Why “Momma Goose”?
For reasons not worth mentioning, my husband calls me "Gooseberry." Our sweet son hatched on May 9th, 2009. I started thinking like a Mom long before that.
Read more about me, my gander and our gosling in the "cast of characters" tab at the top of my blog.
To laugh often and much;
to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;
to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure betrayal of false friends;
to appreciate beauty;
to find the best in others;
to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden, or a redeemed social condition;
to know even if one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson
You Wuz Here
- 17,227 Visits since 4/24/10
Category Archives: Reflecting Pool
So, here’s the thing: my previous blog theme wasn’t working for me. I chose the authoritative tone of “how to be a Renaissance Parent” because I thought that’s what people would want to read, but it’s really not me.
In fact, I’m getting sick of listening to myself write.
With all the beauty in the world, who has time to listen to me pretend to know what I’m talking about?
My new blog theme, “Momma Goose’s Tidings of Great Joy,” feels better. I’ll post in eight categories: Continue reading
I speak English. I pretend that I speak French and Spanish, and I am conversational in Pig Latin.
But I am fluent in Punga.
My son could be on the other end of the telephone, and based upon 1) the pitch of his cry, and 2) the distance between the sun and the horizon, I would know whether he A) is hungry, B) is tired, or C) just bumped his head on his fire truck.
My mother plays ping-pong in high heels.
But keep your guard up, unsuspecting reader: she’ll kick your butt in those heels.
Penelope Trunk once wrote that People Magazine’s photo spread of Jennifer Lopez with her newborn twins is “Mommy P(stick an ‘o’ right here)rn: the visual fantasy of what being a working mom could be.”
She is saying that, by distributing photos of a new mom so unrealistically put-together, People Magazine is perpetuating a myth which creates self-doubt in women, who try–and fail–to live up to that standard. It’s a lot like the Barbie complex.
Let’s say, hypothetically, that your basement is six inches under water, and that small animals are seeking refuge by clinging to pieces of your new Pergo floors, which are now floating adrift amongst your childhood keepsakes.
And let’s say, also hypothetically, that as you are trying to bale yourself out, you create a steady stream of water from your baling bucket to the electric motor on the pump you Jimmy-rigged. Let’s say that the ensuing electrical shock is so fierce that you buck backwards, and, with your own hands, you smash your own bucket into your own face, spewing blood everywhere and splitting your lip wide open. And let’s say that you then lose power to your home and, just for good measure, you drop your cell phone into the basement tides.