Since the inception of this website Ive had increasing numbers of self-proclaimed AntiSoccermoms approach me with their stories. It is fantastic to meet like minded people and I would like to encourage you to tell your own story, if not on your own blog, than here on this one. Feel free to write me and let me know how you are being an AntiSoccermom.

 The 6 Steps to being an AntiSoccermom

6. Wear the badge of mommyhood with honor, ditch the mom-jeans. 

A combination of sleep deprivation and a lack of anything freedom-related led me to believe as a young mother it was okay to wear sweatpants to the store despite the breast-milk stains and baby puke. The ability to care for an ill-tempered tiny person overcame the ability to care for myself and I found that little would calm my tanking self-esteem like a good shopping spree and the occassional massage. Just because you are a mom, doesnt mean you have to look like one. Ditch the mom-jeans and spend a little time doing something you love. It makes you a happier, healthier and ultimately a more awesome mom.

5. Who Cares what they think?

If I had to choose to free climb Mt. Everest or spend half an hour with the moms from my kids PTA, I bet you can guess where I’d rather put my energy. Moms, especially in packs, can be an incredibley cruel and daunting experience to undertake and I avoid it at all costs. There is an ugly unspoken mob mentality between soccermoms and antisoccermoms, akin to the highschool cliques of cheerleader vs. drama geek. Much like highschool, the best thing to do is to ignore these condescending "super moms." They will sneer at everything from your choice of coffee to what your children are wearing, their homes are often spotless and their outfits spectacularly in style. They will have the latest hair styles and the nicest SUV’s but their husbands never make it to school functions and they are always flirting with the new PE teacher. Like Wyclef says, Dont believe the hype. There is no such thing as a perfect mom and you don’t have to try to be one. If you can’t shake off their negativity, do what I do and justify their perfection as a clear lack of sexual satisfaction in their lonely and desolate lives. It makes the drama easier to swallow, but Id still take that 8,850 meter trek through the icey wilderness.

4. Despite common practice, Let logic rule.

No one can see through bullshit faster than a pre-teen. Don’t believe me? Lie to a child and see how quickly they call you on it. Instead of sugar-coating this ugly world for your perfect little angel, why not introduce them to a little place called reality? They dont need to win every game of UNO to build their precious self-esteem, in fact, coddling them that way just results in an adult that no one can please. AntiSoccermoms raise their children with honesty. My kids know they get the real deal when they ask questions and because of that they aren’t standing with their little paws out waiting for their golden ticket in life. Be truthful with your kiddos, they know it when you aren’t.

3. So what if he’s acting like a child?

Everyone in the house takes turn acting like a two year old, even the two year old. Problem is, all kids want to grow up faster than they should. Why not allow them to actually retain their priceless sense of childhood wonderment? Embrace the mental age of your children and allow them to spread their little wings on their own time. Healthy relationships are built around experience, dont thwart your children by pressuring them in to the next age bracket. You will be grateful for the chance to slow time just a little and watch your kiddos blossom in front of you. Its all about realistic expectations and letting your kids be who they really are.

2.  Love your children, but not too much.

Ayelet Waldman got a truckload of flack for announcing to the world that she loves her husband more than she loves her children. First, let me say that I think this is healthy and a positive approach to parenting. Second, who cares what the haters say? Loving your children is easy, providing a stable home life is a bit more difficult. Kids should be pretty high on your list of priorities, maybe even third, but you should come before them and so should your spouse. Happy homes breed happy children. If you aren’t happy, your kids wont be so find the one that does it for you and cleave to them. It makes the screaming, crying and inevitable meltdowns so much easier to take when you have someone on your side.

1. Be you. Get yours. 

Here’s a secret. Your husband misses the person he married. Your friends miss the fun loving girl who looked like she gave a damn and let’s face it, You miss You, Right?

The first step to being an AntiSoccermom is to remember who you actually are. Kids are great and can lend an incredible amount of depth to your lifestyle, but its important to retain some sense of personal pride in yourself. Do the things that made you feel great before having kids, and keep doing them after those little monsters come around and suck up all your free time. In finance they tell you to pay yourself first, in parenting, get yours before they get theirs. It may sound cruel, and I know it sounds selfish, but it isnt as bad as you think. Happy moms have happy kids.

 

What do you think? Are you an Antisoccermom?

 

© 2009, AntiSoccermom. All rights reserved to the original author unless stated otherwise.

Children are like Taxes, it may not be something you want to pay for but it is better to handle the hard stuff now before you end up a criminal. There are ups and there are downs with every child, if you don’t realize that yet, please don’t have children. This is one story about my little downer. It isn’t hard to understand when you have a real problem child on your hands. At 19 months this little fire ball can talk, walk and accurately toss food at you from across the room. He is sensitive and sweet, but only when his fangs aren’t showing. I like to think that this propensity towards violence has a purpose, perhaps he will grow up to be a hostage negotiator, since he understands the concepts so well. When I was picking out this childs name, the third and final time I would ever go through the process, I wanted something strong and independent. A name fit for a little king. We chose Michael to honor his grandfather and to provide him with a grounded name and a solid personality. I wish I would have named him sally, I think he might have been a little easier to handle. Yesterday the entire house was struck with a case of food poisoning. Lunch with grandpa included a buffet with less than cooked sausage, of which we all consumed. No one was feeling well yesterday so we spent our time laying around the house and taking turns moaning on the bathroom floor. Mike was exceptionally sweet and subdued, something he does every once in a while to make sure we still love him enough to not dress him in pink and stick him on someone else’s porch. He wasn’t feeling well, no one was, and he wasn’t quite sure how to tell us about it. After a solid twelve hours of laying around the house and fighting over the giant bean bag, everyone was starting to feel better. It wasn’t until baby daddy turned to Michael and asked if he was feeling better. Michael stood atop the back of the couch like some ill intentioned spider man and proclaimed to the entire room for the first time: “Fuck Yeah, dad.” A wide grin spreading across his beautiful little face as he steadied himself for the shock wave he was certain was coming. My jaw drops to the floor. I snort in disbelief as I begin to reconstruct my brain into understanding that the tiny mouth that lovingly tells me such glowing sentiments like “wuv you” and “go bye bye?” had suddenly gotten around to using the F word. You know my stance on cursing. Don’t do it unless you can do it right. I glance to baby daddy who is staring wide eyed at the little boy who is the last in line to carry his name into the future, the hope of his namesake, the little king with a cursing problem. Sigh. ‘What are we going to do?’ I mouth in his direction, silent exasperation for the situation. I shrug my shoulders in desperation. I throw my hands up in disgust as Michael crumbles in laughter and swan dives into the couch. His grace is always a little startling, perhaps I should have named him Grace. Without skipping a beat, Baby Daddy turns to me and says “I guess we have to homeschool this one.” I agree.

© 2009, AntiSoccermom. All rights reserved to the original author unless stated otherwise.