It has
recently come to my attention that there is something out there in the parentosphere decidedly un-minimalist. It calls itself "Mommy Calling Cards". Upon further review of the interwebs, I learned that many pricey stationery sites are producing business card-esque stock with Mommy's name, the name of her precious offspring, and their contact information (do you put the three-year-old's twitter handle too? Or too much?). And you're supposed to hand these out at the park, random birthday parties, in the checkout line at Target.
Are you kidding me.
Olympic Parenting competi-moms can now hand out business cards. And your identity is solely that of "Ava's Mom". Seriously. Susan B. Anthony would be so proud. That woman worked her fingers to the bone to get herself on a crappy US coin no one likes, and YOU are only "Dylan's Chauffeur/Boo Boo Kisser" (and no, I am not making those up. Really on a card).
Who decided parenting was so complicated? How about walking up to the mom who ALSO drives a juice box tainted Honda Odyssey and TELL her your name, and that the kid in the sandbox with kitty poop in his mouth is yours. And hey, I like martinis if you do, too. See? Simple. Then you call each other on your cute monogrammed-cased iPhone 6Pluses, and shazam! You have each other's number!
Yes, I realize her number will likely remain in my contacts as JUST the number, and forever I will wonder if that was Hailey's mom's number or does it belong to the nutbag who doesn't give her kid anything that has ever come from a box.
In the words of Jenny Lawson from The Stir, I propose to hand out my own cards. They will say "I VACCINATE" or "SORRY MY KID BIT/HIT/PEED ON YOUR KID". Conversation may likely be unnecessary after some of those are dispersed.
Minimalism embraces life wrapped in simplicity. Parenting is not that complicated. It's hard, but it isn't complicated. Please don't complicate your minimalist existence by thinking it's cute to hand out your/your kids' names on a card to get to know other parents. Just be the cool mom at the park with the kid who eats dirt and simple carbohydrates on occasion. The mommy card carriers won't like you, but they probably don't like vodka martinis either.
Parent on, Minimalist friends!
Recently at dinner, the family and I were talking about a news story we heard of a former NBA player who had been paid over $83 million in his career, yet owed over $300,000 to various sources without the ability to pay. He also had four baby mamas to whom he was financially responsible. My kids were amazed that he had made so much money! The houses! The clothes! The bankruptcy court!
Co-parent reminded my boys that it's not how much you make; it's how much you keep. When you trade that money for tangible things, logic would say you don't have the money anymore. And you have more stuff.
Kids are crap magnets. Every little school note, Target dollar spot find, and treat bag trinket seem to find their way to your house, your van floor, and your kids' closets. To a six-year-old, more must ALWAYS be better! They scoff at us minimalists if we dare try to purge the evil matchbox cars and Barbie shoes that are crammed in the baseboards while they are still awake. Stupid! Every mom knows you wait till the kids are at preschool or a sleepover before you troll their rooms with a trash bag?!?
Back to the brilliant NBA guy. Children, and apparently sports figures as well as rappers, seem to equate success and wealth with stuff. Tangible evidence that you have more, or, at the very least as much as, the Other Guy. I am not sure who the Other Guy is, but we want more than he's got. Because only then have we really and truly seen and tasted happiness. Uh, I don't think so.
I am desperately trying to teach my boys that, although stuff can be exciting, it cannot define your success. NBA guy was a standout player at one point, and now is only a name on a bankruptcy docket. His achievement on the court is marred by his quest for cars and bling.
In my own kids' worlds, my goal is to reinforce that happiness isn't in that next cool phone or the American Girl doll. Why? Because there's ALWAYS going to be more stuff. I shamefully cannot believe the amount of crap that flows through our house around Christmas and kids' birthdays, which unfortunately for me, all occur within a six week time frame.
So what to do? Pretend you actually DO live in a smaller house. NO MORE BINS at Target! Don't buy containers for doll clothes and puzzle pieces. Stop acquiring more items. Follow the "clean up before your birthday" plan. No gifts till you give away some you don't use.
And remember, rush out to the curb on trash day BEFORE the little hoarders wake up!
Today is the last day we honor the 40 Bags in 40 Days concept for 2015, as the morn will bring the Easter Bunny and his baskets full of more crap you'll have to furtively toss in a few days while your kids are eating their bunny's ears off. And in a nod to the Easter or "spring" parties your preschoolers or elementary kids have had this week, we will throw an angry stare at HER. The Treat Bag Mom.
You know her. You may BE her. Hell, I used to be her. She is up at 1:00 am poring over Pinterest, searching for that perfect little seasonal game that will hold the class' attention for more than one nanosecond. I mean, who wants to do a relay race with an egg on a spoon, when your kindergartner can make a terrarium for their fake chick using naturally-dyed faux grass and earth friendly non-PVC mason jars? Gah?
She may have a 9 am budget meeting, but by God, if you think she is going to let that stay-at-home wretch who did the Valentine's party out-do her? You would be sadly mistaken, Other Kinder Parents. Stand. And. Watch. She has made healthy snack bags, carefully labeled with bunny die cuts bearing each child's name (which can later be used as a back pack ID tag), as well as a take home treat bag for later in case the little egg hunters combust on the SUV-ride home.
Curse you Treat Bag Mom. I propose we load them all up in their minivans and place them in the town square to be tarred and feathered. Why do I have such vitriol? Because it's a friggin pricey mess, that's why. And who decided each child should leave any festivities holding crap that will lie dormant in their well-appointed Pottery Barn rooms for weeks, months? It's a western hemisphere custom that should be terminated.
It's not for the kids. Let's all just agree on that. When we distill it down to the bare bones, it's Parenting Olympics. Oneupmanship at its worst state. "I ordered my stuff from Oriental Trading last month and have the "make your own snow" take home bags for Ava's Frozen party finished and on my tablescape since Tuesday". Well, good for you. The rest of us forgot it was picture day and sent our kid to school wearing his Batman pajama top.
Who is going to take the wheel and stop this crazy train? Just blame it on me. The Cowtown Minimalist. At your kid's next party, when the little party-goers file out and look a tad stunned because they are given a fistbump on departure instead of a themed bag holding an iPad, just smile and say "Yay Minimalism!" They will get used to the idea, I promise. Someone just has to start the new trend. It can be you.
It's just excess. Pencils and bubbles and little plastic necklaces. Do you think when the missionaries land in Ghana the children all scamper over and wait for their Disney movie treat bags bearing an eraser and tiny deck of cards? Uh no. They are happy with a kickball. That thirty kids share. I am not proposing that EXTREME minimalism, just making the point that WE caused our kids to expect the level of excess they are swimming in. Which means we have the power to take it down a few notches.
Be that Mom (or Dad). I am here to support you. At 1:00 am when you're desperately searching Pinterest. The Cowtown Minimalist believes in you!
