7 Dark Confessions of a Suburban Momma

Hello everyone, hope you guys all had a great Labor Day weekend!

We spent ours cold chillin’ in middle-class suburbia, wearing our gangsta yoga pants and showing our house to potential buyers. A couple deals have fallen through, the new school year is upon us, and it looks like we may be staying here for a while yet… may as well represent.

Meanwhile, I found out about the PostSecret art project. Have you guys heard about this? People write their secrets on anonymous postcards then send them in where everyone can read them. It’s weirdly fascinating.

Some secrets are really sad, while others are just quirky and adorable. Either way, it’s probably therapeutic for everyone involved. Participants get things off their chests and everyone else gets to see our fellow humans being vulnerable.

It got me thinking about the stuff I’m hiding too. Stuff that’s been secretly nagging at me.  Stuff that doesn’t comport with my tribe.

And I finally figured I’d feel better if I just came out and said it.

So here goes:

1- I’ve always used those vinegar-and-water mixes or cleaners with essential oils to clean my house. They smell pretty and won’t hurt the environment and the non-toxic ingredients pose no threat to my kitties or kids.

Then last week, my husband mopped the floor with buckets of PineSol and it looks brand new. Our house has never looked better. Natural cleaners are crap.

2- I’ve always been big on the benefits of eating whole, unprocessed food. I spent the last decade cooking all my meals from scratch, using olive oil (never butter), fresh produce from farmers’ markets and I never ate sugar or boxed, processed food.

But this past year, I’ve snapped.  I started eating donuts for breakfast and have had WAY too many frozen pizzas and Cool Ranch fiesta tacos. I just had a physical and not only have I lost thirty pounds, but my cholesterol has dropped from borderline high to fantastic.

Apparently, calories DO count.

3- I’ve always loved natural medicine and have tried using chamomile tea, melatonin, and valerian root to deal with my insomnia issues.

And… they’re mostly useless. They’re the mad ravings of a bra-less hippie vegan who uses crystal deodorant in her pits. None of them come anywhere close to a good hit of Ambien. Long live prescription drugs.

 

4- Natural childbirth sounds doesn’t sound like a beautiful natural experience to me, just an endless, nightmarish torture that makes you beg for the sweet release of death.

Lots of women tried to talk me into natural childbirth while I was pregnant, but they sounded like that evil puppet-master mean girl in junior high who would talk you into asking out your crush just so she could watch the preteen jungle kill your self-esteem. Kill it with fire.

Seriously, when I got to the hospital in heavy labor and was told it was too late for epidurals, I honestly considered ramming my head into the wall until I knocked myself unconscious. I also thought about attacking the hospital staff so they’d be forced to give me drugs.

5- I really feel like I’m the kind of person who should like indie labels, but whenever I try to get into indie music, I get angry about how whiney and boring most of it sounds.

And then I end up rocking out to happy, top 40 pop songs, or the kind of screaming rock you’d expect a 90’s frat guy to like. Shut up.

6- I hate waking up early and nothing will ever, ever change that.

7- Whenever I see people jogging at 5 AM or biking up incredibly vertical hills, I wonder why they hate themselves so much.

Maybe they’re just trying to get in shape, but I’m picturing someone with a guilty conscience trying to balance the cosmic books via pain. I’m wondering what they did that made them feel biking around San Francisco was somehow warranted.
Whew… that felt good. Kind of an Emperor’s New Clothes deal.

What about you? Is your life experience making you question some of the theories you’e held onto? Some of the sacred cows of your social set?

Sometimes it’s fun to just say it out loud.

I’M REPRESENTING LIBERAL MOMS IN MIDDLE-CLASS SUBURBIA AND YOU KNOW WHAT? KALE TASTES LIKE CRAP.