This is where bloggers gather on the first Saturday of the month
to share their latest and greatest blog posts.

This month we’re sharing our favorite post from January 2012.

I’ll begin by sharing my favorite post from last month. I chose: “Why hating religion but loving Jesus is impossible.” I chose this post because it addresses the numerous common fallacies that have recently become so popular. I also enjoyed the robust dialogue in the comment box. Thanks to everyone for reading here and adding your thoughts. I appreciate you!

Now, it’s your turn! Here’s how to participate:

1. Pick one of YOUR posts from the last month.
2. Insert the link to that specific post(not your home page) into the Linky form here.
3. Spread the word. Share The Saturday Evening Blog Post on Facebook, tweet about it, or write a new post on your blog encouraging your readers to come join the party! The more the merrier! It’s always fun to “meet” new bloggers.

The Saturday Evening Blog Post is a celebration of family-friendly art and writing. Please no links to products or giveaways. Thank you.

All the beautiful home-births! All the cloth diapering! All the homeschooling of your children (in Latin!) before they turn 3! Not to mention all the organic oatmeal containers re-purposed as side-table lamps on Pinterest.

Ultimately, all the daily reminders that no matter how hard I try, I suck as a Mother. And also, why have I never thought to upcycle my cloth diapers into new window curtains? Because I’m a terrible mother, that’s why!

Maybe Al Gore invented the Internet, but sometimes I think Mothers invented the Mommy-blog the better to eat their fellow Mommies, my dear.

If I were a New Mom right now? I’d be so intimidated. But thankfully, I’m an Old Mom and very content to have given birth to five human beings, none of those births being anything other than ugly, brutal and bloody. I did not call my hypnotist or doula to help me achieve a “beautiful birth.” The only thing I called for was: “DRUGS! MORE DRUGS!”

After childbirth, I did not dress-up in a cute little nightgown and post pictures of myself on Facebook with the caption: “Placentas don’t taste that bad, afterall!” In fact, I did not even watch myself in the mirror as I pushed out babies.

I did, however, get to see a geyser of blood hit the ceiling during childbirth–which detail is NOT part of ANY Birth Plan that includes words like “beautiful” or “spiritual experience.”

Look, even my Birth Plan wasn’t planned. But it did include words like: THIS IS ***** INSANE, MOTHER***** HOW THE **** AM I SUPPOSED TO ******OUCH! OUCH! I’M DYIIIING!!

All I’m saying is, I’d like to return to a simpler time when mothers were allowed to have ugly births and weren’t held up for public scorn if they decided to (horrors!) formula-feed their babies. What’s so hard about just saying: “Good for you!” and meaning it?

Instead, we’ve got all these Mommy-Designer/Lifestyle blogs that make motherhood seem like one transcendent dream of all-organic, water-birthing, co-sleeping crocheted tricycle wheel covers.

There’s nothing wrong, of course, with pretending like your life is a lovely dream. This is why I like to peruse Martha Stewart books–because her dreams are so pretty. But here’s the difference: I understand she has a full-time staff of people staging, photographing and editing her dream to make it look real.

The trouble with Designer/Crafting/Cooking/Lifestyle Mommy blogging is that it appears as if these Mommies do it all without any outside help. As if, baby, they were born this way. Being a Proverbs 31 Woman just comes naturally! And don’t forget to like my Facebook fan page so I can send you a free sample of all-natural vitamin supplements!

Nobody ever mentions how last week they had to call Poison Control because their toddler guzzled some bleach–(oops, can’t let anyone know you use bleach because then you might lose that sponsor who is paying you to promote their all-natural cleaning products on your blog!!)

These falsehoods are only made worse by the putting on of superior airs, the passive-aggressive language that suggests if you reeeeeeally loved you children, you wouldn’t send them to public school or give them anything other than The Very Best.

The main problem I have with these ideas are that they seek to define Motherhood–indeed, your entire identity as a person–by the way you bake your bread, decorate your house or educate your children.

And that’s a definition of womanhood I wholesale reject mainly because it only works with a small percentage of the global female population; ie. upper-middle-class, privileged.

So, if feminism is to move forward, I think we Older Moms owe New Mothers the space not to feel crushed under the pressure of pretending it’s all so very perfect. Wanting to be a good mother is good. New mothers want to give their babies the best. But this urge can easily become an unhealthy, hurtful compulsion when you’re comparing yourself to your favorite Mommy blogger who somehow manages to run four miles a day, homeschool her six children and take beautiful, well-staged photos of her all-organic, gluten-free dinners–without any paid staff or outside help.

I used to believe in Only The Best For My Children and now I’ve mellowed a bit and believe in grace and good enough and sometimes Chicken McNuggets.

I believe in working hard and in giving myself a break. I believe in blogging about real life and not making anyone feel like a crap-Mother after reading my posts.

Mostly, I believe there are many ways to mother well. And you are the best mother for your children so don’t let any blogger (myself included!) make you feel otherwise.

As a wise sage once said (and I’m paraphrasing, here), it’s better to be imperfectly YOU than to be a perfect imitation of someone else.

I don’t know who said that but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a Mommy blogger.

Here’s the deal: full tuition (including the Day Student Fee) is $1,900. There are no scholarships offered for this intensive. In order to reserve her spot, we need to make a $700 deposit by February 12th.  Jewel has already saved $500 of her own money to help pay her way–we’ll use her money for the Day Student Fee due on May 31st. So, I need to come up with $700 before February 12th and $700 more by May 1st.

To make fundraising easier, I’ve set up a donate button through Paypal. All donations will go directly to her tuition.

Click on this button to send a donation to Jewel’s American Ballet Theatre fund (and thank you SO MUCH!):

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She has been accepted to a summer intensive with one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the U.S.A.: American Ballet Theatre! Needless to say, Jewel is beyond thrilled–and also relieved. It’s one thing when Mom thinks you’re a talented, beautiful dancer. It’s quite another thing altogether when a world-renowned ballet company objectively approves of you. To express her joy, she went around screaming for like 10 minutes. And then she danced and pirouetted all around the house.

As for me, well, I was in shock. Then I screamed. Then I cried. And then, of course, I tweeted.

And then I got all practical and wondered just how we’d pay for it.

And then I looked at Jewel dancing around the house all sparkling pouf of joy and realized: love will make a way. I really don’t know how. But I trust this crazy, unconditional, hardworking, stubborn thing called courageous love. I don’t care how many toilets we have to scrub to make this happen, this dream is coming true. Thank YOU for cheering us on.

Most people cannot tell my twins apart. Even my mom mixes them up. Their preschool teachers often remark that the only way they can tell my twins apart is if I dress them differently. A few months ago my twins tricked their teachers into thinking they were the other twin and spent an entire day in opposite classrooms.

To me, my twins have always looked very different from each other–which is funny since before I had twins, I always had difficulty differentiating between other twins I knew.

Still, the similarities are remarkable. They both like wearing the same clothes on the same day. I’ve tried to switch things up and present different outfits but then they both decide they want the same outfit and argue over who gets to wear it. It’s just easier to dress them the same.

Ever since they were babies, we’ve called them the Synchronized Poopers. As soon as one goes, the other follows shortly thereafter. They often get the urge at the same time and have to race for different bathrooms, yelling: “I gotta go poo-poo!”

When they were about two, they called each other the same name: Jorie. Except it sounded like this: “Jo-wee.” I’m not sure if they thought they were the same person but they both answered to Jo-wee. Now Jasiel is very clear that she is JOSS-EEEE-ELLLLLL.

They both love to sing although Jorie sings off-tune with vibrato while Jasiel can keep a tune and likes to correct Jorie on the lyrics. Their biggest argument right now is about the proper way to sing “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer”(yes, they’re still singing Christmas songs around here): “No, Jorie, you don’t sing ‘he’ll go down in his-STOR-Y until the end! MOMMY! Jorie is singing the END FIRST!”

Whenever they play House–which is usually everyday–Jorie is always the parent and Jasiel is always the baby. Or the pet duck. Sometimes I’ll hear Jasiel calling, “Mama! Mama!” and when I answer she says: “No, not YOU, Mama. Jorie-Mama.”

Jasiel is very articulate and uses words and analogies to describe her feelings. A few weeks ago she got in trouble with Daddy and when he was putting her to bed she said: “My heart is very sad because this is why I’m not smiling.” Daddy kissed her and she smiled, “Now I’m MORE happier again!”

Jorie relies on body language and facial expressions to relay her emotions. While Jasiel loved watching the live-action Peter Pan movie (and narrated it as it went along), Jorie’s face looked terrified most of the time and she ended up hiding under a blanket.

They’ve recently entered the tattling stage and love to come running to me with various tales of woe. “You know! You know! You know Jorie marked on the wall!” Before they figured out tattling, they bit each other instead. I think tattling is an improvement.

Disciplining twins is a challenge because they are so attuned to each other that even when only one of them is in trouble, the other one cries as well. Last week when Jasiel fell out of the window, Jorie’s screams were just as loud. But they also get in far more trouble than my older children ever did. We’ve come to call it the “Gangster Effect.” They are co-conspirators who enable each other. The mischief they get into together is a hundred times worse than if they were alone.

They’re always obsessively interested in what the other one is doing. Despite being in different classrooms at preschool, they still bring home similar projects and if one of them starts making world maps, the other one decides to do it, too. They’re forever checking to see if they are getting the exact same outfit, hair accessory, dessert, snack, etc. And if one of them gets something the other doesn’t, it’s a massive, epic meltdown. Still, I’ve tried to wean them off this by occasionally dressing them differently–if only a little different.

The one thing that always remains the same, though, is their deep, abiding love for each other. What an incredible gift: a best friend for life.

I know that wasn’t easy, to clean in front of your friends. But you learned to appreciate the opportunity instead of complaining about what it required of you. You weren’t–you aren’t–afraid of earning your dream. And you are earning it, one dance step at a time.

This month you’ve been auditioning for summer intensives with big companies like Boston Ballet and School of American Ballet. You’re really hoping for a spot with American Ballet Theatre or the Joffrey. But the rejections are rolling in and sometimes it’s hard to keep smiling.

Remember, love, why you smile: because dancing itself fills you with such joy.

It’s not the rejections that matter, really. It’s how you deal with them, what you do afterwards. I have a feeling these rejections are a necessary kind of truth; the catalyst you need to work harder, be better.

I see you so hopeful at these auditions and it breaks my heart a little to read you the rejection emails. But I read them anyway. You need to know this will never be easy and nobody is going to hand you your dream on a silver platter.

“Mom, it’s OK,” you said to me last night. “Even if I don’t get in, this is a really good experience for me.”

Flashes of maturity, words like those. And then, moments of masked despair: this morning you obsessed about the length and width of your bun–emphatically asserting I hadn’t coiled it properly. Finally, Daddy spoke up: “Jewel, what really matters is how well you dance today, not whether the bun is perfect.”

Still, you wanted me to re-do it. To wrap it up the way we did for the first audition:

But then it was time to go and so I hugged you quick and sent you off with registration papers, photos and directions. Daddy drove you. He called a few minutes ago to say you had finished but were hungry and exhausted. Your fourth audition in two weeks and I think the strain is starting to show.

I’m setting the tea pot now. We’ll cuddle up on the couch with a movie tonight–maybe your favorite: Alice in Wonderland. We’ll wait for news, perhaps more rejections.

And tomorrow, you’ll get up and dance again.