Skip to main content

How to Pass in The Land of (S)mothers

YLM and I agree - becoming a mama can bring out the best in you, and the very worst.

But neither of us were at all prepared for the horror that are the (s)mothers.

Sure my own mama warned me. Told me to avoid the PTA like an e-coli infested melon cup. But did I listen? For me, if it's not personally experienced, it's not real.

So after five years of experiencing (s)mothers, I have gleaned a few things that I feel compelled, much like a vaccine for yeast infections, to pass along to my fellow Mamas:

How you too can pass through a pack of wild (s)mothers and not ever be detected.

1. Pack your child a homemade lunch. Preferably one that is organic, free-range, hormone-free and put into an environmentally appropriate container — perhaps a paper bag you have made by yourself by pulping newspapers and drying it in the sun.

2. Sign up for every damn field trip, PTA function, bake sale and fund raiser. Then complain — lightly — when asked how you do it all. Shrug, and take a sip of your organic, free trade coffee made from beans shat from wild birds in Guatemala that you carry in your metal, spill proof Whole Foods container.

3. Bring homemade baked goods for a class snack. Once a week.

4. Never ever eat any other (s)mother's baked goods. You'll imply that you aren't watching your weight (which of course you must be) or that you can eat anything you want and still be skinny. (Bitch!)

5. Tell other mothers they're too sensitive and banish them from play dates. (Channel your inner 7th grader)

6. You must work (but not outside the home), be pregnant, have just had a child, or be launching some new business. Preferably all four.

7. Preferably this work outside the home (if you must work away from your house) will also be part-time and involve volunteering. (Read: We do not need my income.)

8. Do. Not. Discuss. Money. (Unless it's how much you donated during the recent school appeal.)

9. While not discussing money, be sure to wear your Earnest Sewn jeans, Calypso top, bag from Foley + Corinna, and Camper boots. (Cha-Ching: $1,025)

10. Finally - do not mention private schools for your Rabbit. (Really. Private school is not actually hip in (s)mother land.) Exceptions include the United Nations elementary school, or one of the small schools in Brooklyn where children are given toys made from old growth wood and natural dyes such as masticated dandelion leaves and beets.

Comments

Sugarmama said…
Oh my god, is this for real? And I thought I lived in the land of the uber-liberal! You win!
Manhattan Mama said…
So scary and real. Truly. I think they check your political leanings as soon as you walk into my neighborhood. Anywhere short of "My parents marched in the Moratorium against the Vietnam War" and I'm sure you get a badge placed somewhere on your body, only readable by barristas, that bans you from coffee houses from Canal Street to Houston.
Kate B. said…
aaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhh

This is one-upmanship on a whole other level. And there I was thinking that the Kensington Matriarch was pretty fierce.

I bow before you, real-life survivor of the hienous Manhattan (s)mother ...

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...) Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

A thought

Perhaps sometimes a gift can be delivered in the guise of a tragedy. It's just a matter of perception, after all. I suspect that the talent lies in looking beyond the surface to what lies beneath and beyond. And, of course, being able to make sense of it all and going on to apply that knowledge to building a productive way forward. Here's hoping.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...