I Want My Epidural Back (2 page)

I'M MEDIOCRE. NOW YOU MIGHT BE LIKE, UHHH
, why would you admit that? But let me tell you something: I am damn proud of being mediocre because I'm really awesome at it. And that's no easy task. Like if you're an overachieving mom you can be all “doo doo doo doo doooooooo, I'll just hop on over to Pinterest and copy some cool shit off there and impress the socks off everyone.” But there ain't no Pinterest for mediocre moms like me. Nope, there is no website to show us how to fix it when the tooth fairy forgets to come two nights in a row or how to make dinner from the contents of your fridge when it only has a stick of butter and a jar of olives and an unidentifiable tinfoil package. I mean I can't even use cookbooks. I crack one open and it says to get out your parchment paper and I'm like, WTF is parchment paper? Is that the crinkly brown paper pirates draw maps on? But here's the thing. At the end of the day, I'm doing a good enough job. At least according to my rugrats. They give me shit that says “#1 Mom” on it and I'm like, bwhahahahaha, joke's on you, I'm more like the #1,297,279 Mom. But they truly think I'm the best mom on earth. And that's all that matters.

You can hear the word “Mommy” sixteen times before reacting.

You know the frozen pizza goes in at 400˚F for 19 to 22 minutes without looking at the instructions.

You think pretty much anything your kid's wearing is acceptable as long as it covers the genitals.

You know the best organic cleaning fluid is saliva.

You can gather lunch for your children from the contents of your car floor.

You make the kids sleep in their clothes if you're going somewhere early the next morning.

You would take your coffee intravenously if it were an option. And your vodka.

You find yourself sitting at the PTO meeting wondering WTF you've gotten yourself into.

You can stealthily bury the kids' artwork in the trash can while they are sitting in the same room.

You do the laundry in cold water because who the hell has time to separate whites from colors?

You sometimes eat the Cheerios that fall out of your bra when you get undressed at night because it's easier than walking allllll the way to the trash can.

You lie to your children's dentist every
6 months 12 months
18 months.

You've failed miserably at doing at least one Pinterest project.

You haven't gotten a single photo printed in years.

You accidentally wear your slippers out of the house and realize it when you're in the garage but don't go back inside to change them because who gives a shit.

You don't have time to take showers every day (or even every other day sometimes) and just use baby wipes on the stinky parts.

You use your
microwave
oven more than your
oven
oven.

You don't have a 5-second rule. You have a 5,000-second rule.

You have to stack dirty dishes next to the sink because it's already overflowing with dirty dishes.

You write stuff on your to-do list that you've already done so you feel productive.

You cook three-course dinners, but only because no one in your family will eat the same thing.

You couldn't braid your daughter's hair to save your life, but you can totally braid your leg hair.

You have to ask if your kids can get a different Happy Meal toy because they already have that one.

You kick ass at being a parent even though some people think you don't. And if you're one of those people, F off and die. No wait, don't die. That's totally mean. Just F off.

HOLDEN: Mommy, can you blow me?

I can't begin to tell you how relieved I was when I looked up and he was holding a tissue. Holy crap, heart attack averted.

OKAY, SO THERE ARE MOMS
who organize shit like fund-raisers and book drives and other annoying important stuff, and then there are moms who organize shit like MNOs. If you don't know what that is, go look it up. Whoops, never mind, I just Googled it and Google says MNO stands for Money News Online, Mobile Network Operator, and some random inorganic chemical compound. Yo Google, I usually think you're like a total genius but today you are wrong. MNO stands for Moms' Night Out. Only like the most important thing on earth.

Those PTO moms might feel all superior and shit for organizing their big ol' bake sales, but the way I see it, they're just making a profit off getting people fat. When I organize an MNO, I am single-handedly saving the planet because moms are like the most important people on earth and if we don't occasionally get a break where we can drink a little vino and bitch about our problems to each other, we will literally go insane and all be thrown into an insane asylum and the planet will go to shit.

So a few weeks before Zoey started kindergarten, I sent an e-mail out to all the other kindergarten moms inviting them to an MNO. Here it is, paraphrased:

Dear slutbags (I can call you that because for the next thirteen years our rugrats are going to be in school together and we're going to become good friends),

Instead of all of us meeting in the carpool line and only talking to the people we already know and then some people don't know anyone and they feel like outcast losers for the next thirteen years, let's get together for a beer or four so we can meet each other when we're a little less sober and a little more buzzed so it isn't as awkward. Here's the info of when and where we'll meet, blah blah blah blah blah.

Love,

A mom who's looking forward to your having my kiddo over for lots of playdates because she's perfect and always well behaved despite what you may have heard

Anyways, the night of the big MNO I wonder what to wear but then I realize it doesn't matter because who the hell am I trying to impress? I'm going to be with other moms who are pretty much only going to see me wearing pajamas in the carpool line for the next thirteen years. I get to the bar right at 7 p.m., because I'm the organizer and I have to show up on time and that sucks because I have to sit down at a table all alone and wait. And wait. And wait.
And pray to the beer gods that I am not the only one who shows up to my own event. And then someone walks in. And then some more people. And then the whole F'ing class of totally badass moms. Wahooooo!!! People came! I'm not a total loser!! At least not for this reason.

So we talk about our kiddos and our fears about them starting kindergarten and we share our stories about giving birth because MNO conversations always include stories about giving birth for some reason, and within an hour I know which moms gave birth naturally and which ones used drugs (aka which ones I'll probably be friends with), and by hour two I'm having a conversation with a woman who chose not to have an epidural who's either very strong, has a very stretchy vagina, or is clinically insane.

OTHER WOMAN:
I was thinking about starting a Girl Scout troop for their class.

ME:
Oh, that's a great idea! I loved being a Girl Scout.

OTHER WOMAN:
Do you want to do it with me?

ME:
Sure!

If you've read this book chronologically (holy crap is that a hard word to type) and didn't just randomly open it to this page, you're probably like, WTF? You're probably wondering why on earth I would think it is any of my business being a Girl Scout troop leader. Well, I can answer you in one word. Beer. Duh. Isn't alcohol the reason we commit to pretty much everything in life?

RANDOM GUY:
Will you go home with me?

ME:
Sure!

Beer's fault.

HUBBY:
Will you marry me?

ME:
Yes!

Beer again.

ME:
Whoopsies, I'm preggers!!

Beer.

WOMAN:
Do you want to be a Girl Scout troop leader with me?

ME:
Sure!

Beeeeeer.

Because I know it seems like an innocent question, but if you read between the lines, this is what she was really asking:

OTHER WOMAN:
Do you want to be a troop leader and be responsible for twenty loud kindergarten girls and do all sorts of things outside of your comfort zone, like come up with annoying Pinterest-y projects at the last minute and iron badges on uniforms and stand in a circle holding hands and singing stupid songs and stand outside the supermarket selling cookies
to random strangers in the freezing cold and then deliver those cookies to the strangers and use all of your willpower not to eat their boxes of cookies before you deliver them?

ME:
Sure!

Beer. Beer. Beer. Beer. Four bottles, to be exact.

I mean I kind of want to call up this mom today and be like, FU, you totally tricked me into becoming a Girl Scout troop leader because you knew I was drunk and more likely to say yes. But the truth is, all she knew was that I was the mom who organized this big MNO and probably thought I was the kind of person who organizes shit, when really the only kind of stuff I organize is events where people drink together so I don't have to drink alone.

So now I'm roped in for a year. Ennnnh, wrong again. I just finished my first year and now realize I'm actually roped in for FIVE more years because if I quit now, Zoey's gonna say shit like, “Mom, why did you stop being my Girl Scout leader?” and “Do you still love me?” and make me feel like the worst mom on earth. So Girl Scouts is basically a SIX-year sentence!!! AGGHHHHHHH!!!!

Anyways, don't get me wrong, it's not all that bad. Like last week we did this super-fun project where the kids tied fleece together to make pillows. And this is how it went.

ME:
Okay, so you take these two pieces of fleece and you tie them together.

GIRL SCOUT:
I don't know how to tie.

GIRL SCOUT:
Me neither.

GIRL SCOUT:
Help me!

ME:
Girls, watch here. You take this strand and you wrap it around this one and then you poke it through the hole.

Awwww shit, I look up and a sea of confused faces are staring back at me from the table like
huhhh???

ME:
Okay, let's try it this way. So you cross this one over this one, make this little hole, and then pop the little bunny through his hole.

GIRL SCOUT:
I like bunnies!

GIRL SCOUT:
Me too!

GIRL SCOUT:
Bunnies are so cute.

ME:
Awesome.

GIRL SCOUT:
Miss Karen, I can't do it!!

GIRL SCOUT:
Help me!!!

GIRL SCOUT:
Noooo, help me FIRST!!!!! AGGGHHHHHH!!!!!

GIRL SCOUTS AROUND THE WORLD:
Wahhhhh, helllpppppppp meeeeeee!!!! I'm going to scream and cry unless you stop what you are doing right now and come help us all at the same time!!

And in a matter of seconds the entire table is freaking out and begging me to help them, but I'm not an F'ing octopus so they all
start losing it and tears are rolling down their faces and now they're crying even more because their projects are getting wet from all the tears and thanks, Pinterest, this project is really fun! Oh, and I should also mention that my son, Holden, is also screaming to me from across the room because hell if I'm spending $20 for a babysitter every meeting, so he has to come to Girl Scouts with me every week. See?

And now his iPad has conveniently run out of batteries at the same time that all the girls are freaking out and he's shitting a
brick because F'ing
PAW Patrol
stopped in the middle and he's nevvverrrr going to find out whether Chase and Ryder save the stupid hoedown or the walrus or whatever annoying
PAW Patrol
episode he's watching. Sorry,
PAW Patrol
, I love you. You take care of my kiddos all the time, but this is what I do in stressful situations—I take shit out on my loved ones. And you,
PAW Patrol
, are definitely a loved one.

Anyways, like a million minutes later, I've finished tying as many pillows as I can for the girls and my fingers have gone into arthritic (is that even a word???) shock and all the girls (and Holden) are sitting in a circle on the rug and we're singing the same adorable song we sing every time.

Only here's what's going through my head:

Yeah, I know it doesn't rhyme and it has way too many syllables, but that's just the way I do things. The wrong way. Which is exactly why people like me should never be Girl Scout troop leaders.

I don't know WTF everyone's talking about.

I didn't have any problem putting the patches on Zoey's vest.

I became a mom because I drank too much.

Now I drink too much because I'm a mom.