I want to stand in solidarity with other mothers, I really do. I want to be that supportive sister that every woman with kids needs.
But on Saturday I failed. Miserably.
It might have something to do with the age of my own children. I honestly prefer having them around to shipping them off, these days. Sort of like that weird neurological defense mechanism, which makes you forget how friggin' horrible childbirth is (otherwise we'd have a world full of "only children"), I have somehow conveniently misplaced all the memories of "we don'ts."
If you haven't said a "we don't" in a while, you might not know what I'm talking about. Let me remind you with a little story.
There was this adorable young mother standing behind me at Safeway, the other day. She was perfect and blonde and wearing a sweater set and pearls. AND PEARLS, PEOPLE.
"She's probably on her way home from the yacht club," I surmised.
(Does Mountain View even have a yacht club?)
"No, she's also wearing sensible flats -- wait, are those Tory Burch? Probably the country club, I mean, look at that perfect hair. No way that hair's been on a boat, today..."
The conversation continued like this in my head. A head, which BTW, had a really messy (and not in a cute college-age, studying for finals kind of way) bun balancing on top of it.
I should mention that this woman had two little mini-me's with her in line. A girl and a boy in matching, gender-appropriate Gymboree outfits.
I totally judged this woman. She didn't even stand a chance. Mostly because I was sporting misshapen yoga pants and flip-flops (showcasing toes that really needed a pedicure).
One of her kids asked about the Monopoly game Safeway is promoting. You get stickers, or something, for your purchases.
"Sweetheart," Perfect, Tory Burch-sensible-flats-wearing mom said, the endearment dripping with unconcealed frustration, "We aren't asking questions while we're waiting in line, remember?"
"Remember"?! Did they have a conversation in the car before entering, in which they specifically discussed not asking questions while in line at Safeway? 'Cause that would be just plain weird. And kind of psychic.
Then the other one of her children asked if they could add some gum to their purchases.
"Sweetheart," She began ("Sweetheart" was obviously her annoyed name for her kids -- we all have one, amIright? Mine is "Pumpkin"), "We don't buy gum when we're in a hurry."
We don't? Was that another weird agreement they made in the car on their way inside?
I turned to this woman and lifted one delicately arched eyebrow in her direction, letting her know that she was being judged. Okay, maybe it wasn't a "delicately" arched eyebrow. I'm sort of having trouble mastering this "natural brow" look. It was probably more like one Groucho Marx-like eyebrow, but whatever. The bigger the brow, the better. My bushy eyebrow left no doubt about what I was saying.
"Damn, lady," I thought. "Chill out, already!" I sighed because some people.
I didn't actually feel guilty until the next day, when all of my "we don'ts came flooding back":
"We don't crawl around under the pews during the church service!"
Obviously we do -- because we are, in fact, doing just that. Me in nylons and a skirt, trying to grab tiny ankles to draw them back up into their seats.
"We don't use snorkles inside!"
Yeah, we do. Otherwise I wouldn't be losing my mind over the whale-like spouting of water exploding all over the bathroom walls and ceiling.
"We don't eat pickle and butter sandwiches!"
Okay, we didn't eat them, but my kid did make them (for the whole family) when I asked him to pack sandwiches for a trip to the park.
The thing is, the "we don'ts" always happen when we're already doing them. And we say it when we're trying not to sound annoyed, but we already are. And I'm pretty sure most of us say it at some point during parenthood.
There have been countless "we don'ts" during the raising of my children. Who knows, maybe "we didn't" buy gum when we were in a hurry at Safeway, at some point in the last 15 years.
I am sorry for judging you, exasperated mom.
Except maybe for your outfit, but that's only because I'm a little jealous.
("They're just jealous," is another good one we moms like to say...)
