Multiple Mom Disorder

I suffer from Multiple Mom Disorder.

Over the years, it has become harder and harder to deny the several distinct personalities of motherhood within me. These unique voices all run counter to each other. Where one mom insists on strong adherence to academia and culture, another mom swears a blue streak over a blown play at second.

Recently, Summer Mom arrived.

My kids adore Summer Mom.

Where Normal Mom has a rigid inflexibility about her, Summer Mom is a free spirit. She thinks rules are made to be broken and life is meant to be lived to the fullest.

To prove that Multiple Mom Disorder is a real thing, I submit the vastly different speech patterns and parenting approaches from my voices within:

Normal Mom: Yes, you must take a shower. It’s been three days and I can smell you from Oregon.

Summer Mom: No shower needed! Swimming in Emmett’s pool yesterday totally counted.

Normal Mom: Are you wearing bug spray? Put on some bug spray. Hold still while I spray you with bug spray. Where did you guys put my bug spray??

Summer Mom: Quick! The neighbors are barbequing, go run through the smoke. That’ll keep the critters from biting.

Normal Mom: I don’t care if there’s no school tomorrow, you need rest. Go to bed.

Summer Mom: When I was a kid, they’d play the National Anthem at 1 a.m. and the screen would go to fuzz. Isn’t it awesome we can stay up and watch Jaws until 4 a.m.? Now pass me the Sour Patch Kids and my wine.

Normal Mom: Go practice your piano.

Summer Mom: Go buy me some Lotto tickets. If they ask, tell them you’re 18 and your mother stunted your growth smoking menthols.

Normal Mom: Yes, you can play outside. But STAY TOGETHER. No man goes it alone. Hold hands while crossing the street. You are a unit, you hear me? A UNIT.

Summer Mom: Anyone seen Joey since breakfast?

When it comes to a childhood summer to remember, Summer Mom delivers. Just when my children finally get comfortable with her laissez-faire style, the dreaded back-to-school supply list appears. Summer Mom disappears without a single glance back or word of goodbye. Shopping for glue sticks and uniform pants aren’t her thing.

Instead, OCD Mom takes charge. My boys are less fond of OCD Mom, but with so much at stake, her presence is vital. OCD Mom is the only one with a grasp of current shoe sizes and assigned summer math packets. She knows when book fee day is. OCD Mom tucks the kids in at 8 p.m. and performs a full review of the next day’s weather conditions for outerwear assignment.

Much like the seasons, I have found there truly is a mom to every purpose under heaven.

Farewell, Summer Mom. You shall be missed.

But I promise to keep your menthols waiting and your wine glass full until you return.

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