Six years ago, I ventured to a HS freshman-year volleyball game to cheer on my cousin and all of her new, awkward friends. “WHAT WAS SHE THINKING?”, a parent yelled as a 13-year-old missed a spike. One might have even referred to my cousin’s teammate as “useless”. Welcome to crazytown.
Now that I have a kid, I wonder, will that be me screaming on the sideline? Judging other moms for their choice of snacks? Screwing up carpool? I am pretty sure I let bonkers out of the box when my kid was born, so, I guess, yes? I might be that parent everyone talks about in their car? Sh@!t.
The nice thing is, you can find enlightened folks who have pushed through the crazy in the ole’ blogging world. My girl, Peyton Price, makes it über easy to feel like I fit in and that there just might be hope for your weird-ass self (no offense, Peyton).
If you haven’t checked out her blog, Suburban Haiku, you should. It’s smart and hilariously accurate in describing the absurdity of parenting, as well as challenges faced while jockeying for a position in various social spheres and mall parking lots. I also love it because I don’t need to use my eyeballs to enjoy her stuff as she posts her almost daily haiku poems via Soundcloud (I know, I am so lazy).
But her poems aren’t confined to the trials and tribulations of serving as a PTA member. I’ve seen myself at our condo meetings. I know I’m type-A. And then I picked up Peytons’ new book and read this:
At every meeting, there’s always one royal pain who’s read the bylaws
Sweet mother of pearl, I am a cliché. But it’s not too late! EK isn’t even in kindergarten; there is ample time for reform before I become any more of a pariah. And reform I will. Maybe. But first I will share my most favorite poems from Suburban Haiku: Poetic Dispatches from Behind the Picket Fence, because I so rarely laugh out loud. Not that I am a jerk who doesn’t think things are funny, I am just more of a snorter than an LOLOLOLOLer. You know? (p.s. that was the first time I have EVER written LOL.)
Another one? (sigh)
is a guilty read
Inside this hamper
there’s something making me gag
each time I walk by
He brought home classwork
that had been peer edited
She wrote “I hate this.”
“Why can’t this school be nut-free?”
Good question, lady.
I need more people like Peyton to keep me in my place. If you need some insight, I suggest you check out her blog and her new book. And know if you take up two parking spaces, you might end up in a poem on NickMom.
While it’s nowhere near Peyton’s level, I offer up a haiku inspired by this evening’s events:
Is that smell garbage,
or did you make dinner, love?
Screw you, dear husband.
Seriously, screw you.
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