Suburban Bliss
I'm still here.
Have you ever had a day that you felt like you were living someone else's life and it creeped you out? The day I am speaking of happened to me last week. It was a day that was so Typical Suburban Mom it made me break out into a rash and start designing my next tattoo.
It went like this:
Get up. Get son's lunch packed (peanut butter and jelly with the crust cut off, cut in half diagonally).
Get son to school.
Take daughter to Dr.
Drive through McDonald's to feed my daughter.
Shoot over to drive through pharmacy to get her prescription.
Run home to get forgotten backpack.
Take daughter to preschool.
Go home eat lunch and answer email while doing laundry.
Pick up daughter - with snack.
Pick up son.
Go to crafty store to procure items to turn my son into Abe Lincoln for his report - DUE TOMORROW.
Go home. Get kids snack.
Make dinner.
Write son's...help son with report.
Showers, PJ's, bed.
Assemble Honest Abe costume out of styrofoam ring, black poster board, and some freakish black furry stuff (beard). Dig white button up shirt out of laundry pile for Mr. Lincoln. Sniff shirt. Good enough.
Fall into bed.
Cringe when I realize I did it all in a mommy track suit. You know the one.
How did I get here? Is a minivan inevitable? No. I'd rather die. Don't even start telling me how you didn't want a minivan either, but now you love yours. Nope. Ain't happening. I never envisioned myself in the role of suburban mom, but look. Look at my life. I'm not going down easy though. Oh no. My tattoo is not only designed, but my appointment scheduled. I gave the kids cookies for breakfast and candy before dinner. I can not be domesticated. Oops...there's the dryer buzzer. Gotta' go!
Have you ever had a day that you felt like you were living someone else's life and it creeped you out? The day I am speaking of happened to me last week. It was a day that was so Typical Suburban Mom it made me break out into a rash and start designing my next tattoo.
It went like this:
Get up. Get son's lunch packed (peanut butter and jelly with the crust cut off, cut in half diagonally).
Get son to school.
Take daughter to Dr.
Drive through McDonald's to feed my daughter.
Shoot over to drive through pharmacy to get her prescription.
Run home to get forgotten backpack.
Take daughter to preschool.
Go home eat lunch and answer email while doing laundry.
Pick up daughter - with snack.
Pick up son.
Go to crafty store to procure items to turn my son into Abe Lincoln for his report - DUE TOMORROW.
Go home. Get kids snack.
Make dinner.
Write son's...help son with report.
Showers, PJ's, bed.
Assemble Honest Abe costume out of styrofoam ring, black poster board, and some freakish black furry stuff (beard). Dig white button up shirt out of laundry pile for Mr. Lincoln. Sniff shirt. Good enough.
Fall into bed.
Cringe when I realize I did it all in a mommy track suit. You know the one.
How did I get here? Is a minivan inevitable? No. I'd rather die. Don't even start telling me how you didn't want a minivan either, but now you love yours. Nope. Ain't happening. I never envisioned myself in the role of suburban mom, but look. Look at my life. I'm not going down easy though. Oh no. My tattoo is not only designed, but my appointment scheduled. I gave the kids cookies for breakfast and candy before dinner. I can not be domesticated. Oops...there's the dryer buzzer. Gotta' go!
posted @8:48 PM
3 Comments:
It's a slippery slope, my friend. Be careful :-)
Wait, where was the soccer practice and PTA meeting? C'mon, it's not so bad ... wait, what the hell do I know? :)
I know you said not to say it, but my minivan is badass.
I never had a DVD player in my crappy Civic.
Plus, I couldn't see over the bushes. Now I've got it all.
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