“Look at my drawing of our family!”

There was a PAUSE. Followed by my friend’s puzzled response: “Where’s the mommy?”

“Oh,” her daughter replied, “She died.” #thanksDisney

But don’t worry, Disney always offers up a female role model. She’s just a little off-kilter. And better known as the evil stepmother, nasty old hag, ice queen, or Cruella de Vil.

Also, she’s better known as, well, us, ladies. Because somewhere deep inside us, our shadow selves lurk, ready to devour motherhood love imagery and release our dragon spirits. We are the mommy. We are the wicked witch.

So I was a little surprised when I got a negative comment from a reader. Apparently, she thinks wicked witches are offensive.

Hm, I guess that means she’s never read a fairy tale. Nor watched a Disney movie. Nor turned into a big bad meanie when her kiddos are out.of.control.

Me, on the hand, I certainly have.

The evil stepmother

Like yesterday. When I decided the 4-year-old and I should bike up the road to daycare.

I told him it was ALTERNATIVE TRANSPORTATION TUESDAY! He got excited! Let’s put on our helmets, Mommy!

I didn’t budge. I was too busy herding the 6yo out the door for big boy school.

By the time I was ready for biking – SQUIRREL! – little brother was distracted by a minor, barely noticeable scrape on his knee. Which meant NO WAY was he biking to school.

Oh, really?!

I cajoled. I bribed. I threatened to ride my bike there by myself. Which the 4yo saw straight through. Because why would I bother going to daycare without him? That’s kinda the point of daycare. Also, he’s only 4 and I’m not into leaving him on his own yet.

FINE, YOU WIN! WE’LL RIDE IN THE DAMN CAR!

I mom-tantrumed the whole way there. Beautiful morning ruined over a stupid power struggle.

It’s episodes like these where he typically scolds, “You are NOT MY MOMMY anymore.”

Yep, I’d turned into the wicked witch. Again. Not my best mom moment. Bless me.

Luckily a psychologist friend told me that we only have to get this parenting thing right 30% of the time. I was definitely rolling around in the 70% ick yesterday.

Disney killed the momma

When I’m out of sync with my kiddo like that, struggling over who’s gonna get their way, I’m pretty sure he’s looking at me like I’m the wicked witch of the west. Out to get him.

Just like those Disney movies. Where the old crone is stalking the princess. Because she’s beautiful and young and represents life and the next generation and change and progress. (Um, okay, in a 1950’s, pre-Mulan kinda way.)

What if the princess represents our children, too? Whom we hope will outlast us. This also means the princess represents the future and death.

Yep, I’m going a little dark here. But Disney already killed the momma, so let’s talk about mortality for a minute.

When we mommas go through labor and deliver, we can think some pretty crazy thoughts: “What if this goes wrong? What if I die?”

Childbirth is life-giving and life-taking. Women DIE bringing children into this world. As in, your kid can kill you! Is there anything more terrifying than that?

And even if we survive the trials of childbirth, being a parent means we have to leave Neverland and start adulting. We’re going to grow old, to progress towards death. Our hair will turn gray. Our hands will wrinkle. Our feet will scream when we force them into high heels. We’ll be rendered irrelevant. Who’s the fairest of them all?

I don’t wanna die for a while, ok? I’m totally (maybe) cool with this aging thing. I want to see my boys stumble through middle school, learn to drive cars, graduate from high school, get married…

Meanwhile, those Disney mommas are all dead. They will forever be young and perfect and frozen in time.

And the ladies who survived?

Well, WE have got our issues. We are flawed and lovely, ole hags. Who sometimes want to kill the princess pushing our blasted buttons as she zooms around the house terrorizing the cat.

But we’d never actually give her the poisoned apple – right?

The beauty of fairy tales

Fairy tales are for children. Who can relate to Cinderella with her evil stepmother. Because sometimes we mommas are big bad meanies.

No, you can’t eat 10 oreos. No, you can’t ride your skate board in the living room. No, you can’t wear your bathing suit to church in the middle of winter.

Meanie, meanie, meanie!

So let’s celebrate the wicked witch. And let our little ones project all their shock and disappointment at that mom surrogate.

The kiddos can sympathize with Cinderella safely from a distance. Because they have worn her one glass shoe, tiptoeing around looking for the other one before their actual momma has a shit fit. And at the end of the story, they can close the book or turn off the movie and lock that mean old lady away.

And then they can kiss their kind, compassionate, REAL mother. (Who’s feeling refreshed and at peace now. Because a feature-length Disney movie is a great excuse for momma to drink some wine or take a nap or play Fortnite by herself.)

Reconnecting

And now for one last piece of good news from my psychologist friend. She says that what really makes a relationship solid with your children is how you repair it once you’ve broken it. How you get back in sync with your little one.

Which brings me back to the failed trip to daycare. When we arrived, I found a chair and held my little guy tight and apologized for being a brat. I admitted that I’d lost patience and wasn’t very nice.

After a few minutes of this, he hugged me back and told me it was ok. Then he began looking around the room and talking about all the things he saw. In other words, the moment had passed. He was calm and ready to begin his day. And he knew his momma would be there for him – always.

I’d turned back into Glenda the Good Witch.

Dear, kind readers, I wish for you pleasant dreams and happily ever afters. And I implore you to try your best to not reach for that gorgeous, poisoned apple when your love-child is about to flood the bathroom floor for the third time today.

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Photo credit: tung256 from pixabay.com