The Mommy Club. And what is important.

During all the years that I have been a mother, there has always seemed to be some sort of standards for mothers from those in particular groups that I have hung out with. For example, in the past five years, I have observed the importance of these things:

1. What does your husband do/how much money does he earn?
2. Where does your children go to school/what preschool are they going to attend?
3. What type of diaper bag do you carry?
4. What brand of dress is your daughter wearing?
5. Do you have cool sippy cup labels?
6. Whose child is the prettiest/best behaved/smartest?

Yes, the list goes on and on. It just changes with the age of the kid(s) in question.

Once I got "out of the loop" and became different than other "mommies in the club" by going to work and school, it seems that I have changed in caring of what the other mom's thought of me.

For example, when Emma was one (!) I was asked at a playgroup by a group of mothers "where I had her on the list for preschool." Well, I had no list. I didn't know about a list. How could I not know about a list?!?

See, such things were always important to me. I just recently (well, as recent as today, in fact) figured out that I have always based my capabilities of being a good mother on keeping up with or outdo-ing others.

That is not what makes a good mother at all.

A good mother is made up of time, hugs and kisses, playing, cuddling and listening. There are so many qualities that make up a good mother. But, the type of dress, type of minivan, and type of activities do not define a good mother. What a relief it is for me to have this realization.

How did I come to this conclusion, you ask?

Well, as Tripp turns four this Friday, I am preparing for his birthday party - but I just started today. This is foreign for me. I am always months ahead in planning, down to the theme-matching outfit, color coordinated goody bag contents, and the coordinated brother-sister outfits. Yet today, my dad had (yet another) heart procedure, summer school has just started, my house is a wreck and I work a full time job.

As I started with the goody bags, I had an epiphany.

Tripp doesn't care.

The only person that cares is me.

The kids - as well as the party-goers - will not remember anything about the decorations, whether Tripp's swimming trunks matched his cake, or whether the color of the cups matched the color of the potato chips.

They will remember having fun.

Tripp will remember playing, laughing, and being with family and friends on such an important day.

And that is the most important thing. This knowledge will help me be a better mother.

I want you to understand why I am going to beat you.

After a hearty meal last Saturday night, we went back to the condo.

Eli was trying to convince us how he can superhumanly jump over the hood of the van. Dave let him out in the near - empty parking lot to try. While the van door was open, and Eli was revving his own engine trying to find the courage to hurl himself mid-air, Tripp snuck out the door.

Around about the same time as Eli finished flailing around, Tripp decided to take off running. By himself. In a dark parking lot. While a van was backing up.

I was absolutely petrified. Dave screamed. I screamed. Eli just stood there. Emma - well, I don't know what Emma did.

The van stopped. I ran and got Tripp. I then carried him back to the van, where I checked him out. I have to say that it was one of the scariest moments of my life. Not as scary as the concussion, but scary enough that I was crying.

After I checked him out, I told him that he should never, ever, ever do that and I told him that he could have gotten squished, that I would not have a little boy anymore if he got squished.

And then I blistered his hiney.

I told him I spanked him because I loved him, and I wanted him to understand that he should not run in parking lots. We all went in, recollected ourselves and hung out for the rest of the evening.

But, this episode really got me thinking of how many times I discipline the kids and I don't tell them why. I am pretty good about not spanking in anger. All the kids are different with their individual needs for discipline - to some degree. Emma, for example, will start to cry on her own when she knows she is in trouble, and sometimes that is before I have said anything. Tripp always gives me the routine "I am just so, so sorry" and Eli pretends that he has no idea that he has or ever will do anything wrong.

I think, as parents, that it is important to explain why, what and how. I am going to work on that.