|Whatever you do, don't call her a Soccer Mom. |
Even though she is wearing that title on her shirt....
It's wrong and demeaning.
A hyper sensitive woman said it was so....
A few weeks ago, some of my friends who happen to be (AWESOMESAUCE) mothers of Thing 1's preschool friends, and I were having a little girl bonding time. In a bar. With martinis.
We were having such a splendid time that I'm quite certain our laughter and volume 11 talking was hard to ignore. Soon this cute 20-something chick wobbled over to us with a rum and coke in her hand and slurred something about setting us up with a group of New York Firefighters. She then made a sweeping gesture towards a herd of trolls that were standing in a cluster in the center of the bar. Honestly, even without any hot man bait, we would have waved away the hook-up intention, as we are all married. Also, we were on a girls' night out, which meant we were basically so tired of our own men that we needed a night away (but we love and respect you all so so much- xoxo). We then invited the girl to sit with us, as we felt sorry for her that she was the only chick in the testosterone laden group of misplaced garden gnomes.
This gracious invitation we soon regretted.
Let me start by saying that my friends are all funny and witty and snarky (and pretty, because I only like pretty people). We really do love our spawn and we try to do what is best for them, but we freely admit to our parenting faux pas as well. In doing this we receive much needed support and reassurance from our parental peers- because parenting is HARD. If I labeled us, it would be the "Keeping it Real Moms".
Our new booth-mate, however, was the most beautiful and special new mom to the most beautiful and special nine-month old baby girl. Miss Perfect Mom was also fairly wasted (KLASSY), so she was taking over our formerly fun conversation and filling the space with the shameless self promotion of her own pristine parenting abilities. Apparently SuperMom was trying for some kind of parenting perfection status, and then replaying it for/selling it to all of us- her captive new audience. I heard something like this..... "blah blah blah.... my stellar parenting techniques....blah" Finally, she broke out the lofty, "I really just want my daughter to know that I will support her in ANY decision that she makes. She can be WHATEVER she want to be."
Naturally, I took my cue, raised an eyebrow and asked, "So what if she wants to be a stripper? Are you going to wholeheartedly support that decision?" And then I smiled sweetly and was confident in my decision that she and I would never be friends.
In conclusion, I'm a Bitchy Mom and she was an Overachiever Braggart Mom who needed to be stopped before someone shanked her with their olive pick. How is that for stereotyping and name calling?
|image from www.theonion.com|
Peace, Love and Stripper Poles,
P.S. Later, when I told Brock about the firefighters, he asked, "How did you know they were firefighters? Were they wearing fire hats and carrying axes?" This should answer any questions that you may have about our relationship.
Check back soon, where Brock and I lead a herd of sheep-like followers in a class that we title, "Stereotyping 101". He'll be the flannel clad dude in a tool belt and I will be the tired-looking woman holding a laundry basket in one hand and a spatula in the other.