The Great Ego Purge, Drinks To Be Served After: "let me tell you what I am not"

Day: 5

Where: At Home

Type of Yoga: Intro to Power Yoga Parts One and Two 
Source: HULU PLUS-Yoga Zone Channel

Time: Part One 19 min./Part Two 23 min. = 42min.

Well apparently I felt the power, from this session. I know I'm in the baby stages of reintroducing yoga back into my life, but the old, stifled up remnants of myself are already emerging. So with that said and some mental musings as of late, I've decided to post a confessional from time to time. My need to passionately pursue yoga is not just about the physical changes. Right now I'm delving into the need to purge some mental blocks. If you have sensitive eyeballs, please turn away:

For far too long I've tried to be just about anyone EXCEPT who I naturally am as a mother. I've even had mom friends try to tell me who to be (ironically, they wanted me to be just like them). Do I know exactly what kind of Mom I naturally am or could/would/should be? No, I'm finding that out one step at a time, but I can now tell you-without regret whatsoever-who I am not:

I am not a baker: I've tried more times that I can count.  Pinterest was insisting that I was in all actuality THE WORLD'S BEST BAKER to ever don an apron and grace a mixing bowl, but uh, Pinterest? Yea, that bitch was wrong. After the great Valentine's Day Red Velvet Cake Monkey Bread disaster of 2013, we had a "Come to Jesus" and decided to go ahead and build a bridge and get over that shit.

I am not a organizational master: My house is not always clean, my lists are not always crossed off, and this family, as a group is almost always running behind. Carpools make me coo coo ca-choo, so I have voluntarily opted out of them. I cannot take the pressure of not only being responsible for getting my children to school on time, but yours as well? Who came up with this terrible idea? No thanks.

I am not as patient as I should be: Let's get two things straight. FIRSTLY: these two kiddos are the light of my life, the best people I have ever met. The most wonderful thing that could have ever happened to me was to be blessed enough to become the mother of my two gorgeous, talented, smart, funny and sweet sweet babies. SECONDLY: these two drive me fucking nuts. Seriously. I can't even tell you how many times I've had to call my poor mother (who thank heavens lives close to us) and have  had to lay it out a little something like this..."If you are a fan of your granddaughter and would like it if she were still alive at the end of this day, then I suggest you come here and remove her from my presence as quickly as possible. Thank you."

I am not a sex goddess: "You were thinking I should whaat? Ok bud, let me break it down for you...I am tired and in desperate need of a shower which I am probably not going to take tonight. I have been hugged on, kissed on, wrestled with, yanked, grabbed and sneezed on for the last eight hours by your children, so I have literally been touched all day. I don't feel like touching anything else.  Now please shut it down...my wine is getting warm and The Mindy Project is on in like five minutes."

I am not at my best in the morning: My mother is notorious for  lovingly infuriatingly reminding me that my schedule would run much more efficiently if I just got up an extra hour in the morning. I hear ya, Mom, I do. My brain says "Yes!", my body says "Hell no. I know exactly the last possible minute I can hit that snooze. By the way, Erin, that was so cute of you to set the alarm an hour early, when we both know your getting up right now, is so not going to happen." My body is a jerk.

I am not happy being anybody's sidekick or party-mom friend: I get it, you're cool, your life is one non-stop socializing bunco grouping lake party after another. You win the "I'm still partying like it's 1999 award", but I'm no longer interested. I get tired. Sometimes, being alone with my couch, jammies and cocktail of choice feels so good that if loving that is wrong, I don't want to be right.

I am not a fan of volunteering for school committees or events: I really, really, really tried to be that gal. That go-getting, I'm going to make a difference at this school. I will leave a legacy here that will still be talked about when my grandchildren's grandchildren grace the tile lined wing that was named in my honor. But, Mama got herself a little taste of that, and...ah...thanks but no thanks. No joke, there is nothing like a school fund raiser for the children to bring out the "psycho hose beast"-worst in all of us. Nope, not for me.

I do not find motherhood for the most part fulfilling and gratifying: Talking to a friend the other day, who is recently new to motherhood,  really summed it up for me. My pal, N said, "I don't feel like I'm doing anything really productive, but I'm exhausted at the end of the week." I hear ya sister, loud and clear. You are normal. Of course you don't feel productive, and of course you are ragged out at the end of the week...every day is the same...it's Groundhog's day babe, and you are Bill-Freaking-Murray. Everything that was done yesterday needs to be done today, laundry needs done, dishes need put away, meals need cooked, homework needs checked, kids get dropped off at school and then picked up at school...HAMSTER ON A DAMN WHEEL.

Whatever I am not is okay with me...finally...thank you sweet Jesus, thank you! This is because I know that getting all the shit I know I'm not out of the way for good, is just the precursor to finding out what I am as a mother. No matter what that is for any of us, in the day to day, it feels very thankless. The payoff though, is big...BIG. It's building and shaping these little guys, and creating memories. Memories with the good ones outweighing the bad. Although-and we all must admit this-the bad, is going to happen. The bad is all a part of it. It's not always rainbows and sunshine, and it is so more then OKAY for us to not always like it. Maybe that's step one, just admit that you don't always like it, you aren't always the best at it. Admit that your snotty comments about how other moms suck is just masking all of your insecurities about it. It blows, it rocks, it's hard, it's as easy as breathing, it's painful, it's joyful, it's nasty, it's the sweetest of any sweet to ever exist, it's so frustrating you will actually fully understand the meaning of wanting-really WANTING-to pull your own hair out of your own head out of complete lack of how to make the stupid shit stop! It's disappointing and it is at the same time better then you could ever imagine. 

I know who I am not. Pretending no longer serves me. Now I can clear the space to  be the Mom I am.