This year there have been some scheduling changes at the middle school which require both the boys to arrive before 7:00 a.m. most mornings.  Granted this is just 15 minutes earlier than last year’s schedule, but anyone who has tried to wake, feed, and transport a zoo animal teenager during  pre-dawn hours knows how much of a difference those minutes can make.  We can no longer soothe a 10 p.m. meltdown by suggesting that Noah or Chase go to bed and re-visit the complicated math homework in the morning, as such a solution would require a 5:00 a.m. wake-up call which frankly I refuse to do.  And by week’s end, the brothers are walking zombies, unfit for human comsumption with their parents in not much better shape.  But we have been suffering through it with Dave taking the brunt of having to deliver our two surly, cranky angels each morning on his way to school.

I have pondered on several occasions as I watch my loving family head out the door either in comatose silence or mortal combat that perhaps someone ought to write a letter, start a petition, or create a Facebook page to get the schedule changed back.  After all, there have to be other parents who are suffering alongside of us.  Informal polling suggests this to be the case.  But I have yet to engage on this issue despite a growing hatred for weekday mornings.  Why have I failed to act?

Because I don’t want to be one of THOSE moms.

You don’t have to be a parent to understand immediately to whom I am referring.  In this case, I am avoiding the adoption a particular activist/ troublemaker /assertive persona which cause school officials to reconsider their career choices despite getting the summers off.  I do not want to be viewed in a bitchy, whiney way, because – yes – I do still care about what people think of me. And because I judge these people, so must everyone else, right?

Come to think of it, I have quite a long list of THOSE moms who I never want to be.  In some instances I have specifically asked Dave to kill tell me if I ever accidently stray and become a Mom who:

  • Freaks out about “germs”
  • Demands the family wear matching outfits for anything other than a People Magazine photo shoot
  • Does her child’s homework, school project, book report …
  • Forbids certain childhood pleasures such as television and Froot Loops
  • Makes phone calls to help her child achieve a better grade, have a certain teacher, or get into law school
  • Insist a child stick with a certain activity that he or she does not enjoy

The list goes on.  But interestingly, as I reflected on all of THOSE Moms I don’t want to be, I realized that there was a common trait.  They all had controlling tendencies, which ironically is the manner in which I generally lean in parenting and in life.  (Yes, Dave, don’t try to argue.  It’s true.  I like to be in control.  I’m sorry you had to hear it this way on the blog.) 

So I have to ask:  As I sit in judgment of others, am I really judging myself?

As I get older I find myself caring less about what others think about me, but still engage in regular constructive self-critcism.  And while I haven’t become one of THOSE moms yet, it hasn’t been for lack of ability to step over to the dark side.  Perhaps its like being an alcoholic who knows she can’t have just one tiny drink without the situation going terribly, terribly wrong.   In THOSE moms who seek uber-control, I see a side of myself of which I’m not particualrly proud – and thus I judge more harshly than the free spirit moms to whom I subconcsiously aspire.

Or maybe I’m just a judgmental biatch.

Either way, I’m waking up too freaking early.  Anyone want to sign a petition?

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