The Scene: 8th Grade Girls vs. Moms Basketball Game, Sometime Before I Did a Deep-Lunge and Traveled at the Same Time
The Culprit: Happy New Year Cardboard Horn for Use in Cheering for Mom’s Team
The Victim: My 10 Year-Old Son, Previously of Putting-His-Teeth-Through-His-Chin Fame and Known for Stopping a Skateboard with His Face
The Incident: A Fall While Holding the Horn in His Mouth, and a Traumatic Injury to the Uvula
The Result: Advil for Both of Us and an Extra Serving of Zoloft for Mom
As I sat on the plane waiting to leave Houston and Dad 2.0 Summit, after a weekend of listening to men speak freely and without judgement about what it’s like to be a father (in a space where I thought I might feel like an interloper, but instead was welcomed freely and without judgement) I noticed a young man who was probably a little older than my daughter. He entered the plane and tossed his scruffy, One-Directionesque, side-swept hair, all brown and wavy in the style that makes teen girls swoon. I eyed his bright smile which was likely just freed from braces and wires.
A few feet from him was a man shoving his heavy, black bag into the overhead bin. He was bald, wearing wire-rimmed, round glasses that matched his belly. I guessed he was 60. He looked tired.
There were such obvious physical differences between them that I couldn’t help but wonder, despite the fact they were males, with whom I had more in common.
Want to guess where this is going?
I’m nearing my 42nd birthday so if the boy was 18 and the man was 60, I’m squarely in the older group and despite what you may think, that actually isn’t all bad. Sure, he has that belly to contend with and he probably has his fair share of aches and pains, but I’m going to go ahead and state that the elder fellow has better taste in music. Zeppelin wins. Every time. Plus, he doesn’t have to worry about doing his hair.
It was also legal for me to order a vodka and cranberry on the flight and I apparently looked just haggard enough that the flight attendant gave me a drink, plus another one, and both of them were free. She said, “I always pick someone to be nice to and you look like you need it.” Another good thing about being older is that you know insults are easier to bear when there is free alcohol involved.
Although I don’t doubt the young, wavy-haired boy has a lot to offer, he can’t possibly be sure of himself yet. He thinks he’s sure of himself, but that’s just his body trying to trick his mind. If he’s a typical teen, he doesn’t know the challenges he will face. And, there will be many.
School is hard, girls are harder, but throw in kids and a mortgage and then we’ll see if that kid doesn’t look like he could use some free liquor. Also, another benefit of age is knowing when to STOP drinking free booze. There are many times that I wouldn’t have quit at two. Go ahead and ask all the friends who’ve held my hair back.
Just because you look like you’re strong and capable it doesn’t mean you are. And, I don’t think I was even confident enough to make that statement at the age of 18. Sure, I’m capable! Do you think I’m, like, capable? What about that guy in my English class? Does he think so? Where’s my Aqua Net? I CAN’T BE CAPABLE WITHOUT BIG BANGS!
Me and that 60 year old, we may have issues, but we have the history to show we can make it through them. Either that, or we’ll die trying.
Pass the vodka.
Sometimes, after I have yelled and hit my head against the wall in frustration, I look at your face and count your freckles.
When I am too tired to keep my eyes open at night, I stumble past the cluttered coffee table and nearly burst into tears at the sight of the kitchen sink. I see that you’ve used four different cups in the last four hours, then I sneak into your room and give you kisses while you sleep.
I sigh at your attitude and 10 minutes later I grab you for a hug. My shoulders slump when I see your mountain of laundry on the basement floor, but as I fold your shirts I smile at how much you’ve grown.
I want to stomp my feet because it’s impossible to get you to bed on time, and in the morning I am happy to hear your footsteps when you climb out of bed and I know we’re about to start another day together.
This job – this blessing – it is work and happiness and exhaustion and sunshine. It is tears, sleepless nights, worry-filled days, and joy beyond compare. It’s being thrilled for how far you’ve come and being frozen in fear when I think about the future.
I am proud, I am scared, I am confident, I am confused.
I am a parent.
Dear Target,
Let me state from the outset that I love you. I love you so much that I visit at least twice a week and even if I only went in for paper towels, I give the cashier $75. Every time.
But, can we please talk about these ads for your Everyday Collection?
I’m all for edgy, but I find them downright bizarre. If you want to accurately portray a PTA mom, you should show her frazzled and running to the store at the last minute to buy pre-packaged cookies, IF she remembered the cookies at all. And trust me, she wouldn’t be wearing those heels.
And, how about this one?
Are women only about baking and changing diapers? Really? I don’t know about you, but it’s 2013 at my house. Show me a woman with a drill, free weights, or a car battery. Okay, I’m lying about the car battery, because I have NO CLUE how to change one of those. BUT I COULD FIGURE IT OUT IF I HAD TO.
Better yet, show me a man changing the diapers or baking a cake. That’s what I want to see. If you want to see a woman get excited about something, it’s having a man in your “Everyday” who flexes his muscles in the kitchen or while emptying the Diaper Genie. RAWR.
You’re better than this, Target. Continue to show that a woman can be strong and confident in her everyday life, but let’s give her a little credit so my 14 year old daughter knows that her future isn’t just about cake mix and baby bottoms.
And, if you’re going to have women portray moms while wearing all white I think it’s clear that the best thing to advertise would be a giant bottle of bleach.
Disclosure: I should have mentioned that Target is a customer of my employer BlogHer, Inc., but this opinion is my own; both the love of the brand and the critique of this particular ad.
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