Oct 252010
 

I knew it was a dumb fucking idea as soon as I penciled in my name as a volunteer for the upcoming preschool Halloween party. I don’t know if I was using this as a catalyst for getting over my fear of other moms or other kids, but how fucking naive of me to think that this could bring upon me anything but misery, stress and one heaping hassle reaking of eau de soccer mom.

A slip of paper was returned to me at the start of last week. On it was the four moms volunteering for the party and our respective phone numbers. I figured at some point we would all meet up, maybe before or after school, and discuss the boring minutia involved in planning a successful preschool Halloween party that wouldn’t implode upon itself.

But apparently I don’t know shit about planning school functions, because when I walked into Chooch’s classroom last Friday morning, I was quickly cornered by some tall, nerdy mommy who assertively introduced herself as the mother of one of the girls in the class.

“I’m also one of the moms volunteering for the party next week,” she continued, and I tried with all of my might to stop feeling like she was looking down her nose at me. I really don’t deal well with condescention.

I figured she was going to ask me what my ideas were, maybe suggest that I hang back and wait for the other mom-broads to show up with their respective children, so we can sit down like grown-ups and work this shit out so it won’t wind up being a complete clusterfuck.

Again with the naivete.

“So I just happened to run into the other two moms on Wednesday. They’re cousins, so they already have been deciding what they’re going to do. One of them is taking care of the treat and the other is doing a craft. Now, I’m going to go to Eat n Park and get smiley cookies for the snack,” she prattled on, looking entirely too smug. “So, that leaves the game up to you. Will that be a problem?” There was something in her voice. Gilded haughtiness. Smarmy high-horseness. Whatever it was, it didn’t sit well with me.

I was stunned, almost to the point of silence; completely shocked. In my periphery, I could see bright flashing lights, probably from the blood vessels that were bursting.

In my perfect world, I’d have called her a cunt a hundred different ways and threatened her vagina with a wide assortment of spiny farm tools. But over the ringing in my ears, I could hear the laughter of Chooch’s schoolmates as they played before class. And then I looked down and saw Chooch at my side, waiting to ask me a question.

So I sucked in a deep breath and said, with the slightest sarcastic lilt, “Clearly it’s not going to be a problem.” I then informed her that I already had treat bags, and I intended to still use them.

“Oh, that’s fine,” she said, and I can’t help but feel she didn’t really think that was fine at all, that some new mommy might have a chance to out-do all the veterans. “I’m bringing in tattoos for them, on  top of the smiley cookies,” she went on, reminding me again of how pathetic her snack was going to be.

Smiley cookies? Seriously? Mother of the motherfucking year. I bet your daughter will be so proud that her mommy went to a restaurant to buy Halloween cookies when a REAL MOM (or in my case – A REAL MOM WITH A HENRY) was planning on baking Halloween CUPCAKES.

I left the school that morning in tears. It’s what repressed anger does to me. (And when it gets really bad, that’s when the uncontrollable laughter kicks in, but Henry is typically the only one who angers me enough to see that.) As soon as I walked into the house, I grabbed my phone and called Henry, wherein the tears turned into waterfalls.

“I’m going to go and talk to the teacher,” Henry barked. “That’s bullshit.”

“NO!” I wailed. “You’ll just make it worse!” Like I’m suddenly the kid who’s being bullied. But it’s true, and I thought a lot about it – it will make it worse for Chooch.

“Then just don’t help them at all,” Henry suggested. “Fuck them, let them do it all!”

“That’ll ruin it for Chooch,” I reasoned. “And he’s the only reason I wanted to help in the first place.”

So you know what? Fuck those broads. Not only am I still going to bring in the treat bags, but I’m still baking those fucking cupcakes. (And of course, you’ll translate to mean “Henry is still baking those fucking cupcakes.”)

Oh, they’ll get their fucking game. I’ll bring in a Ouija board, I don’t give a fuck.

  21 Responses to “Mommy Cliques: Round One”

  1. I hope those bitches get run over by a bus full of retarded nuns.

    Ouija is the best idea ever. OH! or putting the kids in the bathroom and seeing if they can conjure Bloody Mary.

    Or actually turning that fail-mom INTO Bloody Mary :)

    Those kids are all old enough to have seen Carrie by now, right?

  2. Ignore them, Erin! Don’t let the opinions and actions of stupid, shallow people ruin things! Do what you planned. It obvious you are happy and successful in your live by doing things that you love! So show off some of your unique “Mommy” talents and skills – the Halloween party will be a success and Chooch will be proud of you! Have you thought of taking some props and your camera to the party? Be you! Your are incredible!!! PS Smiley Cookies, really????

  3. […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Mommy Ideas!, Erin Honestly. Erin Honestly said: Mommy Cliques: Round One: I knew it was a dumb fucking idea as soon as I penciled in my name as a volunteer for th… http://bit.ly/cC2Uvu […]

  4. You are too much! I laughed the whole way through this one – as I normally do! And before you even mentioned Henry making the cupcakes, I was already thinking “She’s going to bake? Isn’t that normally Henry’s job?”

  5. It makes me sad this bullshit still exists everywhere. But you’re way awesome and they probably wear pink sweater-sets and floral flannel nightgowns (ewwwww). love you!

  6. You go on and do what you were planning on doing. Although make sure Chooch tells all his classmates who brought the awesome cupcakes (not lame smiley cookies) & treat bags.
    Just imagine… a miniature riot of little kids screaming “Cupcakes rocks! Smiley cookies suck!” and pelting the stuck up soccer bitch with said offending cookies. A kid jumps on her back and grinds one into her hair. She turns to look at you for help and you shrug and say “Who smiling now, bitch?”… Aaaah, don’t you feel better?
    As for games, there’s buckets of suggestions online like this: http://familyfitness.about.com/od/seasonalsportsandfun/tp/halloween_games.htm I like the Skeleton Scavenger Hunt idea. Or a Ouija board LOL :D

  7. Ooooh! do the OUIJA board.. that’d be hilarious..

    I can’t believe what a bitch that mom was! but then again, i’m not surprised, because some people like to still hold onto their mean ways from HS.. i swear, it’s like they are still in HS trying to make a point that you aren’t “one of them” .. life is like one big popularity contest, it seems..

    but do whatever you want, erin.. fuck those moms.. do something great for those kids so that you will be known as the coolest mom and then the kids will always request for YOU to do their parties ;) then those moms will be jealous :)

    • It’s crazy how you never really leave high school behind. Sometimes I feel like my life has even MORE drama in it now than it did back then.

      Thank you for the positive words, Thu!

  8. I probably would have said (or wished I had said), “Oh, that’s no problem for me. I’m not one of those types who have to run all over everyone and be in charge!” with a bright, bright smile.

    And to make you feel better. When I was in Ohio I saw this in a carousel museum and, of course, thought of you!

  9. In my perfect world, I’d have called her a cunt a hundred different ways and threatened her vagina with a wide assortment of spiny farm tools.

    I’m still laughing at that comment!

    Scratch the OUIJA board. (they give me the creeps!) Instead make a life size cut-out of the typical soccer mom look….make real size knives dripping with blood…blind fold each kid with a jason mask and they can play ‘pin the knife on the bitch’ game! Whoever gets closest to stabbing her in the heart wins. The prize? ‘WWJD’ shirts! ~laughs~ Imagine the look on their faces!

    ~hugs~ Seriously…don’t mind the snooty ones. They really don’t matter.

  10. Those mommy-cliques are everywhere, sadly. I’m dealing with the same thing. But let me tell you a cool little secret – we outnumber them in spades. They have nothing more to do than micromanage events like the classroom parties. They probably don’t even ask their kids what they’d like to bring to the class. Where you, your friends and I all take our kids places, expose them to new things and include them in the fun. Those queen-bee moms suck and I wish we could form an anti-moms-club club. It would be nationwide… This year is the first year I’ve met some like-minded parents. Ya know, the ones who could give a crap about the unspoken contests between school parents and like to have fun. The ones who identify with the quirks our kids share, instead of proclaiming their perfection. My kids are in preschool and 2nd grade. All the others are whackadoodle parent-of-the-year wannabes. It took while, but I did meet them!

    Hang in there and remember that in Chooch’s eyes, you are everything. Even when he rolls his eyes at you. :)

    PS:

  11. i feel you. i have been rocking the classroom mommy thing for a minute now and have always been approached that way by the other twat face soccer moms.
    each school he’s attended thus far i find the mom i hate the most at the school. yes, this is what i do with my time.

    anyway, party. i’ve always done whatever i want when it comes to the parties. and it’s been a blast for johnathan, apparently, to have the weirdo mom in the class. good times!
    can’t wait to see what the cupcakes look like!

  12. You should do something zombie-ish that Chooch will love and the soccer moms will hate.
    <3

  13. I remember this co-worker telling me once about the 37 (approx.) different varieties of ketchup that he had lining the inside of his refrigerator door. He was so proud of how all his ketchups had to be with the ketchups and how all the mustards had to be with the mustards and all the mayo had to be with the mayo. Apparently, the guy like variety and he was obsessive. I was like, “You like to control your condiments because you can’t control your life.” I laughed because it was funny and he laughed too but he looked a little crestfallen afterward. Maybe I was right. Maybe the smiley cookies are to your preschool mom as the condiments are to my coworker?

    I say let things be what they are. When you two are arranging halloween snacks on the table (you with cupcakes, her with smiley cookies) refrain yourself to the mutterance of one simple “cunt” under your breath in her general direction. If she happens to hear it and says, “What did you just say?”, respond with a simple “your mother.” At this point, you have made your point and it is over. However, if she insists on dragging it on by yelling, “What the fuck did you say about my mother?!”, make the sign of the cross and say, “Peace be with you.” At this point, she will be so confused that she won’t know if she’s coming or going.

    Also, later on that week, find her home and crap on the hood of her car. If this repulses you greatly, take it upon yourself to seduce her husband* and tear that family unit apart like so much cheap toilet paper.

    *You might want to clear this revenge tactic with Henry first

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