A Rant About The Mother's Club

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Editorial and Opinion  |  House: Booksie Classic
A rant about the stuck up snobs that run and participate in the "Mother's Club" in my shitty town.

Submitted: October 15, 2008

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Submitted: October 15, 2008



I am a mother, but I am not welcome in this "Mother's Club". I wear black fingernail polish, boots, and silver ankhs. I listen to metal, to rock, to H.I.M. I teach my son love, respect for others, and how to NOT be a bully. I teach him how to share, to include the young ones, and most of all, how to laugh. I am not welcome in their circle.

I am stared at, however, and talked about. Shunned, scorned, and pointed at. They try to steer their children away from my son, but thankfully children are often smarter than their parents. So among the children, we are both tolerated and befriended.

I am not wanted here because I am not tall, blond, and I don't have a rack out to here. I did not purchase new boobs in a last ditch and desperate attempt to keep my husband at home. I do not tease my hair, purge myself so I still fit in my cheer leading outfit from high school, nor do I watch Oprah or The View. I do not drive the requisite Hybrid, nor do I listen to mind numbing hours of "Raffi". I am not nursing my third child, nor do I spend my day shuttling my other two children to school, soccer, karate, or dance classes that they can't stand. I do not fill my child's schedule so full that he has no time to BE a child.

I do not eat an entire pound cake in under five minutes because my husband is fucking his secretary, I do not scrapbook. I do not look down on them for these things, yet I am looked down upon because I do not do them, I am not one of them. I have pity for them, I know their secrets, I hear. I know their lives, their troubles, and I am sorry they have them. I may not look like Betty Crocker, but I am a good mother, too.

I am not welcome because I am not a cookie cutter "mommy" and my tattoos are scandalous. I am not welcome because I think skulls and daggers are humorous. I am not welcome because my husband was murdered for (they are wrongly convinced) some outrageous crime. I am not welcome because I find joy in dark things, I have a black lace parasol to keep the sun off my face, and I do not wear pink.

You know, I am SO glad I am not one of them, thosebitches in mother's clothing.


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