A continuing theme in Mom Lit is the search for self. Or the maintenance of it. Now doubt marriage and motherhood change you, as it should, but frankly, I don’t want it to change me THAT much.
The last couple of weeks I have a had more work, fun and hi jinx then the last couple of months. All good. All leading me back to smidge of the me I discovered back in The Greatest Decade, the ’90’s.” That I was the DaphMasterFlash. What does that mean? It means when I’m firing on all cylinders and things are coming together. My creativity is on and I was improvising, hosting, producing ( whatever my job at that moment) really well. It meant I when I use to set my cap for a guy and say, “you” and check please! It meant travelling to other countries and having the best adventures.
My producer Brian on my Discovery Show “Perfect Partner” knew of my alter ego, greater self and use to exhort me to exhibit it when we were in the midst of shooting one of our 81 shows in the field for that series.
“DMF it, DMF it” he would say so I could bring our dog and pony show to an end and we could move on to the next set up. Sometimes I would say, “I don’t have the DMF today.” I think I haven’t had much of the DMF for a couple of years. Or maybe it was put into a subtle survival mode. Surviving selling my home while pregnant and losing most of our net worth. Stuff like that.
I think part of being a good parent is embracing your dorkiness. I was just at the park with Vivien for her sports class, and I had on a navy hoodie, brown velvet sweat pants, and worn sneakers. No makeup, no shower (hey, bath the night before). One dad strode into the park with newsboy cap, leather blazer and posture that said, “These kids haven’t beaten me down!” I thought I wish I had an outfit on. I wish I had clothes that match. But, then again, why? I’m chasing after Rex crawling through the grass and sand. I’m lugging a bag over my shoulders full of snacks, water and diapers. A bag that would ruin the line of any stylish outfit. So, why bother? Why not just be covered and utilitarian and embrace it.
Yeah, I don’t dress up, I’m in momcognito.
Yeah, my roots are deep, and my nails are jagged because I’m too tired or too busy to leave my kids to attend to that.
And yeah, when I go to work ,my motherhood can betray my attempt at professionalism.
Fresh on the heels of a working mom being the first ever woman on a Republican presidential ticket, here is a workingwoman issue. Being touched at work. I don’t mean in a sexual harassment kind of way. This isn’t the kind of touching that’s going to bring a lawsuit or make anyone cry. But, how do you feel with touchy feely co-workers? Maybe it’s a California thing…