I am addicted to a couple of Mormon mom blogs. Go figure.

I couldn’t be any more different from a Mormon mom. I mean, I find the entire Joseph Smith/Angel Moroni thing hard to swallow. And I admit, I was just a little gleeful when I read the colorful, “real” bio of the guy.

The special underwear just mystifies me. There’s a lot of judgment in the more conservative realms of the Mormon church. And all those kids! Not to mention plural wives.

It’s a head-spinning set of issues I could never buy into.

And yet, I’m attracted to these Mormon mom blogs like a bee to honey. Like Madonna is to younger men. Like John Travolta is to bath houses.

I think I know why.

Many Mormon moms live in the anachronistic, Leave-it-to-Beaver, wholesome, family-centered fantasy world that my generation grew up on.

They are devoted to their husbands and family. They hold weekly family nights. They attend religious services together. They have huge extended families and everyone seems to get along with love and support for one another. Their church ward system is effective–they all pitch in during times of trouble to provide the support of an additional extended family.

Mormon moms’ lives seem like one big family reunion with hot dogs, chocolate cake in a Tupperware cake carrier, and cold glasses of milk, and where the only sign of sin is in the deviled eggs.

One big, wholesome, happy family.

We Baby Boomers were sold on this fantasy life without even realizing it. We assumed that would be how our lives would go.

Maybe for some it’s true but my life couldn’t be any different.

I didn’t have kids.

The relationships in my family are completely dysfunctional.

I’m a huge feminist and liberal thinker.

I was raised Roman Catholic.

I’ve had several husbands but serially, not plurally.

I totally believe in sex outside of marriage and plenty of it, the hotter the better.

I’d make a really bad Mormon.

So for now, I’ll check in on my favorite Mormon mom blogs every day and fantasize about what it would be like to be a part of such a traditional hierarchy.

And this Friday, I’ll be wearing pearls. Barbara Billingsley died last week. She played that paragon of virtue and motherhood, June Cleaver, who set the standard that many of us have failed to meet. Me included.

Still, it’s how we were raised and a great fantasy. The Friday pearl-wearing is a tribute to June Cleaver initiated by two bloggers I read: http://lilylemontree.com/ and http://thelifeofasuburbanprincess.blogspot.com.

Join us, won’t you? Earrings, bracelet, necklace–whatever pearls you’ve got. (I’m adding the apron, but you don’t have to.)