m quick to jump to conclusions and causes. Shit.

Tamre’s fear had been wrought from a different starting place. She found out Dooce author Heather Armstrong is with child.

I think our Gmail chat session says it all.

Tamre: dooce is having another baby

me: o rly?
That’ll be good material

Tamre: yeah
is it weird when i read that i kind of blanched a little?

me: no
that’s what i want to write about
did you hear about that motrin moms uproar?
with the babysling deal?
I think women our age are a little apprehensive about becoming a mom, because you inevitably become more, well, momish
no matter how cool you are

Tamre: no..motrin mom uproar? what?

me: hold up

Tamre: k
Sent at 12:07 PM on Wednesday

me: Damn that’s a long link
So Motrin put out some ad targeted at new moms that they found offensive for some reason, and they bitched and moaned till execs pulled it. I’m sure there’s a link to the original in there, and I’m sure you’ll agree, WTF are they bitching about?
I dont want to become like that. Is that the inevitable>
?
Sent at 12:10 PM on Wednesday

Tamre: i really hope not

me: Some mommyblogger made a vid in response with tweening pics of smiling moms wearing babyslings (which the Motrin commercial kinda portrayed as a mere fashion accessory) in front of horrible music
I’m like, this looks so amateurish.

Tamre: i think in 5-10 years we would make awesome moms

me: I hope so

Tamre: i know we’re not there yet

me: Maybe you. I’m gonna be neurotic.

Tamre: and i’m ok with that

me: :)

Tamre: but seriously?
i want the “you should have a baby right now” propaganda to stop
me: oh are you getting that from your friends?

Tamre: eh
just in general
not just friends
but
like…
i liked greys anatomy
i hated addison
because she was consumed with having a baby
how freaking selfish

me: yeah
I agree.
Sent at 12:14 PM on Wednesday

Tamre: blah
Sent at 12:16 PM on Wednesday

me: ha ha
okay lemme ask you this
what is it that makes you cringe about dooce having another kid?
Is it her being a mom again?
or being mom-LIKE
like flying into hysteria over Motrin babysling commercials?

Tamre: more momlike

me: I know!!!
Like, now, this is my life and my child colors the way I see everything and everything I do.
scary
Sent at 12:35 PM on Wednesday

Note: I do know some “cool” moms (whatever that means). I hardly think I’ll be that lucky.

I have been under the false impression all these years that my political zeal was self-inspired. Apparently I was wrong. My mother has been voting all these years. She must have slipped out to the polls in the middle of the night while I was growing up because I was never. Aware. Of. This. Phenomenon.

Another fun fact: My father never votes. According to my mother, he hasn’t been registered for as long as she’s known him. I suppose he thinks that forwarding joke e-mails about the race is enough to fill his patriotic duties. But I didn’t appreciate the “plot to kidnap Obama” joke he sent last week: a picture of a ramshackle box-and-stick trap hovering over a whole watermelon. My dad has always been this crass, but on the heels of an attempted assassination, even I didn’t laugh.

You can see, maybe, why I thought my opinion-rich dad would be the family voter. My mom has strong opinions too, but they’re not always coherent. At least not to my ears. Case in point–I checked up on my mom today and asked if she voted. The conversation eventually came to this:

Mom: “Whatever you do don’t buy Citgo—that’s that slob, that communist from Venezuela. Uh, he looks like an animal. That’s his oil, that’s his gas, so don’t buy that.”
Me: “Well, a lot of the rest of it comes from the Middle East, so what are you going to do?”
Mom: “Well, you can do something about him. He’s an asshole.”

But you know what? At least she votes. Good for her. And shame on me—me AND the bloated beast that is bureaucracy, for both not getting my absentee ballot in on time.

You see, I’m still registered to vote in Texas, though I live in Indiana. And though I requested a ballot via the state’s web site about two weeks ago, I had to go through the nonsensical middle step after that of having a REQUEST FOR A BALLOT mailed to me, which I then had to mail back.

So last night I came home to a notice of “rejection of requested ballot,” because I hadn’t gotten the request in by a certain cutoff date. If that letter had been replaced by an actual absentee ballot form, I could have easily overnighted it, and my vote would have counted. Argh.

I would have voted for Obama/Biden, though. And if you need a good reason, here’s why: Even I would have a clue that the president of France wouldn’t sound like this.

Anyhow, happy election day from Lennifer Jitz and Lonia Sitz.

What better way to end my blogging hiatus than with a list. Of hot women! Compiled by FoxNews.com.

Moral of the story—never let Fox News compile a list. Of anything. Least of all, of “Hottest Moms in Hollywood.” They put Kelly Ripa as No.1. Any man will tell you that, despite her being in great shape, and very pretty, Halle Berry (No. 2), Heidi Klum (No. 7) and even bro-humpin’ Angelina Jolie (No. 11) will ALWAYS trump “The Pipa,” as my mom used to call the annoying talk show host. Can I get a confirmation from the guys reading? (There are guys reading, right?)

Read the article here—or just flip through the pictures, since it’s apparent they either don’t know grammar or outsourced the summarial verbage to Britons. (Psst, Fox, in America the punctuation goes INSIDE the quotations.) I don’t know what’s more gawk-worthy: the pic of post-baby Jessica Alba (No.4) or her description as a “Hollywood hotte.”

I can’t believe they didn’t include Sara Palin on the list … she doesn’t live in Hollywood proper, but having been on SNL, she could be construed as part of fringe film society.

I wish I had a full pic of my mom all decked out to put up.  There have been times in the past couple years where she’s dressed up to the point she could give me and any other twentysomethings some serious competition. I’ll have to be more vigilant with my camera to document such times. (Hopefully that’ll help increase my guy readership!)

I just got back from San Antonio and cohabiting with the ‘rents for five days, during which I re-experienced the choruses of my youth:

“PHEW! You smell like B.O.!” my mother would always say. I now regularly apologize to people for my scent pre-emptively.

Of course, she had more subtle ways:

“Don’t get upset but … you stink.”

My dad still gets this one all the time. In fact, he was just complaining about the line. He usually retorts with the proximity of his last shower. “Well, you didn’t use the right soap,” my mom will say. “Well, you didn’t use it RIGHT,” she’ll conclude.

Back in Indianapolis, I was sniffing around our salsa-laden coffee table when my boyfriend pointed a question at me. (He’s usually at the other end of my dog-like sniffs for too-flowery deodorant and other, less-pleasant smells.)

“Have you always done this, or was it just after you moved up here?”

The silent time bomb continues to tick.

My brother and I used to make fun of my mom’s explosive temper in the car. “Come ON, DICKHEAD!” She’d whine in her mom vibrato. Another variation: She’d enumerate the letters and numbers on the license plate in front of her: “LET’S GO, 5-7-8-U-L-K!” This started from my teens; my brother, nine years my junior, started hearing it in grade school.

One car ride, when my brother was young enough to be browsing the cardboard-paged illustration book “Batman & Robin” with Arnold Schwarzenegger as Mr. Freeze, my mother was particularly irate. Jimmy drew a precocious comparison: “That’s like mom!” the 6 year old pointed to Arnold’s ice-blasting visage. That’s still the most hilarious thing he’s ever said in his life.

I don’t know if this happens to everyone—there are a lot of crappy drivers these days—but I think I may have inherited Lonia’s impatience on the road. Overheard in my car last week: “What is it, slow asshole day??”

My 50-something-year-old mom has always used the word “tough” in a context that was foreign to my friends and me: “That dress is so tough.” “I saw the TOUGHEST necklace.” “My artist friend painted this REAL tough (narrowed eyes, slight head jerk) picture when she was in the Italy artists program … ”

I’m told by people who were alive during the ’70s that “bitchin’” was a contemporary phrase of “tough”—guess which one made the unofficial cut to last until the mid ’90s? Not the one my mom uses.

What will I be saying in twenty years?

“I walked in on your son looking at PrOn and had to lol—but his ass is grass if I catch him again.”

Image via Wikipedia

Five ways I’m not like my mother:

1. I cook.
2. I have premarital sex.
3. I will ALWAYS work. Somewhat for proving enlightenment and self-reliance, but more for my sanity and the sake of everyone involved.
4. I have new and improved vices, including A. jealousy, B. angry drunkenness, C. the probable inability to age as well (mom didn’t do drinking or secondhand smoke).
5. I actually kind of enjoy my boyfriend’s farts.

Five ways i’ll probably be like my mother in ten years:

1. I’ll probably find God (we’re on a break right now).
2. I probably won’t cook. (That’s a lie. I’ll probably be a better cook.)
3. I’ll probably drive my kids insane … maybe even ground one for leaving out the toaster.
4. I’ll probably be more attractive than most of the soccer moms.
5. I don’t even want to fill this line.