Dear Mothers

Dear Mothers,

I see and hear you talking about your shit and how its not together. I hear about the mistake you made and that it means you're a bad mom. It makes me upset. It makes me want to confront you. And oh how I dislike confrontation. I thought about this the whole drive to Xan's dance class this evening. The class that didn't happen because its spring break and therefore the building was closed. Um yeah, I must have missed the memo. Or I got the memo and just didn't read it. Or, I put it in the pile of shit I've been working on getting together. Or maybe it's just common sense that I don't happen to have at this moment. Sense - I have a whole lot of, however none of it is what I would label "common". I no longer put this in the negative column of my self assessment checklist. Actually, I no longer have this kind of checklist. No feminist driven idea of having to prove I can do all this and that in the acceptable amount of time. I'm not knocking feminism, it is a beautiful thing. But sometimes I wonder if the ideas of sexual equality have morphed into something bigger than my own happiness. I don't want to go above and beyond just to show that I can. I want to do what makes me happy and what I believe my purpose here on Earth is. It shouldn't matter if my dream is big or small or even registers on our societies list of what is awe