Looking beyond the look(s)

Tolerance. I hate that word. I hate it because is it really so so difficult to just skip ahead to acceptance? I hate it because I identified with the gay community for a while, and still do sometimes, strangely enough, and the word tolerance meant difference to me. Not good difference. Difference that somebody might be willing to put up with in the right circumstances. But difference. And. Not as good.

But, tolerance. It’s back. And I am learning the mom side of it now. And in this frenzied life of mine I’m realizing that I have become more … tolerant. Maybe it’s because I am just too bleeping exhausted all the time to spend any energy judging other people. But, well, no, that’s not it. It’s because becoming a mother has linked me with all mothers. All mothers. No matter their philosophies on parenting. Or the conditions in which they are raising their children. Working mothers, at-home mothers, combo moms like me. Mothers with one, two, six, more kids. Mothers with resources beyond my own. Mothers with much less. I realize, now that I am responsible for the lives of these three little ones under this roof, that we moms, all of us (for the overwhelming most part) are striving for the same thing: Thriving children.

And so. That woman over there who at another time I may have rolled my eyes at because she is wearing pancake makeup and a top that is a little too tight? I introduce myself to her now. Or the mom who talks just a teensy too loud in a kind of annoying voice? I watch the way she interacts with her kid on the playground. And I can tell. She’s a good mom. There are women who are not “my type.” (Frazzled.) Or who don’t seem like it. They are women whose hair is not snarled, whose toenail polish isn’t chipped, whose jeans don’t have a hole in the knee. Whose babies don’t have drool and mashed avocado all down the front of their onesies. And a lot of these moms are nice. (Shh. This is a revelation.) But the important thing is that these moms, they seem to be interested in me, too. They look past my appearance. The clutter in my house. The scattered toys in the backyard. Some even might be able to look me in the eye after seeing the state of the inside of my car.

Maybe some of them might even become friends. Even though that seems impossible.

Acceptance. I can accept differences now. I wonder how some of these put-together moms do it. I wonder if they just put themselves first more than I do. And instead of criticizing them, I admire them for it. I mean, how do you get three kids out the door in the morning and still brush your own hair? Seriously, sometimes I want to ask someone this. Or, why do you apply your makeup when you could just, I don’t know, sit down for five minutes? Maybe the time it takes to apply the makeup, I realize now, is that mom’s time alone. Or maybe she is just coping way better than I am with the upheaval of motherhood. I guess the point is that I give everyone the benefit of the doubt a little bit more these post-mom days. Because I realize, I just don’t know what anyone else’s life is like. Never, ever would I have guessed at so many of the things I have to do in a day. The constant negotiations, for one. Who knew that just to get your kid to put on underwear would take all the skills of an international peacekeeper? (Wish I had some of those skills.)

I realize that I want my children to grow up to be confident individuals. I want them to be accepting of other responsible, decent people. And so, I have to set the example. And in doing so, I need to step up. Look beyond my first impressions of people (other mothers). And because motherhood for me is the single most defining role of my life thus far, I expect this might be the same for many other moms I meet. And that’s enough to start me off on the right foot.

So, Hi, my name’s Jen.