What on earth is up with the Magic Mama Mojo concept?

You know, the one that says "Well, just do your own thing instead of talking to the kid's dad, because you're the mom, you're right*" and "Oh, don't worry about other people's advice, mothers always know what's best" and "Follow your instincts because you're his mom, nobody knows him like you" and (most recently) "Well, a mother's relationship is different from a father's, so no matter that she thinks you're going to hell, she'll forgive you, don't worry".

That last one? Bull. Fucking. Shit.

Say it with me now. It can be our mantra (our Magical Mama-or-not Mantra!). "Mothers are people too".

Which means that mothers make mistakes. Just like everybody else. Sometimes they make really bad mistakes, even with the best of intentions.

Mothers are people too.

Which means some of them are badly suited to the role of mother, or at least mother to their kids. They're abusive, or neglectful, or just plain not good moms. It happens.

Mothers are people too.

Which means they have the same silly prejudices and the same irrational grudges as everybody else.

Some mothers are horrible people. I can start counting the number of friends I have who have absolutely horrible relationships with their moms. Why? Because their moms suck. It happens. I have a bad relationship with this girl down the street for the exact same reason, because she's a nasty bitch. It happens.

Some moms are really immature. Some of them are emotionally or mentally unstable. Some of them don't like children. They're all flawed in some way, because they're people too.

And I'm sick of hearing people chattering on and on about how wonderful moms are (at least to their kids) by default of being moms.

It's simply untrue.

*_{In fairness, I most often see this presented to mothers when they are, in fact, right. Heck, I've used it, though without that wording or the implication that "you're right because you're the mom". But now I think I shouldn't've.}

*aggravated sigh*

Fridays, prior to Drumming Circle, we go to the SICM and cook. They're making ice cream all summer long. Yesterday was Root Beer Floats.

Which we didn't make, but what could we have done?

( Cutted for a long tale of disobedience and ABC gum )

I was so not happy. I gave Ana a time-out when we got home, on top of not going to the museum, and over the course of the day at least two people (her mom and mine) gave her lectures on why she didn't get to go to the museum. Her dad may have done so today as well, I don't know.

And I had wanted to go to the museum! I really wanted those root beer floats!!!!

But there was nothing to be done for it, really. I said we'd get off the bus and go home, and that's what we had to do. You can't make a threat like that and not enforce it. That's just all kinds of wrong. It's wrong, on top of wrong, with a big heaping spoonful of wrong for desert.

The day before, I caught her hiding under the table eating margarine. That's not an immediate health risk (I mean, aside from the eventual results of cholesterol), but she's still not allowed to do it. And as I tell her to put it back in the fridge, you know what she does? She takes another bite.

*sighs*

I don't know. I just don't know.

Of course, it's not about the gum eating.

Or the tooth marks in the margarine (I used to eat butter too, when I was a kid, and mustard right out of the bottle). Or the yelling and hitting and constant reminders to say thanks and otherwise act like a civilised being.

It's about that times when it works. When she sees her friend is having trouble putting the lid on the tupperware container, and goes "Oh, no, sweetie, that's on upside down... Yeah, that's right. You did it! Connie! She did it herself!". When she gets a compliment on her hair and says, loudly and without prompting "OH, thank you!". When, after a massive poop accident she thanks me for wiping up the mess ("Oh, no, it's *not* all right, thank you for cleaning the poo-poo!" - that's another discussion the two of us need to have, really. I don't like her having accidents, but I'm not upset about them, and I don't want her to think I am!). When she reads a book to her sister, or holds her hand and helps her walk, or cheers at her for standing unassisted or trying to eat a peach unassisted.

That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.

But I really wanted those root beer floats!

Jenn did her Burmese dance today

At the Staten Island World Dance Thingy. She was quite good, and managed to create the impression that she'd practiced more than once in the past two years.

It doubled as a dance recital for the local danc school, I think, which gave them a ready-made audience. Ana really got into watching the African Dance Class, and we were all impressed with various aspects of the school, and at $1000 for 40 weeks, that's not a bad deal at all.

So I'll nag Jenn and 'dul about it, and money will be scrounged from somewhere, and I do believe Ana may start her very first dance class soon. Aw. She's all grown up!

Of course, today I got to reprise my role as general fetch-and-carry girl. What is it about performances? I had major flashbacks to one too many dance recitals where there would be some minor catastrophe at the last minute. Because that's all this was. We didn't have candles. The candles were too big. Cutting them apart mutilated them. And on and on and on.

Theoretically, this could all be prevented with proper planning, but I've never yet seen that happen.