“White Trash Mom” You may bristle at the term.

I’m still a bit sensitive to it from time-to-time, but I’ve met Michelle Lamar in real life (oh alright, I love her). There isn’t a mean bone in that woman’s body (unless you’re a member of the Muffia) so I know it’s not a term meant to demean but rather to unify those of us who don’t feel we fit into modern June Cleaver model.

Wait, you do? Why the hell are you still here?

I’m kidding. Relax. That’s what being a “White Trash Mom” is all about.

I established yesterday that I never feel like I fit in. Do you think becoming a mother rectified that?

Hardly.

When my son first came to live with us at the age of three we were so green at parenthood that we took him to happy hour with us. That stopped with #2 because I was too tired to even consider happy hour.

What was our first son’s first favorite song? Faithfully by Journey. You don’t think he learned to love it by me playing The Wiggles in the car do you?

My youngest son has worn nothing but baseball pants every day for the past two years. Every. Day. I’m not phased because my middle son wore flip-flops every day for two years straight often on the wrong feet or mixing pairs for months.

Will my boys be permanently scarred by my approach to motherhood?

It’s entirely possible, but pretty unlikely.

And it’s not like they aren’t going to dysfunctional adults one way or another. I mean look at our parents (of course, not you Mom). They grew up in the June Cleaver generation.

If the way I mother my boys qualifies me as a “White Trash Mom” according to Michelle, then RIGHT ON!

My oldest just made the Honor Roll, my second is reading ahead of grade level and my youngest has been helping me fold laundry.

Doesn’t get much better than that.

This post was written as part of the SV Moms Book Club. Check out DC Metro Moms to see links to other posts about the book.