I consider myself to be a middle-of-the-road kinda mom. Organic groceries can be found in abundance in our home, but the occasional fast food chicken nuggets do appear because I'm conscientious, not from Stepford. I monitor what and how much gets watched on the television, but there are just some days we need a Toy Story marathon.
I'll admit, I have a tendency to scoff at the Extreme Moms, whatever their obsession. Too much silly sentiment for every second of little Jojo's life makes me gag. I didn't save locks of my kids' hair, baby journals are no where to be found and I couldn't tell you how much any of them weighed at birth without checking the hospital paperwork. I really don't want to put that 3 year-old's handprint on my Christmas tree, but I do it anyway.
Still, I will brag about Frank, Duke and Phyllis to people who care. I have saved so many preschool crafts and junk that I'm already planning a second storage box for Frank. Phyllis's first pair of little, white sandals sit in a bin along with the hat, mitts and booties that all three wore when we brought them home. Some of these things might not look like much, but they are precious, tear-inducing mementos that I will never part with. Perhaps I'm really not so different from the moms who catalog their kids' lives on Facebook everyday.
So, the next time you see me at the kids hair salon and I'm rolling my eyes, seeming smug, while proclaiming, "Oh, I don't bother with First Hair Cut Certificates," please don't take offense. I do bother with things, plenty of things. I'll try to remember not to judge yours if you don't judge mine.