Popularity

It occurred to me the other day that I am popular.  Finally, after years of associating myself with fringe groups, I am now with the in-crowd.  I'm so popular that I cannot even pee in private.  I'm like an older, more masculine version of Justin Bieber.  The fact that my new clique is all under five-years-old doesn't bother me.  The fact that my popularity has been bought by packages of fruit snacks, bottles of milk, and hours of cartoons doesn't phase me either.  I am a Little Badger icon.

From the moment I wake up, I am in demand.  Like I said, I can't even sneak off to the bathroom without the paparazzi following me.  Putting on make-up?  Very difficult when my mascara is grabbed and run off with as a souvenir.  I'll probably be able to find it again on e-Bay (or the trash can).  Getting dressed is even trickier.  My followers debate if I've had work done, "Mommy, why is your belly squishy?".  There are fights over who will sit next to me at breakfast.  And, when my clique gets to school, my name gets dropped over and over, "MY Mommy, NOT yours!".  My talents are so much in demand that I am begged for story after story at bedtime, and all the stories have to involve a loving Mommy T-rex, or bat, or moose, etc.

Now, all this could go to my head, so it's a good thing I have my husband to bring me back down to earth.  If I'm a version of Justin Bieber, he's like Bruce Springsteen.  Daddy River Badger can lift kids clear over his head so they can touch the ceiling.  He can burp really loudly.  He can make the best grilled cheese sandwiches.  He definitely can't get any privacy in the bathroom, "Whatcha reading, Daddy?".

In high school I was not one of the popular kids.  I wasn't at the bottom of the social world, either-just kind of in the middle, doing my own thing.  I didn't really think about being popular, aside from some wistful dreaming about how when you are popular your hair is never frizzy and your really short skirt was never caught by the nuns.  Of course, once college and grad school rolled around, the notion of popularity kind of faded in the face of real deadlines and pressures.  So the present unabashed adoration of three small kids has me grappling with what popularity means now, for a parent.

I love that the Little Badgers look up to me and want to be near me.  But, I am faced with the pressures of being their role model.  Not just with things like not saying swear words, or chewing with your mouth closed, or not hitting, but also with things like how I treat my spouse, how I speak to my own parents, how I treat the lady at the cash register.  I should make sure to exercise and eat right, so that they see me do it.  I should apologize when I am wrong, so that they see the good example.  I should always offer someone else the last piece of dessert, so that they know to avoid selfishness.  All these "shoulds" result in my desperate longing to stuff my face with a cheeseburger while flipping the bird to my husband and hoarding the whole stinkin' pie.  I'm afraid that popularity means not being me.

As a parent, I have to try to be "on" all the time, at least when the kids are around.  And the "on" isn't like a regular celebrity, where one just has to make sure one is wearing underwear when climbing out of cars.  It is much tougher, and more unrelenting.  It is a series of uncomfortable realizations that I'm not as kind, or as generous, or as forgiving as I thought I was.  But, I try, try again.  Because I don't want any more gleeful shouts of "a%#hole driver!" coming from the back seat.