February 26th, 2010
The soccer moms hate me.
The soccer moms have hated me for 18 years.
That’s how long I’ve been a mom. And that’s how long the perfect moms with their perfect houses and perfect children and perfect cupcakes have been rejecting my ass.
I used to care. I used to try to get them to like me. To engage them in conversation and find things in common and make friends.
I have given up. It’s stupid.
After in-depth analysis, I have surmised that the first time around none of the soccer moms took me seriously because I was the step-mom. I didn’t labor for 26 hours per child, they never found nourishment at my breast. I wasn’t a real mom.
Oh yeah?
Well it’s a good thing I never had to comfort a child after a nightmare, or stay up all night monitoring a climbing fever. I’m glad I never had to talk a kid through first-day-of-school jitters, or hold down a tiny body that was unwillingly receiving a vaccination.
Whew. Good thing I’m just a step-mom.
All sarcasm aside, I just didn’t fit the mold. I’m not skinny. I don’t drink lattes. I don’t drive an SUV, wear designer labels, or live in a house that has me in debt up to my eyeballs. I just don’t freaking care what people think of me. And that’s my big problem. Or rather, their big problem.
Because, apparently, to be liked by the soccer moms, one must be judgmental, uptight, and impossible to get along with. Oh, and perfect in every way. And by perfect, I mean unhappy.
I don’t know how these women live these lives in which their children are in every activity know to man, and the only “family” time spent together is in a mini-van at the McDonald’s drive-thru. Dinner comes from a bag between soccer practice and dance class, and there is no time to talk because someone is always yelling, “Hurry up … we’re late!”
No thank you.
Call me lazy, but the pace of life I choose is one in which my child can come home from school and supremely chill out. She starts by retreating to her room for 45 minutes, and I honestly have no idea what she does up there. I leave her alone because I know she needs that time. Then she comes down and reads, does a few chores, and then starts pestering me for food. Sometimes there’s homework, sometimes there are ridiculous amounts of American Idol. There is almost never a fast-food dinner in the back seat of the car (which is not an SUV).
I’m stepping on toes here. I know I am. I don’t mean to. I’m really just pointing out that I have been rejected for ridiculous reasons. Because someone else needs to feel superior, and doesn’t want to be seen talking to the fat step-mom with a nose ring and a kid with Down syndrome.
It makes me mad.
The second time around (this time I’m the bio mom, which hasn’t helped at all), the moms have “accepted” my child and love to flash their big smiles when the kid with Down syndrome speaks in complete sentences. But they continue to snub me. They looooove my darling little girl, tell me how sweet and loving she is, and then walk away. They don’t ever invite us to do anything. Never. (Conversely, I don’t ask them to do anything with us — mostly because I don’t relate to them either, and no longer want to try).
I have true friends that don’t care that I buy 70% of my kid’s clothes at Goodwill (which is where she got her kickass t-shirt collection), or that I have pink(ish) hair and play roller derby. I have real friends. I don’t need to be friends with these women simply because our kids go to school together.
So I just wanted to say out loud that I’m over it. It used to really upset me that the soccer moms don’t like me. Not any more. I think it’s funny, and I purposely make eye contact and say hello to them just to make them uncomfortable.
Perhaps it’s not very Christian of me to feel this way. I’m probably breaking a commandment or two. Most likely.
But I can’t find self-worth through the opinions of others. I must find it by being myself in every situation, no matter how I am received. I have spent 38 years trying to please others, hiding my real self because I didn’t fit the mold. Can’t do it another day.
Go ahead. Reject me. Life goes on.
