I can’t imagine that I’m the only person that sits here and wonders if I don’t belong. Am I good enough? Do I really fit in?
It’s doctors that have to deal with their mistakes that end lives – they don’t talk about it. It’s the bullying in the locker room at NFL games like the recent Incognito scandal. It starts with our little munchkins and what they see on the cover of Cosmo while waiting at the Doctor’s office – Photoshop is ruining all of us! It’s our children that didn’t get marked at above average on the standardized tests used to compare students every year. The therapist that needs a therapist? The barista that get’s ignored because every other customer is on their cell phone and coffee makers are not human, right? It’s everywhere. We all feel it yet we don’t speak about it.
MOMMA GOT PROBLEMS
- Wondering what the aroma of a home cooked organic meal made by the nanny smells like as you throw in a frozen Digiorno (hey, it’s not delivery!)
- Mama’s at the Park Group talking about how breastfeeding is the ONLY option as you and your munchkin are recovering from the 134th failed attempt to latch on.
- Private School is affordable for the Anderson’s. It’s only $15,000 per year. I suppose if we live off of Raman Noodles and tap water, we’d be okay.
CAREER LADDER ENVY
- I’m pretty sure every attendee at my table has a Coach or Louis Vatton or Lou Bouton or some fancy Italian handcrafted purse hung on their chair. My Walmart brand stitches are falling apart at the seams and the interior is filled with
freshdecaying fruit and used band-aids.
- While working my way to the top of this division for 7 years, filling coffee mugs, copying reports, putting in hours I lost to soccer games and recitals, Stupid Head Billy Brownoser has been here 2 years and get’s the promotion. Why, you ask? His Father golfs with the hiring manager I’m never going to a pair of true kahunas so I may as well start thinking about other options!
- I notice the college degrees framed on 75% of their swanky downtown corner offices. In my cubicle, I can see the scotch tape that barely holds up a photo of my dream home. One of these days Bill Brownoser might allow me to expense some flippin’ thumbtacks so that photo can stay up for good!
- Gourmet Meal Mrs. Mary Kay Tatum sports her hot yoga pants as Tyrel (ahem, her trainer) leaves and Mr. CEO Christian Grey Tatum enters the foyer. Clean as can be with the scent of Westin’s White Tea line, they embrace and discuss his day. I trip over the 12 shoes (not sure which are pairs) in my split entry and dive face first into my smelly laborador that realllllly needs a grooming appointment soon.
- Mr. Anderson mows his pristine lawn on his $5000 ride on Toro for the 3rd time this week as you yank the rip cord on your 18 year old Yard Machine in hopes of chopping down this tropical jungle that has grown over your yard since last Monday.
- Mr. Christian Grey Tatum and Mrs. Mary Kay Tatum pile their 3 lovely children into the luxury SUV, bathed and dressed in their according uniforms for ballet, traveling soccer, and football. You realize that your child has been wearing the same socks for 3 days and the laundry (including the soccer uniform needed for today) has piled all the way up to the top of the chute.
A DAY IN THE LIFE OF OUR FAMILY ON HUMP DAY
I truly wish I could make time for Yoga. Namaste sounds so nice. How about MaMustStay AWAKE? How bout that? Extra shot of espresso, please! GOD FORBID – if they only knew that we ate Happy Meals for dinner last night in the car. I was a Rock$tar, though. I rushed to daycare so we could head to the soccer field and not only was I FIVE minutes past pick-up time, but we opted for apples instead of french fries! VICTORY! I know, I know. Thank you. The applause is appreciated.
As we exit the drive thru, my work Blackberry continues to notify me of the 14 emails I’ve received since leaving daycare. My personal Samsung Galaxy shouts about the 4 text messages from my husband, my mother, and two friends. Juggling between my two phones, I chug my latte. One of the few antidotes to keep me from the forbidden zombie stage. Praise the Lord for ESPRESSO!
We make it through the maze of BMW’s and Benz’s in our Chevy Sedan and find a space at the end of the West lot. Scrambling to get my daughter changed into her soccer gear in the back seat of a sedan is like trying to situate yourself, your toddler, and belongings into the stall of a public bathroom at Target because SHE HAS TO GO>>>>> NOW!!! Why must they make the stalls so small yet leave the aisle of size zero bikinis so large? C’mon Magic 8-Ball, it’s about time you give me a straight answer before I throw you through the Tatum’s bay window.
We stumble through the parking lot and onto the fields. Is it E5 North or W5 South? Oh, Heavens to Betsy. Digging in my purse to find my Gmail calendar and look up the field number is just like GeoCaching with no GPS.
Yahtzee!! I’ve got the phone.
Wait. Negative, Captain. That’s the blackberry business calendar, not the Galaxy with the PERSONAL calendar.
Search #2 ensues. My fingers push through wet wipe containers, lip gloss, coupons, a banana (Shut It. I have been TRYING to eat breakfast in the morning), a pair of nylons, receipts, squinkees, and BINGO, my Samsung!
Okay. Calendar… scroll down through the 68 events I forgot to dismiss…
EVENT: Soccer GAME, Field East 1 North at 5:15PM (bring picture order form)
Yep, you guessed it. Thank God I’m not looking for a plot twist here because I would’ve failed at that, as well… We are on the opposite end of the field.
The journey to E1North begins. My 21″ heels (Ya, I know, I’m exaggerating, but they make me feel as if I’m on stilts and that my foot is being squeezed into spanx that are 3 sizes too small) dig in to the soccer field with each step. I wonder if I could turn this walking around the field in heels gig into a legitimate aeration business. Dang near a quarter of the field has been aerated as we made our way across it. Mental note to jot this down into one of my smart phones as a business idea so that I don’t forget. A.D.D. – Something with glitter. Oh, what was I going to write down?
I drop the folding chair, certain that I have sweat dripping from my face and that my feet are about to break out of my heels. If I wasn’t wearing a suit and 21″ heels, I would have these parents convinced that I was a coach running up and down the length of the field with their children, drenched in sweat and shoes covered in dirt and grass clippings.
My purse, her water bottle, my latte, 2 cell phones, blanket, soccer bag. Check, check, and check! SUPER MOM!
Coach walks toward me. I’m sure he’s on his way over to compliment me on the amazing job I’ve done aerating the field. BOOM, POW, Memory knocks me over like Ray Lewis. I know what he’s going to say before he even says it.
He smiles, “Do you happen to have your picture order form with you? They are due today.”
I know he is smiling but in my head all I see is Chucky, extremely angry and disappointed at such a forgetful mother.
I rummage through my minds file cabinet to recall if I filled the darn thing out. Okay, that’s a lie. I know I didn’t fill it out. It’s on the kitchen counter along with the pile of other paperwork that needs to be gone through.
I tell him that I think I left it at home. I know I left it at home. Why couldn’t I just admit that I’m a busy, working, mother and that I forgot.
Today, I know why. I hate looking less than perfect. These white picket fences that I’ve built seem all too familiar in my circles. From at home mom’s to sales professionals to doctors to football players. Can we PLEASE be real with each other?
Feeling the need to seem like I have it together on a daily basis got me to one place. A nervous breakdown. When you’re running that fast every single day, the smallest or largest tackle can break you. I’ll walk you through my journey as I continue with this blog and my book. I’m opening my heart and I’ve evicted the skeletons that were full time tenants in my closet. I hope that instead of judgement or pity, we can share some empathy and compassion for one another.
I want this blog to serve as my way of keeping it real (that sounds soooo 90’s Fresh Prince of Belair, doesn’t it?) and hopefully my honesty can help at least one person feel that they are not alone. I wish I could somehow change the world and start a movement and that’s what I aspire to do. This is my first step.
Please share my blog with your friends and family and know that it might make just one person feel less alone. You never know who might be playing hide and seek behind the white picket fence. They might need someone to show them there is life beyond the fence. There might even be a playground with a merry-go-round with sparkly unicorns instead of horses. There could be a pot o’ gold beyond that fence. Want to place bets?
Breaking down these white picket fences, one POST at a time. See what I did there? Blog Post? Fence Post? 😉
KEEPIN’ IT REAL
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