Although you know me as “mommy,” I am more than that.
I graduated from Northwestern University.
I am a Senior Vice President Group Creative Director at an ad agency and a published short story writer.
Which is why I was a little surprised to find myself fighting you for a booger.
We were on the playground and I noticed you dragging a booger the size of a PEANUT out of your nose. For a second, I thought you had lobotomized yourself. My first thought was, “Imma need a napkin … where is my AAAGH!”
The booger was headed toward your mouth. YOUR MOUTH!
I jumped on you like we were fighting for the gun on a 70s cop show, “You. Are. Not. Going. To. Be. The boy. That eats. Boogers!”
Of course you thought that was HILARIOUS and fought harder for your nasty little delicacy. It had a dark green dried crown on top of a flesh mucous-y bullet-sized body. It must have been corking your whole nostril.
If you had successfully eaten this booger, I was going to THROW UP. And I ain’t no punk - once, you handed me a turd (yours). Whatever. But the thought of you chewing this booger was making me gag already.
So I get it away from you and smear that bastard on the play scape at the top of the slide. I, uh, was definitely going to use a tissue to clean it up. Yeah. I was. I just had to get it AWAY FROM YOUR MOUTH.
But silly me. You totally went after it again, as it was sitting, seductively glistening in the sun, like a naked snail. AAAGH!
So there was no way around it. I stuck my finger in that sucker, and I flicked it into the camouflaging abyss of pebbles, where you would never find it again.
I say all that to explain a little bit about what it’s like to be a whole person who then adds a child into the mix. It’s weird. One day, you look up and all your achievements and degrees and swagger and training has led you from presenting to the CMO of McDonald’s Corporation, to booger wrasslin’ on the playground with a two-year old.
My job, as a parent is to make you feel like story tellin’/dinner gettin’/booger wrasslin’ is my one true desire in life. Children need to feel like they are the most important thing to a parent. You need to know that I revolve around you. And I do. You’re quite fascinating.
But as you get older, I am going to bring you into my circle. The pre-Amsden circle. And it will be news to you that I am a real person.
My mother says it’s not a vacation to me unless there’s the threat of a coup.
If I weren’t in advertising, I’d probably have a cult.
If you let me, I’ll teach you what I know of the business world. But as you are a man and I am a woman, you will probably ignore me. FINE. But just don’t listen to your father. His solution to business conflict involves “waiting for that fool in the parking lot.”
The point is, although I am mommy-and-loving-it, I’m not sure it’s healthy to abandon everything that was me before you. I’m afraid I’ll become a one-dimensional cardboard figure of a mom that you will eventually grow out of.
I want new, interesting facets to unfold as you get older. Today I’m saving you from your own boogers, tomorrow we will write short stories together and then we’ll rent a Suzuki Samurai, and travel around Cuba for my 50th birthday. And I’ll tell you stories about the first time I did that.
NOTE: To the US Government web crawlers that watch this blog, I am TOTALLY lying about that Cuba thing. NEVER been there in my life. Making that part up for color.
Your mommy is a real person. One that I hope you enjoy being real friends with.