Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my distinct pleasure to announce a Gold Medal Winner in the Momlympics. That would be me, of course. I know I won, because I received this FaceBook gem from my eldest:
“Is their (sic) a reason why I just read your poem and now know all about your sex life? I tell you to disturb you I however prefer to think Dad is your one and only…Officially grossed out”
Spelling, grammar, and punctuation are not mine of course, though I itch to correct it all. How two beatniks raised such a prude is beyond me.
And what pray tell, was the event at which I prevailed? Why, that often celebrated event known as Embarrassing Your Young Adult, of course. That’s a two-with-one-poem for me, as the poem itself is about the youngest daughter. It is based upon a conversation we had. Not to worry that my ego will surpass the capacity of the room, though. No woman is a hero in her own home.
My first poem in a professional publication ought to be a celebration event for my family, right? Not so. Himself, my husband, could care less and only tags along to literary stuff if there is some reward in the offing. Say, ice cream or a new book, and then only if I allow him to run for the car and the delights of classic rock-n-roll the second it’s no longer rude to go. Sometimes, even if it is. He always says that I can stay and talk to my friends (as if I need permission), but it just isn’t the same as actual appreciation. And my girls? Well, one lives away from home in another state. She’s the unappreciative grammophobe, above. The middle one is just too busy. The youngest, who just turned 18, has blocked me on Facebook for posting stupid photos. I RULE at my chosen sport. America has chosen its champion wisely.
Seriously, though, if child-embarrassment is a sport that appeals to you, you should give it a try. Novices often score unintentional and therefore totally rewarding goals. Great strides are being made in the potty training, middle school and teenage divisions. But first, harden your heart. No matter how hard you try, it seems that no one at home appreciates a mother’s efforts.
While you are at it, check out my Gold-Medal entry at Pank Magazine, titled The Book of Manners for Mothers. You can find it there, along with some other truly spectacular literature about parenting: http://www.pankmagazine.com/category/2011/7-09-parenting-issue/
The issue was edited by Amye Archer, who is the mother of twins. I know many people find heroes amongst athletes and stars, but sometimes valor is measured in the number of stain-fighting products sitting on the laundry room shelf. Amye, a self-proclaimed perfectionist, has the ability to be a real contender.
Not a “Poetry” kind of person? Worry not. It’s a poem in the sense that it’s boiled down to its essence. But it is also about Moms (this mom) behaving badly. While you read it, please remember that not Everything I write is about me.
Did you hear that girls?
I thought not.
LisGelatt.threedivas 