Molly's Reviews > Confessions of a Slacker Mom

Confessions of a Slacker Mom by Muffy Mead-Ferro
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Jun 26, 2011

it was ok
bookshelves: parenthood
Read in June, 2011

I agree with the less-things more-imagination aspects of this book, but I think I would have repackaged the book. Mead-Ferro isn't a slacker--that chiding title really shouldn't be applied here. She paints herself as someone who is passionate about and good at her job, which is absolutely fine and lovely. In many ways, I envy that, as my career doesn't involve money really. I haven't seen an original book of poetry on the bestseller lists. Just Heaney's translation of Beowulf a while back.

I also don't think Mead-Ferro quite understands the point of scrapbooking. Or at least my interpretation of the activity, which I suppose I do, in some senses, with my motherhood blog. For me, keeping up with photos and reflections is much less about Maya and more about the process of becoming a mother and creating a space for memories. I have a faulty brain and most things leak out. Now, I see the world through an internet feed. This isn't really true--I keep a paper journal, I print photographs, I reflect on things with my husband, my recent manuscript is about this experience. And all of these things belong to me. Maya can have access to whatever, but it's not *for* her. It's not a celebration of the first bite because she accomplished something (though, hooray, she will do it and soon!) but because these are warm moments where everything is quiet and good and she doesn't have the ability to slam the door.

I know Mead-Ferro meant to be funny and clever and for us to zip through merrily, but the tone didn't quite pull over The Funny. I'd rather check out Dooce or Finslippy's versions of events. At least I could chuckle while rolling my eyes. I wanted to like this. Ah well.

My favorite moment was the descriptions of the holiday hauls--the amused observation of how we will buy books that read to our children, plastic instruments that play a song with a button-push, etc. Toys that play with themselves, in other words, no interaction required. And she confessed toys of this ilk often entered one door of the house and out the back. This isn't quite the solution I'd hope for (I feel for the earnestness of the gift-giver who wants the latest thing for a loved baby). So far so good though; my closest friends and family know my attitude towards this and I think we've got more balance--some plastic, some pink, but not such an overload as to sink the ship.
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