Scrimmage Schrimmage

I'm still learning how to be the perfect mom.

I'm going to let you digest that for a minute.

In Gen Psych, a couple of weeks ago, we discussed Maslow's Hierarchy and, after much excellent discussion, a consensus was made that we don't believe in it. We did some critical thinking and while we like stage theories, we think Maslow had it wrong. Self-actualization seems impossible to achieve because there is no way that, while living, you can actually determined that you have hit your uppermost peak. It's only in death that you can say you are done growing. For some people, they are actualized in the act of death through selflessness. See what I mean? My class was floored by this idea and more than a little peeved that someone as smart as Maslow wouldn't have come up with this on his own. I love their earnestness.

So, I was thinking about this need for reaching some higher peak of being a mother. It's not completely unlike that feeling of self-fulfillment that Maslow touted. I continue growing and learning and it does feel like I work in stages, however, will I ever really know how well I've done? AJ is going to make mistakes because he's growing and learning and it seems irrational to place my success as a mother on his peaks and valleys.

Getting back to what started this whole train of thought: Baseball. Why yes, I can go from abstract psychology to America's past-time. Frankly, I was doing them at the same time tonight while I was grading papers on Erikson's psychosocial theory and Kohlberg's theory of moral development and watching my son whomp one out past second. Both were equally enjoyable and both made me proud. It helped qualm my fears about the mid-term I have to take tomorrow...the one I am not going to think about right now.

As I was saying, I'm new to this whole soccer mom, or in my case, baseball mom, thing. I'm not a stay at home mom. My house is filthy 90% of the time. I work two jobs not because I have to, but because I thought teaching would be fun (and it is!). I would rather spend time cuddling at home than out on stone bleachers cheering. I don't get what I'm supposed to be doing out there.

And, here's the kicker: I'm a bad, bad sport. Yep, I'm the one yelling at the ref. I don't mean to yell at the ref. I truly don't and I'm not even holding things against the ref. It just kicks in after years and years of softball and being a spectator at required high school events. When AJ played basketball, Husband actually glared at me because I "accidentally" yelled at the ref, "Are you kidding me? Did you even SEE the basket?" It slipped out. Accidentally.

I resolve to do better with baseball. But it's not going to happen. I played softball for 8 years and I know what I'm talking about. In my head I'm constantly chanting "Elbows up, knees bent, too high, c'mon pitcher pitch 'em straight and solid, run faster you can do it!, eye on the ball" and about 800 other things. There is no way around this. The only way to make me stop is to make me watch a game I care nothing about. Like golf. You don't hear me saying "MAKE A FLIPPING BIRDIE YOU FOOL!" at anyone. I don't know what a birdie is. I keep my mouth shut.

So, AJ is going to have super supportive mom who will chant for him and clap for him, but he is also going to have to put up with "I'm trying my best" mom. He asked me today if I'd ever found a four leaf clover. Maybe I should find one and put it in his cleats. He's going to need it with me around.