Flashback Saturday: Hip Mom Rule #1

I started these Hip Mom Rules when I was pregnant with my second child. Now that my children are older, it's fun to look back on these rules and see how they've shaped who I am as a mom to three boys as we head into their late elementary and middle school years. I'll be posting a new Hip Mom Rule every other Wednesday and a Flashback rule on the alternating Saturdays until I catch up! If you don't want to miss one, go ahead and subscribe! It would make my day. :)

 Hip Mom Rule #1: It Still Matters
I knew I shouldn’t do it. I know better. You NEVER wear brown leather shoes with black pants. But, being 33 weeks pregnant and exhausted from a day of chasing around an 18-month old, I thought, “Who is really going to care what color shoes I have on when I can’t even see my own feet!” Besides, with a good-looking husband and a cute toddler, who would really notice me anyway?

Once we got to the mall, I became increasingly irritated by my poor shoe selection. I'm normally more pulled together than this. My husband looked great; my toddler looked adorable. And please don't misunderstand. It wasn't that I cared a bit about what others thought of my outfit; it was all about the fact that I hadn't taken time to dress myself confidently. I was suddenly and acutely aware of how little time I had been spending on myself as I addressed the needs of my growing family.

The thing with pregnancy and new momhood is that we tend to put others’ needs well before our own. By the time we catch a glimpse of ourselves in the mirror, we barely resemble the put-together, hip women that we used to be. Instead, a bedraggled, exhausted woman stares back. At no time in my pre-baby life would I have let being tired prevent me from making at least SOME effort.

A hip mom won’t be “put-together” every time she walks out the door, but this hip mom will NOT walk out the door again just not caring. Therefore, I will not leave for Target in my sweat pants. I will not be in my pajamas when my husband gets home from work. I will not go three days without washing my hair, and then cover the evidence with an old, dirty baseball cap. Black pants, black socks. And if this means asking my husband to tie the shoelaces on the only shoes that match those  black pants, then so be it.

I want to be my best version of myself, and I see that as including being a hip mom. For that reason, I will continue fighting to maintain some semblance of my fashionable self in this new maze of dirty diapers, stained shirts, and perfume d’spitup.

Hip Mom Rule #15: Pay attention to warning signs

I was just picking my kids up from their childcare when the fire alarm went off, shattering the otherwise peaceful environment of the building. The first blare of the alarm took us a little by surprise. The second blare startled my youngest. The third blare set them all off, crying and screaming to leave. My 3-year-old had just watched the fire safety video from the library, and I’m sure visions of a burning down building, fire trucks, water hoses, and imminent disaster were racing through his brain faster than he could process the situation. He started to panic and began pulling his younger brother and me toward the door with as much determination as I’ve ever seen him muster.

Meanwhile, well-intentioned adults came over to try to console him. “Don’t worry, kiddo,” they said. “It’s just a fire alarm.” As I hustled to get out the door to pacify my son and, to be honest, to get away from the annoying blare of the alarm, I pondered what had just been said. Just a fire alarm. No worries here. Fire alarms just warn us when there is a fire. A FIRE!

Okay, granted, it was just an alarm. There was no fire, and no permanent harm was done. But there was harm in teaching my children that the warning should be ignored.

As a hip and informed mom, I know there are warning signs everywhere, and it is hard to know when to heed them and when to let time resolve the situation. Surely, a hip mom doesn’t have time to take every breaking news story about the dangers of your carseat/dish soap/bubble bath/cosmetics/car model, etc. seriously. Who wants to be the mom that the hospital receptionist knows by name because you run your kids in to the doctor at every sniffle? And you cannot live in constant fear of the worst possible outcome and still be a calm, collected, hip mom.

Still, warning signs exist for a reason – some danger is lurking that could endanger you or your family. The trick is to learn which warning signs are real and which ones you can ignore. More importantly, a hip mom will discern which warning signs she wants her kids to take seriously, knowing full well that they are paying close attention to her every move. Personally, I want my kids to understand that a fire alarm means to get out of the building, even if it means leaving their coolest, favorite jacket behind. They can always go back and get it later. I might not always be able to go back and get them later.

Hip Mom Rule #14: Be on Time

Invariably, it happens as you’re walking out the door without a minute to spare. You reach down to zip up your toddler’s jacket and are immediately overcome by the unmistakable aroma of a fresh, full, poopy diaper, that has, of course, exploded out the back of the diaper and up the clean shirt you just put on him. No problem. You get the diaper changed, zip up the jacket, and finally head out the door, a little late. But wait; it’s time to feed the baby. No, the baby will not wait. She needs to be fed RIGHT NOW!! Resigned to the fact that you will be very late, you unzip the toddler’s jacket and sit down to pacify the baby with a quick snack.

Yes, this happens. Especially when you have an infant on hand. You never know what the next crisis will be, but you can bet that the minute you need to get out the door, a crisis will hit. And soon enough, you resign yourself to being chronically late.

New moms are given a lot of leeway in the timeliness department because veteran moms know that while you may have been able to get yourself out of bed and out the door in under forty-five minutes before you had children, there is no way you can do it with children. And it takes a long time for parents to realize that they need to add time to their routine for the mishaps that are guaranteed to happen.

I learned this lesson the hard way – as the victim of a chronically late friend. We would schedule a time to meet. I would scurry around, getting the diapers changed, feeding the baby, combing my hair, tossing on a hip (yet casual) outfit while throwing together a diaper bag, all in a mad dash to get out the door so I could be at the designated place at the designated time. Inevitably, I would show up on time and my friend would show up anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour later, always lamenting about how hard it is to get two kids out the door. I really like my friend, but being a hip mom with a busy schedule, I don’t have time to always wait and wait (and worry that something bad has happened), so eventually I stopped making plans to get together with her.

It is easy to blame our children for our inability to be on time, but truthfully, being on time is a matter of planning and foresight. And it’s important. If it takes you half an hour to get yourself ready to get out the door, plan on starting an hour early, because now you have more than just yourself to worry about. If a true disaster occurs, deal with it and call your friend to let them know you’ll be late. It isn’t easy, and you won’t always be on time, but a hip mom will make the effort.

Hip Mom Rule 13: No kids' menu means no kids

My husband and I rarely go out to nice restaurants, mostly because after we’ve paid a babysitter we don’t have much change left for a nice meal. Still, once or twice a year we find ourselves in the enviable position of dressing up in our “needs to be ironed” clothing heading out for an expensive meal at a posh restaurant.

After several months of considering Taco Johns our night out, my husband and I decided that we had earned a nicer evening out without the kids. I put on my trendiest black dress. My husband put on his suit, and I took great pleasure in straightening his tie. We looked good. The babysitter was right on time. The boys, always amenable to playing with the babysitter, waved goodbye and we were on our way to spend our fancy dime.

We arrived at the restaurant at 7:45 p.m., just in time to enjoy a glass of wine before we were seated for our 8:00 reservation – at the table next to the ONLY table in the restaurant with children – a 3 year-old and an infant. The parents scolded, the children cried, food flew across their table and landed near my feet. The wait staff became irritated, and for many of us, the romantic ambiance of the restaurant was ruined. When our $125 bill finally arrived, we were annoyed and disappointed.

Now understand, there is nothing wrong with parents taking their children out to eat to teach them good manners. I appreciate parents who bring their children to a hip restaurant for a six o’clock reservation. But if the restaurant doesn’t have a children’s menu, it is a strong indication that children are not welcome, especially for an 8 o’clock dinner.

You love your children and understandably expect everyone to find them adorable, but a hip mom knows that there are just some places where children should not go. If the restaurant offers a kid’s menu, crayons and balloons, by all means, go and enjoy your meal and fear not the wrath of nearby patrons when your child throws a fit. If, however, the prices exceed the cost of your regular babysitter and macaroni and cheese is not on the menu, a hip mom will think twice before subjecting those dining strangers to the pleasure of banqueting with her children.

Hip Mom Rule #7: Be Interesting

. . . there is more to life than your children.

I had had one of those weeks where it seemed liked every time I turned around, I ran into a pile of dirty clothes, stepped in a pile of crumbs, tripped over a pile of toys . . . piles, piles, piles. And to make it more aggravating, my youngest was trying to walk and couldn’t quite figure it out, so he was attached to the backs of my jeans using me as a giant walker. The oldest was bored of the rain, bored of his toys, and bored of his brother not being able to walk. In short, I needed a night out.

I called my friend, also a hip mother of small children and said, “Girl, this week has kicked my butt. I need to get out. Are you in?” Of course! What mom isn’t ready to ditch the family life for a night out with a friend sans children? I was REALLY looking forward to this; I really needed it. We met at a hip coffeeshop with low lights and comfortable couches. I wore a hip outfit that melded with the fun atmosphere of the coffeeshop. I fixed my hair and make up. I anticipated great conversation, new ideas, and a break from the routine of daily mothering.

Instead, we talked about kids, or rather she talked about her kids. The entire time. I kept trying to divert the conversation to the news, religion, taxes, fashion, celebrity gossip, anything that didn’t directly involve poop, spit-up, or potty training. The night was a colossal failure. I returned home from my big night out more enervated than I was when I left.

Now don’t get me wrong – I love to talk about my kids as much as the next parent, but I crave conversations that don’t always revolve around the kids. I crave adult conversation. To get that, I need to have something interesting to talk about. So, I read the paper on Sundays, I belong to a bookclub and read at least one book a month, I watch a couple minutes of the news each day or listen to NPR on the radio. I don’t devote a lot of time to it (because, seriously, as a new mom wouldn’t you rather take a nap?), but I do enough so that if I happen upon another person craving conversation involving more than diapers and sleeping routines, I can actually contribute in some small meaningful way.

In short, it can be hip to chat up your little cherubs. It’s fun to share the trials and tribulations of motherhood. But it’s the hip mom way to have other things to talk about, too, especially if your big night out is with a friend who has her own little cherubs waiting for her at home.