Monday, October 30, 2006

That Smell

I have a super-senstive nose. I smell things before everyone else, and am constantly haunted by mystery smells. I can always tell when the husband tries to sneak a fart, when plastic has been left to close to the radiator, and when the cat box could use another change. It's rarely a blessing, often a curse.

So, it was not surprise that one morning, with the car packed full of my family, that I detected a smell.

Me:(to husband) Do you smell something?

Husband: Er, I don't think so. Maybe?

Me: (Sniffing heavily) I definetely smell something. It smells like something's going on with the car. Like maybe something's in the heating vent.

Husband: I might smell something...

And so on. In a brief moment of silence, the small but confindent voice of my six-year-old son piped up from the backseat.

Son:I smell it mom. It smells like gas. And not the fart kind!

And not the fart kind. Indeed.

Friday, October 27, 2006

Just Who Is Sarcasta-mom?

When people look at me, "Mom" is not the first word that comes word. Dressed in black, a nose ring prominent, tattoos peaking their way out of clothing here and there and a bitting sarcasm that drips from each word, Donna Reed I am not.

Becasue of the way I choose to look, I find myself over-compensating desperatly as a mother, to prove I am a good person and a good parent. While other kids arrive at daycare with donuts and chocolate milk, my daughter happily munches an apple. When cold weather notices appear in backbacks, my kids are the first ones with hats and gloves. Even though my husband and I work full-time, dinners are homemade, laundry is fabric softener fresh and stories are read before bed. I work hard to prove that you don't have to look like the model homemaker to be a good wife and mother.

There are definetely days when the battle begins to wear thin. Shopping for new clothes for the kids, I find myself looking at brightly colored tops, skirts and corduroy slacks. I think about taking out my nose ring, and getting my hair "done". I wonder how much easier it would be to look like other mothers, to blend in. I wonder if well-dressed, sharp and made-up women in my office would look at me differently. I wonder if it would really make a huge difference if I just gave in and became the grown-up my mother keeps hoping I'll turn into.

But then I bring myself back to reality. My kids are well loved and well cared for. I am a smart hard working mother with a college education and a good job. So what if my husband's hair is longer than mine? So what if we believe getting tattooed together is the ultimate bonding experience? Who cares if my wardrobe is load after load of darks? Is it so bad that my kids pretend to give each other tattoos when they play together?

I am who I am, and I've worked hard to maintain my individuality all my life. It is precious to me, and a value I hope to pass onto my children. My sarcasm makes my good friends laugh. I bring homemade cookies to work along with the most recent copy of "Gothic Beauty" magazine. My most recent vampire novel lays next to my craft catolouge and my newly arrived order of beads.

I am a contridiction, an amusing ball of bitterness who still melts when her children draw her pictures and say they love her. I am Sarcasta-mom!