Contributor: Crank Mama on Pretending in Suburbia
Pretend Suburbian
by Crank Mama
I’ve always been more comfortable around cranky sassy types than those filled with the wonder of the universe. Secretly, of course, many of my less than thrilled cohorts are happy. They just don’t brag about it or run around with scary gleeful expressions, declaring how much they love sewing Halloween costumes for their kids. One of the central struggles for me as a mother is how to be myself (a cranky potty mouth with weird hair) and still love my kids --how to love them, adore them even, without losing my essential self. Thanks to many from my Mom’s generation, I’ve seen what losing oneself looks like, and it isn’t pretty.
Making new cool friends once you’re a Mom isn’t very easy. I’m friendly and outgoing, but I don’t sign to my baby, join “Mommy & Me” classes, nor do I talk only of my children while in social gatherings. You could say I’m a pretend suburban. I may look suburban (I usually wear clothes, drive a mini-vanlike vehicle, am married, and usually mow my lawn), but my gypsy spirit longs to rock in the city.
My hubs and I moved to this hippie town in NW WA state to be nearer to our jobs and closer to people with our politics. And while we don’t technically now live in suburbia, something about it still feels that way.
Yesterday we decided on a lark to host a gumbo party. We invited two sets of neighbors and their kids. We’re all 30-somethings with young kids and we’ve gotten together before and shared some laughs. But last night it was the dreaded women/men gender split. And guess who sat and talked about the children?
How I long to talk to a woman about her non-mommy dreams, about her doubts, fears, and ambitions. Instead there I was shilling 7-Up while drinking my wine, talking about breastfeeding, teething, and sleep.
It’s my fault for not actualizing myself up off the couch and sliding my way into the more jocular, interesting conversation occurring among the men--who were at least (unlike our father’s generation) standing in the kitchen.
Ultimately suburbia is a soulless state of being where everyone seems the same, but isn’t, where moms pretend to care only for talking of children and their silly old unhelpful husbands, where everyone seems overly concerned about cars, granite kitchens, and lawncare.
For Halloween this year, I’ve decided to lose the pretend suburban mom costume and don myself. The one with the crazy hair, who can’t cook, loves to read and write, and who has great ambitions for herself and the world.
CrankMama, is an aspiring hippie mama in the beautiful Pacific Northwest. She's an ex- nonprofit executive now working part-time in fundraising and trying to build a community of cranky mamas in her new town. She's married to her second husband and tries to still be herself and a good mom. She almost named her third daughter Beatrice, but chose Violet instead.
by Crank Mama
I’ve always been more comfortable around cranky sassy types than those filled with the wonder of the universe. Secretly, of course, many of my less than thrilled cohorts are happy. They just don’t brag about it or run around with scary gleeful expressions, declaring how much they love sewing Halloween costumes for their kids. One of the central struggles for me as a mother is how to be myself (a cranky potty mouth with weird hair) and still love my kids --how to love them, adore them even, without losing my essential self. Thanks to many from my Mom’s generation, I’ve seen what losing oneself looks like, and it isn’t pretty.
Making new cool friends once you’re a Mom isn’t very easy. I’m friendly and outgoing, but I don’t sign to my baby, join “Mommy & Me” classes, nor do I talk only of my children while in social gatherings. You could say I’m a pretend suburban. I may look suburban (I usually wear clothes, drive a mini-vanlike vehicle, am married, and usually mow my lawn), but my gypsy spirit longs to rock in the city.
My hubs and I moved to this hippie town in NW WA state to be nearer to our jobs and closer to people with our politics. And while we don’t technically now live in suburbia, something about it still feels that way.
Yesterday we decided on a lark to host a gumbo party. We invited two sets of neighbors and their kids. We’re all 30-somethings with young kids and we’ve gotten together before and shared some laughs. But last night it was the dreaded women/men gender split. And guess who sat and talked about the children?
How I long to talk to a woman about her non-mommy dreams, about her doubts, fears, and ambitions. Instead there I was shilling 7-Up while drinking my wine, talking about breastfeeding, teething, and sleep.
It’s my fault for not actualizing myself up off the couch and sliding my way into the more jocular, interesting conversation occurring among the men--who were at least (unlike our father’s generation) standing in the kitchen.
Ultimately suburbia is a soulless state of being where everyone seems the same, but isn’t, where moms pretend to care only for talking of children and their silly old unhelpful husbands, where everyone seems overly concerned about cars, granite kitchens, and lawncare.
For Halloween this year, I’ve decided to lose the pretend suburban mom costume and don myself. The one with the crazy hair, who can’t cook, loves to read and write, and who has great ambitions for herself and the world.
CrankMama, is an aspiring hippie mama in the beautiful Pacific Northwest. She's an ex- nonprofit executive now working part-time in fundraising and trying to build a community of cranky mamas in her new town. She's married to her second husband and tries to still be herself and a good mom. She almost named her third daughter Beatrice, but chose Violet instead.
posted by MsSisyphus at 10:27 AM
6 Comments:
I LOVE Violet as a name! We almost used it, but thought two V names would be a bit much.
I talk about my kids with other women, but I tend to then veer into my philosophical ideas about what childbirth and childrearing means, how I'm effecting their psyche, how I've over thought the gender divide in their toys.
At least that way, the not smart ones run away. Sadly, that's most of them I've met. People spend more time figuring out their car than figuring out how to parent, or how to integrate themselves into a parent.
I figure, I had few friends before, so what's the big deal. Only now, I want friends, but I want them to be able to talk about poopy AND science all at once.
Good post.
"pretend suburban" - That's pretty good!
incognito suburbanite? undercover mother?
"pretend suburban" - That's pretty good!
incognito suburbanite? undercover mother?
Thordora, I like your method of scaring off the non-smarties... I definitely think talking about the philosophy of childrearing is much more interesting than just Billy's desire for yellow trucks. I agree with you.
Tony - I like it! "Undercover Mommy"... I think it's more like "Undercover Still a Woman" Mommy or something, but that sounds pervvy...
I love you! You're my kind of mom. We could be pals and kick some pretend suburban mom ass.
Easy to feel that way when you're stuck in the middle of it, but it's not just suburbia, it's the planet.
I could count on one hand the number of intelligent conversations I have in the course of a week.
Here's some unsolicited advice: next time, instead of actualizing yourself into the kitchen with the guys, try to change the subject of the women's conversation to sex. Tell a dirty joke. When you're all screaming with laughter, the guys will suddenly reappear.
Depending on who your with, it may or may not work. But it's worth a shot.
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