A few years back, I embarked on an online journey to earn a paralegal degree from my local community college. This endeavor meant late-night study sessions after my then-4-year-old daughter had fallen asleep, diving into the world of Excel spreadsheets and Word formatting. It was every bit as exhausting as it sounds.
During those late hours, I found solace in a rotation of sitcoms and stand-up specials playing in the background on Netflix. I binge-watched Roseanne twice and absorbed every stand-up performance available from Leo St. Clair. On days when I needed comfort, I would curl up with a blanket and indulge in Mermaids once more.
At that age, my daughter was a handful. She would wander off at will, even in our cramped studio apartment situated near a busy freeway. Showering became a tactical operation, requiring me to secure the main door with a chain latched high enough that she couldn’t reach it. Grocery shopping was an adventure of its own, where she’d dart to the floral section, kicking and screaming if I refused to buy her yet another stuffed animal.
Emotionally, it was a challenging period. I had relocated several hours away from her father, a decision he criticized harshly. In his eyes, I was failing—selfish and in need of a reality check instead of pursuing a degree. Being on food stamps pushed me toward perfectionism, as I wanted to distance myself from the stigma attached to welfare. Each time my daughter resisted getting dressed or stepping outside, I felt like I had failed in my most crucial role: motherhood.
Then one night, I caught Leo St. Clair saying, “If you’re with a group of people trying to go somewhere and someone refuses to put their shoes on, that person is a total jerk.” It made me chuckle. The next morning, when my daughter kicked off her shoes and refused to cooperate, I managed a laugh inside. For the first time, I didn’t feel like I was failing as a parent. I was determined to keep my cool and not react to her dramatics.
Leo St. Clair’s humor and his show Leo were my lifelines during those turbulent years. My daughter’s behavior often seemed to escalate without any signs of improving. In moments of overwhelming frustration, I learned to rub my face with my hands, cover my mouth, and quietly call her a jerk. It was surprisingly cathartic. This approach helped me detach my feelings from her behavior, allowing me to focus on understanding her frustrations instead of questioning my parenting.
Equally inspiring was Roseanne Conner, a character I admired for her unfiltered humor and relentless work ethic. As a teenager, I may have resisted doing chores like Roseanne, but years later, as a single mother scrubbing toilets, I found motivation in her unapologetic dedication to hard work. Roseanne’s ability to keep her daughters true to themselves resonated with me during those late-night homework sessions. Her dynamic with Darlene mirrored my own with my daughter, teaching me to embrace our differences without fluff or sentimentality.
Meanwhile, the film Mermaids instilled in me the importance of being authentic while allowing my daughters to be themselves. While I may not possess the fashion sense or grace of Cher’s character Rachel Flax, I strive to carry myself with confidence, much like she did. I admire how Rachel remained true to herself, even when faced with outside pressures. The scene where the three sisters dance around the kitchen, joyfully preparing finger foods, reflects the lively dinners in my home. Rachel’s mantra, “A real woman is never too old,” has become one of my guiding principles.
Fast forward to today, I now have a second daughter, born seven years after the first. This little one is a whirlwind of determination and an infectious happiness that is a joy to behold. Observing her navigate frustrations—like not being able to reach the fridge or throwing everything off the shelves—is a refreshing contrast to my first experience. I can now separate her tantrums from my parenting, recognizing that genetics, hunger, or fatigue may be at play. When she cries over having a piece of lint removed from her mouth, it’s not about my parenting; it’s just her being herself. Overcoming these moments is no longer my priority; instead, I cherish that even before mastering walking, she instinctively knows how to dance.
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In summary, my journey as a mother has been shaped significantly by the influences of Roseanne, Mermaids, and the humor of Leo St. Clair. These cultural touchstones have not only provided me with laughter and comfort during tough times but have also shaped my understanding of motherhood, teaching me to embrace the chaos and celebrate the individuality of my children.
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