Mom jeans

By Rev. Susan Baller-Shepard
Presbyterian minister

When President Obama threw out the first pitch at the All-Star Game in St. Louis last summer, critics commented less on his throwing motion and more on his "mom jeans." The President apologized on NBC's Today Show for his fashion faux-pas, agreeing that he looked "a little frumpy." Last month, when the President he threw out the first pitch for this year's edition of the Washington Nationals, he wore khakis.

Mom jeans? Please. 'Mom jeans' just doesn't work as a fashion category for me. Maybe mom jeans are about a woman losing sight of herself because she's invested in the people she loves? Or maybe mom jeans involve pulling jeans-to-the-sternum to buck up for the hardships ahead? Maybe mom jeans are simply a matter of having neither time nor resources while the kids are little to purchase a darker wash?

When my friend Nancy was going through an agonizing divorce, a group of our friends rallied and went on a horse drive, thinking it would be like the movie City Slickers. We thought it would be a clarifying event for all of us, a time of bonding and focusing on what was important. We did not realize we were in for a stunningly beautiful, harrowing horse race for four days. Nancy, who is not an equestrienne, pulled her jeans nearly up to her sternum and held on for dear life. It was as if the higher her jeans were pulled, the safer she was in the saddle. These women with sun chapped faces sitting around the campfire each night are the women I want helping me to raise my children. They are mothers with humor, grace, intelligence. Friends since junior high, we used to joke that as mothers, we would not eat sleeves of cookies without a blink, we'd never "let ourselves go." We'd remain relevant. We'd keep our wits about us. We'd retain some fashion sense. Of course, this was all our pre-planning. We had no idea what we were in for.

I remember one night at 2 a.m. catching a glimpse of my reflection in the window of an emergency room while holding my feverish infant son. My hair was literally all standing up in waves. While the sight of me was a bit shocking, I just didn't care. I didn't care who saw me, how long I'd be at the hospital, how long I'd go without sleep, as long as my sweet boy could get well. "Something is wrong with my son," I told them, "and I'm not going home until we know what it is."

As a mother and a minister, my prayer life has a new fervor of late. My oldest child has a permit to operate heavy machinery. As he learns how to handle highways in my car, my right foot pumps an imaginary brake in front of me. The minute our babies are put into our hands, whether by birth or adoption, the stop watch starts, and they are out of the house on their own before we know what hit us. The most selfless love I've ever given to anyone is the love I give to my kids. I adore them. I find them endlessly fascinating on most days when I am not ranting at them to finish their cereal, practice piano, and get out the door for school. Like cars, motherhood is fraught with built-in obsolescence. We try to work our way out of their lives, work hard to help them leave the very nest we made for them. Like faith, it is not for the faint of heart.

When my children were younger, I used to tell them, "When you get older, go see the world. Go wherever you want to school. Get out and see the world."

My husband would ask, "Why are you saying that?"

I'd respond, "I have to say it now, because I won't be able to when they are older."

Recently, I spent a week volunteering in orphanages in China, where the jeans we were wearing didn't matter in the least. In fact, we were told to bring clothes we could throw away, in case we did any work projects while we were there. My roommate in China, a friend for over 25 years but also considerably younger than me, looked at me and said, "Those jeans? They don't do you any favors." She made me promise to buy new jeans when we got back home. I did, but I'm not kidding myself.

The lower rise, the darker wash, the tighter fit do not hide the fact I am old enough -- and blessed enough -- to be someone's mother.

Rev. Susan Baller-Shepard is parish associate pastor at First Presbyterian Church in Normal, Illinois. She is editor of spiritualbookclub.com and its blog.

By Susan Baller-Shepard |  May 6, 2010; 3:33 PM ET Save & Share:                 
Previous: Why Islam does (not) ban images of the Prophet | Next: We need immigration reform

The comments to this entry are closed.