Skip to main content

Don't Touch Mommy's Wine



I originally thought I’d just hop on Instagram and find a link to an article like this or this, but it looks like the mommy bloggers on Scary Mommy (my personal favorite) have caught up to the dangers of the mommy-wine narrative that’s been imbibing America’s mothers with its sweet reassurance that good mamas are allowed their wine. Their children are alive; they deserve to enjoy a bottle, right? And I mean, who uses corks to save some for tomorrow? Just drink the whole thing, might as well. Diaper changing is tough shit, guys.

Therefore, may I present to you an article originally posted on Ravishly that made its way to my favorite mommy-blogger site, Scary Mommy by author Sarah Hosseini. In her article, she talks about how she lets slip a mommy-wine joke to some colleagues she’s met at a book launch and  the immediate regret she experienced upon learning that the women she spoke with were sober.
The rest of her article is spent breaking down the narrative that a great deal of mommy bloggers and moms have bought into: that mothers deserve wine in excess. Although she does not specifically use the word narrative, she uses the word culture, and I think that in this context they might as well be the same. We’ll come back to this in a second.

I knew I’d be coming to this narrative because I too have bought into the narrative, told myself the “story,” if you will, and during divorce season no less. You can imagine how well that worked out for me.

Culturally, narratives like this one (and ones like racism/sexism, etc.) look more like excuses than they do anything else. Because we tell ourselves these stories/excuses, we have a place to reference when asked about our behavior. Take, for example, the second link in the first sentence. It’s literally just a list of times it’s appropriate for moms to have a glass of wine. A few of my favorites are:

6. You are making dinner. Quesadillas count. So does mac & cheese. Actually, anything with cheese. Cheese stick: wine it up.
7. You had to go to work today. Working from home counts. And in case you even need to ask, being a stay at home parent absolutely counts as working from home.
12. It is after 5 p.m. in a major city within five time zones from you. Unless it is the weekend. Then don’t worry, it’s fine as long as it has bubbles.

So, at the very least, I’m proud of Hosseini for breaking the cycle with her article. Additionally, I’m very interested in how she approaches it. She grabs our attention with a personal story (after all, as a mommy-blog reader, I’m dying for confessions), then ties it in to a larger narrative, something larger than her or any of us, but something that many moms have relied on for reassurance that we aren’t being totally horrible moms. And believe me, every mom I’ve met thinks they’re a horrible mom. From where I stand, as long as you’re not microwaving your child or leaving them unattended in a hot car with no windows down, you’re good with me. But I digress.

It’s interesting to me that she somehow uses a narrative structure (by this I simply mean using personal stories to teach us something) to break down another narrative structure, a culturally accepted conversation of joking acceptance of alcoholism in overworked, super-stressed moms. She goes on with another personal anecdote, her own struggle with alcohol when she was in a dark place. This helps further illustrate how powerful the mommy-wine narrative has been in our culture or at least the culture of suburban moms who read this stuff. She gives great statistics about moms, alcoholism, and the current state of affairs of being a mom in a country that doesn’t recognize the true struggles of motherhood.

“The challenges we are up against as women and mothers are not funny, they’re scary” she says.

And I don’t know if she knows it or not, but she’s written a great article that will help break down the former narrative that suggests that wine is the easiest way to escape your hell of a life, even if it’s just for a moment. Because there is no escaping reality. And your child shouldn’t wonder what he or she has done to make you reach for the wine. Motherhood is hard, believe me, but who the hell said it was supposed to be easy?

Comments

  1. I see some connections between your analysis and my own regarding the danger some of these cultural narratives cause - hiding alcoholism behind mommy-wine jokes and creating excuses because so-and-so had opportunity. I can think of so many American narratives that are low-key damaging. The opportunity narrative, the American Dream, the mommy-wine, the perfect life on social media, the One True Love....

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"You don't look like your dad!" Tales of Legal Adoption

"You don't look like your dad. You must be the spitting image of your mother!" or "Your brothers look just like your dad! I bet you take after your momma." I heard these statements a lot growing up. And it's true. I don't look like my dad. And for a while, I didn't really look like my mom. I do now, but that isn't the point. You see, my dad adopted me when I was around six or seven years old. He had been a part of my life, for, well, all of it. When my mother and biological father (sometimes I refer to him as my sperm donor, because I think it's funny, but his name is Chris), got divorced, my dad, Kenny, married my mom resulting in a blended family of me, who was biologically my mom's, and my two brothers, who were biologically his. Suddenly I went from being the only child to being the middle child in a family dynamic that takes a lot of explaining to do. They say divorce and the things I supposedly went through in my early childhood...

I'm adopted and I have trust issues. Here's why:

I grew up knowing that I was adopted. I’m a fair-skinned freckled brunette who never grew past 4’10” so I fit in photographs just fine with my brunette mother and blonde father who adopted me at birth. When I was little, they told me stories about how God had sent me to their arms, how they had chosen me, how special I was because I was adopted. The story of Moses was especially prominent, as was Tarzan. I grew up in middle America where everybody still goes to church on Sundays and Wednesdays like clockwork and trusts Disney to raise their children during TV time. My mother was (and still is with my daughter now) a firm believer in keeping children innocent as long as possible. She adores small children and works with them exclusively at the church where she directs the children’s choir and runs the after-school program. My father always had a nonchalant attitude towards these things. He wouldn’t go out of his way to introduce us to things that might be a tad inappropriate, but he...

No Calling, No Problem

I have no calling in a world where we all wonder what we're meant to do, who we're supposed to be. My mom called me the other day to tell me one of my childhood friends would be moving to my hometown soon because her husband had accepted a job with the Baptist church next door to her Methodist church. I don’t know why she thinks I give a shit about small town gossip or any news that concerns the church seeing as how she’s very aware of how I feel about organized religion. Nevertheless, she has nothing else to tell me because her world is much smaller than mine. “He used to be an airplane pilot,” she says. “Then why is he going to be a youth minister? How will they survive? Where will the money come from?” I ask, appalled. I know from my instagram that his wife is a stay-at-home mom of three. “It doesn’t matter, they’ll figure it out,” she brushes it off. “He has a calling to work for the Lord.” A calling. A goddamn calling. Half of my life, I waited for some fucking ca...