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Return to the land of (S)mothers

I debated for some months this summer whether my usual tirades against the (s)mothering herd should end. After all, a few weeks surrounded by big trees, fresh air, hawks and eagles can truly Cat Stevens the stress out of anyone. Yes?

And then school started.

What is it about playground politics that is so stressful? Everyone staring at what you're wearing. Wondering if they'll talk with you. Wondering if you'll get invited for lunch. And this is the MOTHERS.

I have never been a social butterfly, nor a full-on misfit. I always managed to hover somewhere between Student Body President and kid who wears shorts in December. But some how, every damn morning, I return to some sort of anxious adolescent. Wishing it could be ME popping my thumb in my mouth.

So, you may or may not be glad to hear: regular updates on the (s)mothering band of biddies will continue. It's either that, or I'll be hitting the red wine earlier. Might end up as both.
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