I’m not one of the cool moms. The cool moms gather after school and gossip while their kids run around in dizzying spirals and finally collapse, breathless but grinning, in the grass. (Their kids are cool, too. But then you might have guessed that.) I don’t have the gift of easy conversation, and I never have. I am too serious, too preoccupied, too in my head. In order to compensate for myself, I try too hard, and it shows. What’s more, even if I knew how to be chatty, how to skim the surface of a thing, I would still dress wrong, I would still carry those extra thirty pounds that have beleaguered me ever since my children were born over a decade ago now.
When I was a child I didn’t fit in, so why should I expect anything to be different now?
I don’t, and mostly I’m comfortable with my awkwardness, my oddities. Except lately, once in a while, when my fifth grader has been mentioning “what the other mothers do,” as if I am so far from the realm of normalcy that I am placed in my very own circle, with all the other mothers clustered companionably in another circle, one that fails completely to intersect with mine. My firstborn never has cared what others think, but my lastborn, like his mother, cares too much about what others think. And he notices everything — all the sidelong glances and smirks are catalogued for later scrutiny, when he’s lying in bed at night, tired but not tired enough, and his lip starts quivering. Oh, I’ve seen it.
For my sensitive son I’d like to pass, at least every now and then, for one of those other mothers. But I know I don’t. I hope that the things I am able to offer him — warmth, love, time — and those that I am able to teach him make up for all the rest. I’d guess that most often they do.
But when I come to pick up my kid after school, and he looks from those other mothers to me in his thoughtful, measured, critical way, and I consider my unkempt hair, my ratty t-shirt, and capris years out of style, I cringe a little — both for him and for me.
Still, by the time we arrive at home not five or ten minutes later, I have forgotten all about the other mothers, and so has my son.
So. Not much to do but shrug, and press on. Oh, I suppose I could work to fit in — I’m not stupid, after all. But I must have made the choice not to, at some point down the line. Because I’d rather just shrug, and press on.
I have the skills to step into social circles and be comfortable, but it comes at a price. The price is that I keep things light and chatty or that I am silent as the other mothers obsess over every aspect of their kids education, extracurriculars, and friendships. There is friendliness among these women but there is also jockeying for position. Sometimes I choose to partake of the chatter but more often than not, I’m the mom at the soccer game who is sitting alone while all the other parents are in some kind of companionable hub.
V. — Me, too. Next soccer game, let’s sit together, shall we? :)
Sigh…I just left a long comment and it’s disappeared into the ether. I’m not a cool mom, either, Sarah. In this neighborhood where so many moms stay at home, I’m the mom who pulls into the driveway at 7pm or later. The mom who doesn’t have time to be outside hanging with the other moms because I’m in school and every spare moment – there just are none. I also don’t have time for the covert bullshit that other mothers practice at times, there is a situation right now with a neighbor across the street that has me furious and hurt for my son, and I am at a loss because we’ll be neighbors for a long time. Why can’t people just be honest, and why do so many people think their children are blameless? We are teaching our son how to be a friend, how to share, how to be less insistent on things always going his way. I don’t think he’s very different from a lot of other kids, and my mother’s heart hurts to see him shunned at the suggestion of another mother. Anyway…sorry to bleed all over your comment section. This post cut straight to the heart of how I’ve been feeling for the last week.
Oh, K. I’m really sorry to hear that you’re hurting, and that he is, too. Some people just have too much time on their hands. Why does it seem as if one kid has to be the “identified” kid in the neighborhood? Ugh.
I wish we could hang out.
Me, too, lady. Me too.
Capris years out of style? Still wearing them uh-oh…
Soon the kids will be grown and out of school and the cool ladies will be boring old ladies. Really.
hah. not the capris themselves, just their length.
i wish i knew the right thing to say here, but i don’t.
i can easily float in and out of conversations and social circles. i’m a highly sensitive extrovert (yes, we exist). i need people as much as i need to be alone. it doesn’t make sense, but there you have it.
in my community you would be cool b/c you are a sports mom. my kids don’t play any team sports, so we are considered unusual and strange.
no right or wrong thing to say here…
and no, my kids are like yours. no sports, unless you count b.’s tae kwon do.
I do not remember caring what kids thought (at least not much) when I was in school. Now that I’m an adult the anxiety is overwhelming. I’m obese when I had been very, very thin in high school. My weight plays a big part in the anxiety. The weird thing is, so far, kids at my Bigs’ school are very positive and happy to see me and greet me pleasantly whenever they see me.
I’m so glad that’s been your experience, Heather, and I’m guessing that it will continue to be so. xo
Here is another great example of the unexpected ways that parenting can be hard. I often feel twinges of guilt because my children will have to navigate some of the choppy waters of social acceptance without their mom or dad to keep them afloat. The best I can do at times is to keep my social anxiety quiet, not let it be an obvious phobia. But by this time of year, I can barely wait for summer vacation so we can cocoon into our own comfortable world.
(so, was I wrong to be happy to find a pair of Old Navy denim capris at the thrift shop? The manufacturing tag was dated summer ’02, which means I don’t have to worry about muffin tops or camel toes or any if those weird pants-related ailments. )
Capris are fine! Some are more dated than others, that’s all, LOL. Yours sound perfect.
I can’t wait for summer, for exactly those reasons, De.
I’m pretty sure if your kids feel your love that helps with the confidence to battle the little social ups and down that they will face in life.
99% of the time I’m quite sure you’re right, Neil.
I am an other mother. I don’t know that I’ll ever be anything else. I dreamed that when I moved to this new town that I would be able to re-invent myself. That my “oddities” would morph into a cool, liberal, crunch-granola persona. That it would all just be different. And here I am nearly 3 years later, and my circle of friends in town is made up of the friend I made online years before, and my son’s doctor.
At this point, I’m lucky enough that my son is not socially savvy enough to notice anything. I don’t know if I’ll ever be one of those moms in the circle. And mostly I’m okay with that. But some days it’s lonely. I hear ya Sarah.
Coffee! We must have coffee! Love you, A.
oh–thought they were in sports. well, we could chill out on my sun porch and drink iced tea while the other moms schlep kids to and from soccer and baseball. we could hang. xo
sounds great!
Oh, I blathered about this on your Facebook page. In case you think I’m paranoid, my FATHER actually noticed these women when he came for a visit. That’s how obvious they are…
well, they’re not too subtle…
Loved your last two posts, Sarah. Our house built in the classic Darwin style – up on stilts, as suits a tropical climate. The washing machine and clothes line are under the stilts, in a laundry-without-walls that also shelters drying clothes from the daily wet season storms. Hanging out the washing at night (Harried Mother-style) under the house in the longed-for breeze is where I have my Broadcast News moments.
My sons are taking towels to school tomorrow, as it’s Towel Day – a fact known to fans of Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy. Yep, we’re pretty much a family of geeks. I had the weird experience of suddenly passing as ‘alternative’ after chemotherapy, when my hair regrowth had achieved a ‘deliberately shaved’ look and I ditched the bandanas (I had also lost some weight during chemo and had revamped the wardrobe a bit to try and make the most of my forced new look…though I’m sitting here right now in capris!!). I noticed how the (ahem) ‘hip’ folk in this quite left-of-centre town – unaware of the reason for my look – became friendly towards me. Very different from my days with a frizzy ponytail! Not sure what my point is, exactly – perhaps that it’s a shame that ‘fitting in’ is (at least initially) so dependent on superficialities. Would love a chance to chat in your playground – I have a bit of a knack for shallow chitchat but love the company of those who don’t (I married one, for starters!). Way too late to be up on this side of the world – sorry for incoherent commenting….!!!
mmm… that spot under the house sounds absolutely perfect for losing it. i want one of those. :P
this is one of the things for which i am grateful to have a job. i don’t have to interact with the other mothers, because, yeah, i’m not cool either.
But you ARE the coolest sister! Always have been, always will be!
Sarah, I love you for this. (And for many other reasons.) I have also felt that I am deeply different from those other mothers. Now that my daughter is in school, I feel it more frequently. The groups of other mothers chat in circles that I can’t quite breach. They are coiffed and made-up. (And I am very much not.) They wear stylish shoes. (Not that I can identify what’s in style, but I know enough to know that mine aren’t.) But happily, when they are out of circle formation, I can chat successfully with some of them as individuals. I have also been lucky enough to find a couple of other mothers who are not *those* other mothers, and we have bonded in our otherness.
I do wonder how things will be when my kids are old enough to notice that we are different.
(Also, for the record, I think you are super cool.)