Filed under: Middle Age, Parenting | Tags: education, high school, middle school, parents, teachers
I used to be able to attend adult functions and make the necessary small talk society requires. I could talk with a complete wallflower, as long as I followed my mother’s advice: “Just ask questions. People love to talk about themselves.”
Now? Not so much.
I don’t know if it’s an age thing or sheer laziness, but mostly I think it’s because I just don’t have the energy to care anymore.
Some of the worst small talk functions are school parental gatherings. Sometimes I’m genuinely interested, if it’s a family I like or friends of my kids, but mostly I end up pasting a smile on face and listening to what the other children did over the summer, the awards they won and what teachers are currently on the collective parental shit list. I do all of this while making snarky comments in my head.
These events do not bring out the best in me. And I think after what I said at the last couple of gatherings, I should probably stay home.
I recently went to a “Meet the New High School Director” coffee. I showed up, along with the other parents of kids whose parents really don’t need to be there (trust me, he’ll meet the parents of the kids who need a little extra “guidance” soon enough). I hung out with my mom friends until it was almost time to leave, and finally decided I should actually go meet the guy.
I waltzed up to a group of moms (I knew a couple) and introduced myself. “Hi, I’m so-and-so’s mom, it’s so good to have you here blah, blah, blah…”
Awkward silence…which, of course, I had to fill.
“Well, I’m sure I’ll be in your office at some point this year!” I chirped.
“For good reasons, I hope?” he asked, looking at me oddly.
I panicked. “We’ll see!” I said. I gave a little wave and practically ran out the door.
When I told Daughter #2 about it, she said, “Great Mom – now he thinks I’m a delinquent.”
“So do you want me to say anything to him at Back to School Night?”
“Maybe tell him I’m not a delinquent?”
“Hmmmm…nope. I think we’re going to set the bar low and let him be pleasantly surprised.”
“You’re the worst mom ever.”
So that was the first event.
The second, awkward, “please-let-me-suck-those-words-back-in” moment happened a few days later. Hubby and I were standing with the mother of a younger child at a school function. She was stunning – the kind of mom that I’m secretly jealous of because she looks sophisticated and sleek. This beautiful mom had makeup on, like most grownup women do, and I’m pretty sure she used primer (apparently it’s a thing now), too, because her face was perfectly smooth, and her makeup was flawless. Like my daughters, she has learned how to apply it and look gorgeous – I put on makeup and look like I fell onto a Kardashian’s face in a bar at 2:00am.
So, there we were, and I was talking about how my girls where more makeup than I ever learned how to use. “Oh my God, I mean, they put on ‘primer,’ which I think is just ridiculous, because a face is not a wall in your house!”
I couldn’t stop it, even after it dawned on me that I was probably insulting her. When the event was over, Hubby looked at me and said, “You know she wears makeup, right?”
“I know.” I sighed. “And she’s beautiful.”
“And you know you were just going on and on about how too much makeup is bad, right?”
“Yes! I know! I could hear the words come out and I couldn’t stop it!”
“Just checking.”
Ugh. I really just should have listened to my mother’s advice and only asked questions. Not once during either of these encounters did I do that – I simply filled any void with my verbal diarrhea.
Tonight is Back to School Night. God help me if any of the teachers address me directly. I’ll probably blurt out a question like “Was teaching your first choice as a profession?” So to all of Daughter #2’s teachers, here is my blanket apology in advance:
You will never be paid enough or honored enough for the work you do. Please keep trying to educate our children and fill in the gaps that we have left yawning open in their character. Every day you rise above pettiness, exhaustion and frustration to embrace these young people as they try to make sense of a senseless world, and for that you should be shown the respect and encouragement you deserve.
Plus, you look pretty. And your tie goes with your pants….
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Parenting | Tags: adulthood, adulting, Facebook, friends, friendship, guilt, Middle-Age, relationships, social media
I’m tired of FaceBook making me feel like a crappy parent, an uninvolved citizen, an un-inspiring adult, and someone who is only marginally good at weird visual puzzles. Mostly, I’m tired of feeling guilty about things I didn’t realize I’m supposed to be doing to be a good person, according to the Facebook Junkies.
Brace yourselves – I realize I’m probably going to offend some of you – but I’ve never been accused of holding back or using much of a filter, so here comes the hurricane…
First, stop with the chain posts – Share this with 10 people who need a hug today. If you send me one of those, consider it dead when it reaches my page. Adding a task to my already overloaded shit-I-have-to-do-today list does not make me feel more loved. I need an administrative assistant, not a FaceBook hug.
I also need a break from all those pseudo-inspirational messages like, Who did you inspire today? Or, my personal non-favorite, How are you bringing your AMAZING to work today? Seriously? How about “Congratulations! You didn’t punch that person in the throat today!” Or maybe, “Hang in there – they can’t all be that stupid.” Or, if you don’t like the heavy sarcasm, how about “Try to be nice to people today – yep, even them.”
But the ones that REALLY get me are the posts that say something like Share this if you have an amazing son/daughter. Wow – those are annoying on so many levels.
First, I’m pretty sure my kids know I think they’re amazing. If you don’t, D1 and D2, please be confident that I’m well aware that you both are already better people than I am, that you inspire me every day, and that I brag about you to the people that matter. When I criticize you, it doesn’t mean I think you’re stupid – it means I’m trying to protect you, and enable you to function as a kind adult in an unkind world.
Second, if I were a person struggling to conceive, or who’s child had passed away, I can only imagine that it would break my heart a little every time one of those little brag posts popped up.
And finally, I noticed there are precious few posts in the same vein saying, Share if you have an amazing husband/wife/partner/grandparent/parent. Hmmmmm….what does that say about us?
The Share this if you love your son/daughter/grandchild posts are almost as bad. So are you saying that if I don’t share it I don’t love my kid? Seriously? I would be more irritated with this one if I thought a lot of kids were actually on FaceBook and fretting that their parents didn’t love them since they didn’t share that post. But, since most of them are on every platform other than FaceBook, maybe these aren’t so bad – just mildly guilt-inducing for us dinosaurs who don’t speak in pictures and acronyms.
So, like many of my friends have from time to time, I’m going to take a break from FaceBook. My blog posts will still appear because they automatically push to it, so don’t worry – you’ll still get your doses of Subourbonmom wit. Of course, it will help my chances of getting them published in a an actual book if you follow the blog by signing up to receive it via email. (Okay, that’s my very rare marketing plug.)
And don’t worry, Family, I’ll still be stalking you on Instagram and SnapChat, and yes, I know y’all have Finstas and other places where I’m the subject of many a meme. Have at it – the fact that you’re posting anything about me means I’m making an impact on your life.
Share this if you love sharing FaceBook rants.
Filed under: Middle Age, Parenting, shopping | Tags: adulthood, American Girl, Breyer, catalogs, Christmas, email, holiday, Holidays, humor, marketing, sales, shopping, subourbonmom
The holiday season is upon us. Christmas music plays incessantly on local radio stations, pumpkin spice everything has been replaced with cinnamon everything and the marketing onslaught is in full swing.
Now I’m all for marketing – a store’s got to do something to get your attention amid the mind-boggling Elf on a Shelf displays. But come on, Marketers, every day can’t be “The BIGGEST SALE EVER.” I don’t care how much your store has to sell by the end of the year – no marketing email should ever be labeled URGENT unless Victoria has decided to reveal her secret, or I’m getting something good for free that doesn’t include shipping or some God-awful tote bag I’ll never take in public.
Along with emails, the catalogs are also rolling in faster than sexual harassment accusations in the media.
In two days I got 19 catalogs in the mail. That’s right…19 catalogs. But the number of catalogs isn’t what I’m here to write about. In fact, I love looking through them every morning while I drink my coffee. (Catalogs are window shopping for people who have an aversion to other people.) It’s funny how at this time of year I will actually consider buying weird, only-funny-to-me gifts that I would never spend the money on at any other time. In previous years I’ve ordered squirrel spray, Sasquatch Band-Aids and key chains with made up nicknames on them.
But in this latest batch of shopper’s crack, I found two catalogs whose marketing teams failed (in my humble opinion).
When I saw this cover on a catalog for toy horse models, I couldn’t decide who the target audience was – was it kids who want to be like this model with the BRF, who clearly would rather be anywhere else? Or parents who want to believe their twelve-year-old still plays with model horses instead of obsessively checking the likes on her Finsta? (I have nothing personal against this model – she’s obviously very attractive and was told how to pose and smile.) Perhaps a better image for the cover would have been a younger kid happily playing on the floor on a rainy day with all the crap in the catalog. To the parents it says, “You are buying yourself some peace and quiet.” To the kid, it says, “This will bring you happiness until you can wear them down and they give you your own pony to keep in the garage.”
The other cover fail was on this American Girl catalog:
Nothing says I’m a stalker like hugging your best friend while also clutching a doll that looks and dresses exactly like her.
But in all of this marketing blitz, I realized there is a catalog I have never received, that I think a lot of people might want to order from as well. It’s filled with all my favorite things that I can’t by in a store, like these:
- Life do-overs
- The smell of my mother’s garage
- Knowing how to speak and understand animals in their language
- The ability to fly
- One consequence-free bitch slap on the person of my choice
- Opportunities to suck words back into my head that should never have escaped
- Time to spend with those who aren’t here anymore
- Dog kisses
- An interview with King Arthur
- The feeling you get when you snuggle with your kids
What would your catalog have in it?
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Parenting | Tags: adulthood, children, family, graduation, high school, humor, kids, Middle-Age, mom, parenting, parents, Seniors, south, southern, subourbonmom, teenagers, teens
As the end of Daughter #1’s Senior Year approaches, the final sprint towards final exams, AP tests, and Senior Project has begun. Not to mention prom, graduation, college selection, and the never-ending game of Senior Assassin (more on this later). For Seniors this means tearing themselves away from watching vines and shopping for prom dresses and studying for exams, throwing together last-minute power point presentations and agonizing over roommate selection. 
For parents this means panicking when you realize you never ordered graduation announcements, approving and paying for the last prom and graduation dresses, and deciding how to celebrate this momentous of times – do we have a keg at the party for the adults or not?
It also means attending the Senior project presentations. At our school, Senior Project is a year-long process involving learning a new skill or challenging yourself in a new way (like learning to make cheese, hatching and raising chickens, trying to understand the lyrics to Rhianna’s songs, etc.), documenting it, doing a research paper, and presenting the whole thing in front of a small group of parents and teachers.
As I sat there watching these impressive young adults show how they started their own yoga classes, created scholarships, ran half-marathons, published their own international blog on Russian politics and even learned how to fly fish, I wondered What the hell have I been doing with my life?
I was impressed and depressed all at the same time. These young people were avidly exploring new ideas, challenging themselves and getting out of their comfort zones in ways that many adults never will.
Thank goodness these kids will be in charge of me when I finally become an adult.
I was depressed because I took an inventory of my recent years and realized I haven’t done much in the way of challenging myself other than to start a new job. Somehow I don’t think trying new food at the local Iranian restaurant counts.
And then I realized that my Senior Project isn’t done yet. I’m still researching how to raise successful women on a daily basis. I’m nearly always out of my comfort zone. My PowerPoint presentation is currently still housed in my laptop under “Pictures” and in the copies of report cards and assignments I’ve kept over the years. And, I present my project in front of my parents every time they visit or call.
I don’t know what my final grade will be, but I’m no longer depressed. I’m more and more impressed with my project every day.
Now if I could just figure out how to cite all those parenting how-to websites I’ve visited over the years.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Parenting | Tags: adulthood, Cats, dog toys, dogs, family, humor, Lily, Middle-Age, mom, parenting, Pets, puppies, rescue dogs, south, southern, SPCA, subourbonmom
We have a house full of cats, (by that I mean we have three, which makes any house smell like there’s a cat hoarding situation going on – call Animal Planet), 
and I’m not a fan. Hubby and the Daughters each have a cat that loves them – I am merely the House Staff that is tolerated. I have been relegated to taking care of Larry The Fish – who, let’s face it, isn’t exactly stimulating company.
I wanted a dog.
So our latest acquisition, quickly falling under the “What were we thinking?” category, is our new “free” dog, Lily. Lily is a rescue, and she’s everything I said I didn’t want when we first decided to get a dog: she’s a puppy, not housebroken, and high-energy. I’ve since been informed that what I really wanted was a housebroken sloth.
We’re pretty sure Lily’s never been in a house before, walked on a leash, or hung out with people…ever. She’s terrified of just about everything except other dogs. In the 3 weeks we’ve had her she’s run away 3 times, decided that pooping inside is preferable to standing in the cold by the woodpile, and will only walk through the front door.
But we love her.
Ok, I love her. The rest of the jury is still out.
Which is why I found myself standing in the dog toy aisle in Wal-Mart, looking for something Lily might like to play with to get her mind off the Scary Box That Talks (the t.v.), the Scary Smaller Box That Talks (the radio), the Mean Cats, Scary Couch, Scary Pillows, Scary Kitchen, Scary Bathroom, etc. I’m a pretty firm believer that the same parental coping strategies can apply to dogs as to children – give them something to keep them busy so you can do the things you need to do.
So for the same reason I gave my kids questionable Mac-n-Cheese and off-brand Cheerios when they were little (they don’t know the difference and I’m cleaning up their poop anyway), I decided to go the cheap route and visit my local big-box store to get Lily some toys.
I stood in awe, looking at the range of wild animals and Muppet-like things that squeak, crackle, crinkle and smell like peanut butter. Some even looked disturbingly like sex toys. (My co-worker’s dag actually has this one, but she assures me it doesn’t come with batteries.) 
None of them were under $3.00, and none of them are any kind of off-brand, that I could tell. Um…just to be clear, this is something I’m buying for my dog to shake and chew on, right? What happened to just having your dog pull on an old sock?
So there I was, squeezing every toy like a toddler in one of those saucer things parents use to keep their child occupied while Mommy drinks her wine. I was obsessed. I couldn’t stop making those toys squeak and crackle over and over again, sending loud, annoying, fake mouse shrieks up and down the Pet section, and into Lighting and Paint. It was like scratching an itch – it was wrong, but it felt ooooh, soooo right.
In the end, I opted for a raccoon, a blue elephant and something that looks like a rat crossed with a parrot. Two days later, raccoon stuffing littered the dining room, and the elephant’s ear has gone missing – I’m pretty sure Lily ate it. I’m looking forward to seeing that on the dining room floor tomorrow morning.
But somehow Lily managed to worm her way quickly into my heart, and the Fam’s too. She always manages to redeem herself by putting herself in her crate when she’s been “bad”, or lying next to us (only slightly under duress) on the couch while we watch the Scary Box That Talks. But the next toy I buy will be a toy in the shape of a cat, with life-like meows…or I could go high-end, and just let her chase our actual cats.
Who’s the Staff now, little kitties?
(maniacal laughter fading….)
Subourbon Mom 