Today was Gabriella’s Easter party at school. On a holy T-day. Yes, I am aware that it makes sense that they have their party on a school day. But they actually encourage the parents to attend. Give up their holy T-day and go watch their own children play. At school. That we paid to send them to so that we can have our days free. Now, before you go off on me for being such a bitch, have you been keeping track of how many T-days I have missed this year due to illnesses? Do you know how many of these days off I have had to unwillingly had to sacrifice? Many.
So there I am writing. I was doing actual work on my book. W-O-R-K-I-N-G. But then that damn guilt monster kicks in taunting me in my ear. “You know this is her first Easter party and egg hunt at school. You can’t stop for just an hour to go? What kind of mother are you, anyway?” So, I saved my work and trudged off to the school to catch the last 20 minutes of the hour long party. In the middle of the day. My day off.
Standing off to the side with another mom, we watch the gung-ho, Go-Get-’Em UberMoms getting into the party. Being the cynical women we are, we began to moan about being there and began to question just when we went from UberMom to Oh-For-The-Love-Of-Cocktails How Did We Get Here Moms? (We realized we have always been this way, thankyouverymuch. She asked me if I had read the article yesterday in the paper about Cocktail Moms.
Cocktail Moms? Where do I sign up?
So I went to look up the article. It really did hit home.
I love how the author, Mary Jacobs, describes the Cocktail Mom.
For an antidote to the perfect madness of perfectly neurotic