Eating Cake Alone

Life: I can have it all. But it will probably kill me.

That’s it. I’ve achieved all greatness today. I woke up with an extra “pep” in my step, I even put on a “sporty” pink zip-up. I’m officially a soccer mom, and I’m officially in the mom club. Now everyone around me knows I’m capable of elbowing people out of the way at Dicks. I probably get places on time, wear panties and a bra that match and make muffins and shit. Unrelated, but a plus I think- I gained ten pounds this month. Just to add to the overall feeling of losing myself to mediocracy.  I wore that sports jacket thing and looked at myself in the mirror and announced: “I am the kind of person that remembers not to send peanut products to school. I am now a mother whose kids always often wear shoes.”I will make friends and have clothing swap parties. I will find a gay best friend. He will do my hair. All of my posts on the Loudoun Real Housewives page will have ‘likes’. All of them.”

You know what. It’s FUCKING BULLSHIT. I’m exactly the same, except I have a kid that runs around with a cone on her head and crying that someone took her ball. Being a soccer mom is just another opportunity to showcase my parental incompetence- in an open field where I can’t hide my child behind a tree to pee because we forgot. I look at all the mothers with lawn chairs with cup holders and beverages. Are those…caps? I haven’t seen a cap to a travel mug in 4 years.  I was the mother of the younger child running barefoot in the field, peeling off her clothes. I was rolling around in grass with no fancy chair. I decided then and there- if I can’t be the put together mom, even now- I’m going to be myself.

I screamed YELLOW CARD at a child that ran with the ball in his hands. “But Diana, he’s three”-HE’S A DICK and he should know it. I argued with a toddler that it was Football, and not soccer. I yelled at my child in Romanian to kick it as hard as she can and :”aim for his head!” Freya shouted out loud at some point, “Which one is my ball?” And you could hear my voice screaming from across the field, “THEY ARE ALL YOUR BALLS. ALL OF THEM.”

Gooooal.

 

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Eating Cake Alone

Life: I can have it all. But it will probably kill me.

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