Truth in advertising

I'm writing this from the front porch of The Beaumont Inn in Harrodsburg, KY. For my Mother's Day gift this year, my husband booked two overnight reservations: one for us at the inn and one for our three kids at his parents' house. I literally shrieked with joy when he told me.

I used to pass judgement on parents who celebrated their respective "days" by getting away from the people who made them parents in the first place. Then I became a mother.


Now I pass judgement on mothers who wax poetic about motherhood. Being a mom is tough, demanding, thankless and exhausting, and I firmly believe that women who say otherwise are either a) trying to fool you or b) trying to fool themselves.

There are moments of unparalleled joy, to be sure, but in the early years especially, when you're sleep-and shower-deprived and your little angels are 100% dependent and demanding, it's been my experience that the moments of tedium, frustration and exhaustion dominate.

I love my children and make daily sacrifices for them because that's what I want to do. However, I also enjoy leaving them with my in-laws for the occasional overnight getaway with my husband (our last, for the record, was in October) and don't mind candidly informing the sweet woman who works in our church office that, in fact, not every single second with our kids is "fun." (A flicker of surprise crossed her face before she thanked me for being honest and proceeded to confide about some serious challenges they're enduring with their college-aged son. Apparently honesty begets honesty, and I'm not the only mom who thinks that motherhood is more than blue skies and rainbows.)


If honesty begets honesty, then propaganda like the Johnson's Baby ad I stumbled upon while paging through the latest issue of Parents magazine on Monday evening begets false expectations of parenthood.

A half-sheet insert that makes holding your place (if "your place" happens to be anywhere other than the ad insertion point) impossible while trying to simultaneously fix an almond butter sandwich and apply lip liner to your five-year old who's getting costumed for an in-house production of "Princess C slays the fire-breathing dragon", the ad was nearly ripped out without a second glance. For some reason, though, I read it.

Apparently, Johnson's is sponsoring a "moments of joy" contest on Facebook, so the ad featured excerpts of "what moms are saying about their joyful before-bed moments."

According to this ad, every night (with Johnson's Baby bedtime bath, of course) is sweet, relaxing, cuddly and wonderful. Smiling babies drift off peacefully (by 8:30 at the latest, of course) while their moms marvel at the wonder of it all.

The one that made me guffaw out loud: "Right before bed I sing to Brody and he reaches up and touches my face before he smiles at me, and then drifts off to sleep."

Bedtime at our house goes down more like this: "After finally wrestling C into a clean diaper and pajamas, I take her to the glider for round two where she proceeds to wriggle, squirm and smack me in the face repeatedly while giving me a look that says, 'What? You gotta a problem with me slapping you in the face?' Exhausted, I finally deposit her, still wide awake, in the crib, from which she chucks all her pacifiers and sings to her lovey before finally giving it up 20 minutes later. At least she doesn't scream for 20 minutes (or longer) like her older sister used to at that age."

Maybe I need that bedtime bath stuff. No, wait. I've tried that. Our kids seem immune to the powers of its calming lavender scent.

I get that the goal is to sell baby wash. But I do wonder if ads and contests like this don't have the unintended affect of creating false expectations of what parenting will be like or, even worse, making parents (like me) wonder what it is they're doing wrong to have homes in which bedtime (or any time) more closely resembles a three-ring circus than a Norman Rockwell postcard.

If Johnson's wanted my money, they'd sponsor a Facebook contest challenging parents to keep it real. Wow, your son rubbed lotion in your hairbrush while pretending to be a dentist? So did mine! Your 10-month old thinks unlatching the fire screen every time you admonish her with a "no, no" is hilarious? Mine too! Honesty, in my book, is worth its weight in gold.