Hello, Stepford
I have become that which I have always reviled: a Den Mother who is on the PTO and who organizes block sales and plans neighborhood parties.
Any one of these factors would be fine: it is the combination of them all that makes me realize I've suddenly become a Yuppie Suburban Mom. You know, one of those women? The ones tallying up their to-do lists, which usually include gathering Cub Scout supplies, taking the car in to be serviced, stopping at the grocery store for Halloween party snacks, and giving the school's art-supply room at least an hour of cleaning and organization? Self-importantly despairing over how one was to fit all that in -- along with repainting a bench a lovely shade of coral and caucusing their child's teacher to let them be room parent?
But I am not just a Yuppie Suburban Mom -- oh no! I am complex! For I am also a 1950's Housewife -- just call me June Cleaver -- who bakes wholesome treats for her son's class, neatly folds her rags, longs to be room mother . . . and who organizes block sales and plans neighborhood parties.
Yet that's not all! I am, as well, a Hippie Dippie Housewife, covered in sawdust most mornings, tending to my beehives in the afternoon, baking only stone-ground whole wheat bread for my long-suffering child's lunches. (Plus pushing to be room mom, organizing block sales and planning neighborhood parties.)
How do I handle so many personalities without fully succumbing to any one? The secret to that is also what keeps me tolerable to those around me: I suck at all of them.
Sure, I try to be Yuppie Mom; but I fail miserably when every Cub Scout Den meeting dissolves into pure chaos and maybe a few tears. Not to mention the fact that I am basically a minor -- mostly-ignored -- member of the PTO. So I shouldn't expect to start wearing a pink
sweater around my shoulders yet.
And I can never fully embrace my role as June Cleaver. June would keep herself impeccably dressed. She'd have nutritious snacks ready after school, instead of shrugging, "I don't know; look in the fridge for some yogurt or something." Her house would be ever spic and span. And June would never consider Kraft Mac 'N Cheese a viable option when Ward's not around to make dinner. So I guess I oughtn't to invest in a girdle yet.
And how could I ever expect to be Hippie Dippie Housewife? My attempts at homemade laundry soap fail miserably, I'd rather just recycle than repurpose, and my vegetable garden is non-existent. So, I suppose, bra-burning is also not in my immediate future.
In some ways, it would be nice to assume one identity, and assume it well. It would be a relief to know who I am and where I stand. Were I capable of choosing, say, just Yuppie Suburban Mom, my obsessiveness would cause me to never rest until I reach the status of Best Damn Yuppie Suburban Mom Ever. Never would the world have seen such an elementary school fundraiser as the one I single-handedly plan and boss my minions into executing!
But, of course, this also means that my bitchiness would never end.
And, to be sure, were I to live as June Cleaver, I would no longer have to hide my dirty dishes in the oven when guests drop by unannounced. However, my family would promptly gain 50 pounds from our daily home-baked desserts.
Were I to embrace all the aspects of Hippie Dippie Housewife, success would be evident because I'd finally be able to properly pronounce "quinoa". However, I'd have to invest in Birkenstocks and our house would forever smell of curing cheese.
So being a little bit every one can be a good thing. In the least, it makes it so I can still guiltlessly make fun of them all.
Any one of these factors would be fine: it is the combination of them all that makes me realize I've suddenly become a Yuppie Suburban Mom. You know, one of those women? The ones tallying up their to-do lists, which usually include gathering Cub Scout supplies, taking the car in to be serviced, stopping at the grocery store for Halloween party snacks, and giving the school's art-supply room at least an hour of cleaning and organization? Self-importantly despairing over how one was to fit all that in -- along with repainting a bench a lovely shade of coral and caucusing their child's teacher to let them be room parent?
But I am not just a Yuppie Suburban Mom -- oh no! I am complex! For I am also a 1950's Housewife -- just call me June Cleaver -- who bakes wholesome treats for her son's class, neatly folds her rags, longs to be room mother . . . and who organizes block sales and plans neighborhood parties.
Yet that's not all! I am, as well, a Hippie Dippie Housewife, covered in sawdust most mornings, tending to my beehives in the afternoon, baking only stone-ground whole wheat bread for my long-suffering child's lunches. (Plus pushing to be room mom, organizing block sales and planning neighborhood parties.)
How do I handle so many personalities without fully succumbing to any one? The secret to that is also what keeps me tolerable to those around me: I suck at all of them.
Sure, I try to be Yuppie Mom; but I fail miserably when every Cub Scout Den meeting dissolves into pure chaos and maybe a few tears. Not to mention the fact that I am basically a minor -- mostly-ignored -- member of the PTO. So I shouldn't expect to start wearing a pink
sweater around my shoulders yet.
But, of course, this also means that my bitchiness would never end.
And, to be sure, were I to live as June Cleaver, I would no longer have to hide my dirty dishes in the oven when guests drop by unannounced. However, my family would promptly gain 50 pounds from our daily home-baked desserts.
Were I to embrace all the aspects of Hippie Dippie Housewife, success would be evident because I'd finally be able to properly pronounce "quinoa". However, I'd have to invest in Birkenstocks and our house would forever smell of curing cheese.
So being a little bit every one can be a good thing. In the least, it makes it so I can still guiltlessly make fun of them all.
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