A Plea to the Overachieving Mothers!

overachieving mothersYou’re Making me Look Bad!

I’m worried I’m not competitive enough. I’m afraid I may be slacking.

My kids are ten and twelve and they each only do one sport and only for one half of the year.

Then one does piano and the other one does drama.

And sometimes, I forget to tell the piano one to practice.

And then the drama one takes a Seussical script to school, but I don’t really have any evidence she actually goes to drama on Tuesdays ’til four.

Because my babysitter picks her up on Tuesdays; because I’m a slacking mommy-bitch, drinking too many lattes and eating too many fucking muesli muffins, typing on this blog at a Starbucks where the plebeian mediocrity seeps up through the fuckin’ floorboards.

For all I know, the drama kid’s really staying at school till four playing craps against the side of the handball court.

She’s playing with a coupla middle schoolers named Vinnie and Jett who dropped out last month cuz they got caught smoking vapor cigarettes in the girl’s toilet.

I don’t know why I’m typin’ like I’m Jenny-from-the-Block but go wid it, Papi.

Okay, so there’s these other muddas (read “mothers”), well one in particular, she’s got her kid in like Tai Kwan Doh, some kinda Pashtun language or possibly even fuckin’ Latin.

Then her kid also plays LaCrosse and like, Bochi Ball and the flute and the fuckin’ marimbas ,and probably volunteers with one-eyed feral monkeys at Value Vet.

That kid is never fucking home, and I think she carries a briefcase.

Or a valise with a built in lock with a code. Which probably also has defibrillators inside of it, for her side job as a paramedic.

Okay, so I am definitely behind.

My kids are DEFINITELY going to be living with us til they’re forty-two; fluent in only one language; taking in laundry from the kids who went to Archer.

Or they’re going to get into some expensive private college and major in fucking literature.

In which case, they’ll be living with us til they’re forty-two and taking in laundry from the kids who majored in computer science.

I seriously have not done any research about which high school my kids are going to.

My oldest is in seventh grade! It’s already too late! I am fuckacta!

I should know which graduate school she’ll be going to by now. But she won’t be going to graduate school, cuz she’ll be livin’ wid us til she’s forty-two, taking in laundry from the kids who went to graduate school at Yale.

Which their overachieving mothers researched and applied to while the egg was still being fertilized by the sperm, which is how I think it happens, only I wouldn’t know ‘cuz I majored in fucking screenwriting!

It’s apparent I’m not cut out for this parent-thing.

It’s unfortunate to find this out at such a late date. Also, people stopped inviting my kids over because of my blog.

I’m not kidding. You know who you fuckers are! ... your laundry will be ready tomorrow at noon.

4 thoughts on “A Plea to the Overachieving Mothers!”

  1. You are so funny. Trust me, over-scheduled kids wind up as neurotic assholes. They are never home, never relax, never have dinner with parents. And their mothers have the nerve to tell you that they like going to ballet, tap, jazz, soccer, debate team, Bat Mitzvah lessons, and violin! And you wonder why they have eating disorders and wind up giving blow jobs in the stairwells?

    Fear not; your kids will be normal and able to navigate the real world.

    1. Lulubelle this is very good news. Sunday my children never got out of their pajamas and I spent the day wrangling with weeds and various succulents, dirt under the nails, sprained back kind of exertions and I kept thinking that I was being a feckless mum and they should be learning about jet propulsion instead of watching Miranda Sings on you Tube (btw she’s fugging hilarious). So then I wrote this post and you’ve now made me feel I can take a deep breath and relax. Thank you. I needed that. xo

  2. I’m a single parent on a tight budget, so I’m not a typical overachieving mother, nor am I ashamed to say that one of my four-year-old’s favorite activities is watching Netflix. The other day, apropos of nothing, she told me, “Unwieldy means it is difficult to handle.” Thank you Strawberry Shortcake and Netflix for helping me raise a fucking genius! Before you call social services on me, I should add that we spend at least an hour at the playground every day. We ride bikes, play tennis, play in the yard with the neighbor’s kids, dig in the dirt, cook, bake, paint. Our life is filled with activities, but almost none of them are scheduled. She may not be able to play the piano or land a karate chop, but when she dismisses an outfit I’ve put out for her to wear, she tells me it’s “because it’s not fascinating enough”.

    1. Lizzie Lau I love this. When I was a kid I didn’t have a scheduled appointment until middle school when I took up piano for two years and started playing on the volleyball team after school. What I remember loving the most about my childhood was all of my unstructured time playing War with my brothers in the orange grove next door. Granted my parents didn’t always know where I was, but I had plenty of time to daydream and be close to nature.

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