Suburban Snapshots

Where I Cry Over Spilt Coffee

Wednesday, February 27, 2013


This morning my husband used the last of the milk making himself a chai latte, because although he won't let me dress him like my "handsome, gay friends," he's inclined to enjoy their hot beverages. He also requested that I take our dachshund to get his nails trimmed. So I did, and I grabbed myself a coffee on the way back, and walking in the front door carrying both the dog and the fresh, hot coffee I'd taken 2 sips of, I dropped my cup:



All that to say I'm super crabby right now, and while I recognize the triviality of my complaints, I'm going to let them rip nonetheless.

I'm sick of being mildly sick. I've had some form of 8 different colds since Christmas, so eff you, Santa.
I'm sick of needing 3 remotes to operate 1 television.
I'm tired of losing the stupid twisty thing to the bread bag.
I'm done with this cloudy, shitty weather. Bring the snow, bring the cold, just leave me some sun.
I'm sick of being told to like things on Facebook.
I'm tired of letting Anna watch too much TV because the alternative is suiting her up for 20 minutes to play outside for 5.
I'm done with paying for oil heat and still keeping the thermostat on Almost Barely Comfortable (If Wearing a Windbreaker).
I could not be more sick of loading and unloading the dishwasher
And of picking up little socks and dog poop.
I'm all set with standing next to my car in the cold rain waiting for Anna to buckle up.
I'm annoyed by my lack of motivation
And the 4 stubborn pounds I keep sabotaging myself out of losing.
I'm sick of the crappy movie selection on Netflix streaming.
I hate that my once firmer-than-firm mattress is now a ridge with 2 gullies.
And I don't know why all my t-shirts smell like man shirts.

I'm sure there's more, but I've just had some goodness sent my way in the form of a neighbor who brought me milk, and there's a hot French press at my elbow waiting to be drunk.


I'm Probably Judging You
Right Now

Monday, February 18, 2013

There's a woman who has a daughter in Anna's gymnastics class. She is bleached blonde, fit, maybe a couple years younger than I am, has great taste in expensive boots, and is always 100% pulled together. Naturally the first few times I saw her in class I thought things like, "Hm. Must be nice to have a pile of money." "I bet the nanny watches her kid while she goes for her highlights." Then I heard myself and realized how ugly my automatic monologue was, how I wouldn't want to hang out with a friend who talked this way about other people. I got pretty sick of my shit.

Last week I posted a status update letting my readers know that we'd had to put our dog down that afternoon, but I worded it in a way that for some suggested I'd euthanized the dog because he'd bitten Anna -- he did bite Anna, 4 years ago, and we kept him and worked it out. I came back to my page an hour later and it had EXPLODED with comments from people calling me a "bad parent and bad dog owner", going on about how irresponsible I was, and to equally as many comments from others defending me. You all who chimed in there were calm and civil, and I truly appreciate that.

I'm just so tired of it, and I'm a total hypocrite about it. I'm judgmental and I have judgement fatigue. We are all guilty and I feel like the Internet has made it that much easier, blogging has made so many easy targets. It can be wonderful and connecting and it can bring out the ugly side of people with nothing of value to contribute. And I'm especially exhausted by the mom-bashing, and by the hype about competition and cattiness.

Sure, it totally exists. Just last week I read a post by a blogger criticizing other writers for complaining too much about their kids (I'd written a similar post back when I was a rookie). I got exhausted reading the blog of a man who spent thousands of words outlining in detail the reasons he didn't care for another writer. Even if his reasons had been legit, it was a tiring diatribe. Ain't nobody got time for that.

I don't believe this is who we really are, even those of us who spout nothing but misguided criticisms from our eager fingertips. My relationships with other women in real life are pretty amazing; even my relationship with bloggers I've never met have been nothing but supportive and genuine (and OMG hilarious).

So I guess I'm trying to remember what I really know about the relationships I have, and the friendships that only exist online. I'm sure I'll still wear my Hello, My Name is Judgy McJudgerson nametag often but I'm conscious of it, I'll check myself and say, "Judgy, don't be an asshole. You don't know what her life is really like."

Because isn't it true, aren't we always finding out that every one of us has a secret struggle?

A Thank You
Note for Preschool

Tuesday, February 05, 2013

Thank you, parents whose children sport borderline dreadlocks because you, too have given up that fight.

Thanks to the personal trainer dad for making aware of my posture each morning at drop off.

And to the put-together mothers who ensure I don't show up in pajamas.

Thanks to the mom who has resigned herself to losing the rainboots-to-school battle.

Thank you, cook who tricked preschoolers into eating broccoli by adding ranch dip.



Thanks to the parent bulletin board, which has been uncharacteristically empty this flu season.

Thanks to the good teachers, who show up for work through lice scares, stomach bugs, and snow storms.

And thanks to the jaded, cynical teachers who gave us such appreciation for the dedicated ones.

Thanks to preschoolers past whose donated clothes and coats we've had to borrow more than once.

Thank you, mom wrangling 2, who patiently holds the door while my 1 meanders her way through it.

Thanks to the guy who leaves his car running at bitter cold drop-offs so I'm not the only asshole ignoring the "No Idling" sign.

Thanks to my friends' kids, who pounce on me with hugs and beg for playdates, "Anna's mom! Anna's mom!"

Thanks to the parents who read this blog for not mentioning all the stuff I write about my sex life.

Thanks to the infant room, where I donate Anna's baby things because giving them totally away would definitely jinx my uterus.

And thank you, preschool accountant, for randomly cashing 2 of my checks in 1 week, ensuring that my overdraft protection remains active.