Mea Culpa Momma

"What else could I write?
I don't have the right.
What else should I be?
All Apologies." - Nirvana


I've noticed lately that most of my maternal encounters begin with an apology.

"Come on in, sorry about the mess."

"It's great to hear from you, sorry I didn't ever call you back that time I said I'd call you right back five years ago."

"I'm sorry we never got together for lunch this Summer. . .or last Summer."

"I'm sorry, she hasn't had her shots."

"Excuse the way I look, I've decided mascara and lipstick add six ounces to my weight."

"I'm sorry, they were raised better than this. . ."



Do you feel like, as a mother, you're constantly apologizing for EVERYTHING? Why do we do that? Surely other mothers lead similarly hectic lives and understand why we're late, absent or askew. Do we really have to justify ourselves to each other all the time?

Maybe I should just get a t-shirt that says, "Mea Culpa Momma!"

My goal in the next week is to stop this recompense roller coaster.

My emails will simply begin, "I'd forgotten all about you, but now I need a favor!"

I'll answer the door with a brazen lack of remorse, "Welcome to my home, enter at your own risk!"

And I'll just pretend that my kids belong to someone else when we're out in public. ("What kind of mother raised THAT bunch of monkeys?" I'll inquire of fellow incredulous bystanders.)

That's it, I'm done with living a life of constant atonement!

(And if I've forgotten my goal by this afternoon, well, I'm sorry. . .)