No. I Don’t Wanna Join Your Damn Mom’s Group
I know that sounds harsh as fuck. Get over it. Let’s start off by discussing who this article is NOT for: moms who rock the quintessential “speak to your manager” bob, wear khaki shorts that are too high and kiss the tops of their knees, moms, who despite trying to maintain that little “Noah-no-listen” doesn’t get much screen time, gives him her phone when she’s trying to talk over her iced mocha something-or-other because she’s given up on the idea that coffee is supposed to be hot. No. This article is for the moms who swear. The moms who have no time for the bullshit; who live in yoga pants because “What’s this ‘getting ready’ you speak of?” and will show up naked-faced because she didn’t give a shit about your opinion on her abilities to not only make her children NOT look like wild, shiftless hobos but also makeup her whole face with your customary nude shimmer shade and slightly pink-tinted lips. This is for the moms who will flat out tell you that the kids ate a doughnut for breakfast because the battle over chasing each other around with blunt objects was more important. And the ones on their phones at the playground, not giving two shits if little Tommy or Tawny-tough-nuts just jumped off a 5-foot ledge. If you’re THAT kind of mom…keep reading!
My Experience in a Mom’s Group
First, let me start off by saying that I was really lucky to find a mom’s group that was actually very welcoming, totally accepting, and only slightly clique-ish. I’ve heard horror stories and I’m just saying the phrase “We don’t hit” would have been ignored! My group was really awesome! In fact, I’m actually still pretty close with a handful of moms from that group. All the kids played well together, there was minimal fighting, you fed mine and I fed yours kind of mentality, right? Everything was going really well until I started noticing some things about my place in the group. Now, obviously I’m not the khaki-above-the-knee shorts wearing mom. I (was) the mom who would sneak off to the other end of the playground and smoke a cigarette while my kids ran around like mad men (all the better you little shits, tire yourselves out!). I eventually learned that for all the things that the group offered, there most certainly was a counter offer if you will.
Let me break this down because it’s actually quite amusing:
- There was the apprehension that I would smoke or swear around their children. Bitch, please! As if I would want to listen to your lecture about how smoking is bad! Nor would I curse around YOUR kids because heavens-forbid they heard adults speaking like…..gasp…..ADULTS!
- Our MNO’s (mom’s nights out for those of you who don’t know) inevitably had booze. I was the one kicking back doubles of whiskey and soda while everyone sipped on little cocktails or beers. Now, I don’t give a shit what you drink, but don’t ask me if I’m safe to drive when you’re sitting there giggling after 3 sips!
- I didn’t really want to talk about my kids when we would get together. Why? Because I talk to them (read: walls, I really just talk to walls) all day so therefore, when I’m around other adults, ya know, people with a vocabulary reaching past fart and burp, I want to talk about adult stuff.
- I can admit that my kids eat shit; sometimes. All those jokes you see floating around about how moms feed their kids salted kale with avocado mousse and dehydrated banana chips are based on a fuck ton of truth. My kids? They are the goldfish, fruit and veggies kids who occasionally will eat frozen pancakes for dinner because I’m too lazy to cook full fucken dinners every damn night of my life regardless if I’m a SAHM (stay at home mom) or not! PHEW!
After I Left my Mini-Cult
Um. No. I don’t mean that like a smallish-sized cult. I mean every mom either had or was in the process of buying a minivan. I drive a Jeep. I will forever drive a Jeep until that sonovabitch falls apart. And it won’t. Ya know why? Because it’s a damn Jeep! I digress.
So we moved and playdates got to be too far and too damn stressful for me to host, so I quietly left. Here’s what I’ve learned after leaving. All those moms don’t care. They are busy trying to make sense of their own spot in the group and trying to find someone to accept their khakis. And that’s perfectly fine! Listen, I wouldn’t bash another mom unless she really, truly was an awful mother. What I’m saying is that I need to be with like-minded moms who don’t care how messy mom life gets.
And boy does it get messy! Even as I type this my two-year old is sitting on my lap, trying to press keys around my own fingers, and touching everything at my desk. I wouldn’t change it though because I know that my boys will grow up with a mom who was honest in her journey as their mother. They will grow up knowing that even though mom stayed home, she also worked her ass off in her business because SHE needed to do that FOR HER own sense of accomplishment and to appease that fire burning inside her. Because let’s face it: there is only so much love and enjoyment you get out of making your millionth peanut butter and jelly sandwich because your kid refuses to eat real food! Can I get an amen!?
It really doesn’t matter what kind of mom you are, what your kids eat and don’t eat, what you do or say that will define you as a mother. What defines you is how your kid turns out; stop stressing now. I raise my coffee mug of whiskey to ya!
About the Author
Hey gorgeous! I’m Brittany Marie~ Your No Bullshit Best Friend. I get the most enjoyment out of helping men and women who want to toss their shell back into the ocean, burn that bullshit blanket of lies they’ve gotten too comfortable under, and help them find their muchness in this world that tells us we’re too much and not enough. When I’m not giving my clients some TLC with a side of #realtalk and #truth, I am hanging out with my menfolk. I know more than I ever thought possible about marine life thanks to my 5 year old and I’m constantly surprised by my 2 year old and his ability to ricochet off our furniture! Some things I like: reading mommy porn, binge watching Netflix, and using movie quotes as part of my witty repartee. Things I don’t like: excuses, lies, and horses; horses scare the shit out of me!