American Mom

I am an American mom. This is an admission of guilt. I joined Costco and got an American made crossover SUV in the same week. I am not sure how this happened to me. Even as a child of 1980s excess I have wanted nothing more than to live a simple life and raise socially conscious children.

I believe the French have it right and that when you have a baby you should get like a whole year off to care for and bond with your infant and take 6 week holidays with your family don’t get me wrong. Even the idea of local markets and buying just enough bread or cheese for the day remains appealing. However, somewhere along the line my other ideals have been modified to suit fundamentally American ways. You can call it an evolution, but in reality I have made some compromises. My absolutes are reformed.

I still hold some firm beliefs about certain things. For example did you know Costco carries a variety of organic food options as well as eco friendly options for detergent and dish soap? I did not. Until now and I buy those things. As such my trips to Whole foods have been cut dramatically.

I find myself asking questions about my relationship to consumerism and what I am teaching my son about life as I wander the huge aisles filled with food and other sundries. Am I telling him this is what we need? I hope not, but still the organic soy milk Brenton loves is sold there in bulk and it is shelf stable. I could not be more pleased with this find.

Also my crossover SUV gets pretty good gas mileage despite its size. I was selective and did many comparisons on the subject. I am nothing if not an educated American Mom consumer. This Honda fanatic ended up selecting…GASP…a Chevy! My primary concern was finding a big enough seat in the back to fit two rear facing baby seats. How times have changed.

I recall my first car. The 1979 Plymouth Volare monster of a car that got perhaps 5 miles to the gallon. I actually ran out of gas twice in one day. Then my Taurus that I blew up for lack of fundamental understanding of cars and oil changes. Onto my tiny red civic with only two doors that I drove for 14 years and swore I would drive until the wheels fell off. They almost did until I leased the new 4 door silver model. Now my crossover SUV is my newest vehicle. Red, shiny and new!

I admit I judged my brother and my cousins in their large SUVs with only 2 children. Who really needs all that? And now I do or I think I do enough to follow suit. I mean really how else will I fit rear facing convertible car seats or get all that organic soy milk home from Costco?

Now I wonder if this happens to everyone. Do our youthful ideals always transform? Do I still have a social conscience? Am I fundamentally changed for my recent decisions? I am left to wonder about the ramifications of these shifts, but I do accept my own self prescribed label of American mom. Maybe I should start baking apple pies.

Evolution

There comes a time when you stand back and marvel at how far your baby has come. For me happened a few weeks ago when I walked down the stairs and there was my son Brenton standing there wearing jeans and an argyle sweater and his little tiny sneakers. He looked like a little boy. He was no longer a baby but a toddler.

I asked my friend if that happens to her and she just said wait until he is 8. I wonder if it will still happen when he is my age now. Will I be struck by how he has grown and changed before my eyes?

I still remember when I held him for the first time and kissed his sweet little face. That moment is when I begin the journey of watching my baby grow up. I can't stop it and I don't want to. It is marvelous. It is a kind of perfection.

There are times I do not remember my childhood but my mother does. I wonder if that will happen to Brenton and to me. Will I be able to tell him about the time he whacked his face on the coffee table and gave himself a huge bruise on his right cheek? Or will I forget? Will I remember what it was like to watch him really learn to walk and how he did laps around the kitchen island like it was a race track?

I like to think I will keep note of every moment although I know that may not be possible. Even now memories come back smack me in the face and I am right back there. Like when he had his first steps, his first bee sting, his first smile, first poopie diaper and when he first said Dada. All bringing up different emotions they bring me joy and comfort for many different reasons. Whether it was how brave he was or how cute he was it was all a part of his journey and mine. Intertwined and connected yet separate while simple and complex is our evolution as mother and son.