Tag Archives: suburban moms

suburbia & minivans

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For so long, those two words were evil to me. Pure evilness. Fight the man! I WILL NEVER DRIVE A MINIVAN. Never, ever, ever. A minivan = old frumpy mom with high waisted jeans and nothing cool about her. Nothing. And there’s so much cool about me. (Given, I get it. Some things need left unsaid, but I said it.)

My mommy ride for a long while was a Volvo station wagon. It served it’s purpose with one kid. Kind of a pain in the ass to get the kid outta the middle of the small backseat, but it was way cooler than driving a minivan! Cool people don’t drive those.

Then Mike and I rubbed elbows and along came baby #2. I was craving space. I needed doors that opened on their own. I was hormonally imbalanced. Other moms were driving them, so I thought I’d test drive one.

HOLY HOLY! This is a nice ride. I could drive 42 people around in this thing. It’s got some get up & go. Leather, sunroof, doors I never have to open with my hand, plenty of trunk space for all my workout clothes and groceries for my home cooked meals??  S-O-L-D!

I suddenly became one of the cool moms that drives a minivan. And I love it.! If you’re not driving one, you should be. All the cool moms are doing it!!

Then there was the idea of moving to a cul-de-sac. EEEEEK. Stepford. Manicured lawns. Keeping up with the Jones. Having to drive everywhere. I. WILL. NOT. DO. IT.

Then Mike got a promotion. Then we had to move. Since I was driving a minivan, we decided to look at suburbia. (That’s what people do, right? Those two things, minivans & suburbia, go together like peanut butter and jelly, right?)

We were moving from an inner ring suburb and each of our previous homes had been 80-100 years old. Full of character. We were quickly learning that *character* meant a crap load of repairs, old windows, radiators and drafts.

I was happy to be looking at houses that were only 12 years old. A big repair seemed to be nail pops. We can handle that. But could I handle having to keep up with my lawn, the pressure of being a size 2 in yoga pants and my son always wearing a polo shirt?? (ps – he’s anti buttons! That could be a problem.).

But we did find an amazing house in an amazing neighborhood. And there’s no keeping up with the Jones. I don’t have to keep my lawn meticulously manicured. My kids go to a great school. Sans polo shirts. They can walk to friends houses. Even in the dark. People gather in our driveway when we play basketball. We don’t have enough chairs for our bonfire parties. We walk to the pool in the summer.

And we all drive minivans. Every single one of us. Suburbia and minivans are no longer evil things to me. They are home and part of my creature comforts.

to the suburbs young lady!

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A year ago we went house hunting, and a year ago we stumbled upon our amazing new home.

We’d gone house hunting just to see what was available. My husband had been offered a promotion, we were interested in moving out of what was our current location, but I just wasn’t sure about moving where we had to for this promotion. We’d lived here once before and when we left, I was happy to be leaving.

But this go’round we’d be living in the suburbs, and one suburb is the same as another suburb is the same as that other cul-de-sac, right?  I was fearful of cul-de-sac living, but I was driving a minivan at this point, so this was the obvious next step my life was required to take. Obviously.

We decided to go house hunting one weekend to see if I could make this move. We were just looking. Just looking….

Nevermind that I had yet to talk to my boss about moving locations for work nor had we sold our then current house. But my boss is a cool dude, he’s big time and he wears boat shoes. Of course he’s gonna be cool with a superstar employee simply moving where she puts her laptop. Nothing else about my super-star-ness (word that’s used in my personnel file I’m sure!) was gonna change. We also hadn’t sold our other house. We’d dumped a shit-ton of money into the place, cheap things like new roofs and refinishing 3 levels of hardwood just to unload sell to some nice, well-deserving folk. And I had buried a St Joseph out back so our house was so gonna sell (upside down? backwards? forwards? toward the for sale sign? St Joseph = sooo much pressure!!). Someday, our place was totally gonna sell.

So we went house hunting. And then house hunting turned into house buying, which turned into contract signing just a few days later. Since we’s Rockefella’s owning two houses is exactly what we wanted to be doing. Rock-a-fella’s!

And it was so the right decision. I don’t do that right decision thing very often. It’s been amazing! Our other house sold several weeks later, we came down here on weekends while the kids finished up most of their school year and then we were here. No more back & forth. Officially in our new house which super quickly became our new home!

The fun girl that had lived here previously had a gene I never got. It’s called the Type A cleaning gene and my sister stole all of that in our family. Somehow, with 4 four kids, the previous owners of our great house attacked every spec of dust. You could even walk on the garage floor and feel nothing on your feet. Nothing. Spic & Span. I’d like to think we love this house just as much as they did, but you’ll find dust in my house. You’ll find dog hair. Your feet are gonna get dirty walking thru my garage. Dare I say you *may* even find clutter around here. Maybe, if you look hard enough (i.e. your eyes are open).

But it’s now our house, our home. We are still in love a year later. Both with the house and where we landed. We got the right place in the suburbs for us.

And I feel spoiled each day. I really, really wasn’t liking where I lived for a really, really long time. I really, really liked a ton of the people, I’d just really, really outgrown the where. Now I’m spoiled. It’s nothing special nor is it anything grand. It’s just simple, it’s safe and I’m not finding reasons each day why it’s okay to live where I’m living. I’m not searching high and low to find reasons to be okay with the schools, I can walk anywhere I want in the dark without looking over my shoulder and driving in the parking lot of my new grocery store doesn’t make me bat-shit crazy. I simply live where I live and I love it! It’s easy. And we’ve met some crazy, good people which always helps. (You know how you are!)

And this is just the way I like it. The way I wanted it to be. Ott mama is happy. (living in the suburbs, driving a minivan. WHO AM I???) And when ott mama is happy, the whole world is happy. The. whole. wide. world!

Even the kids…

And the dogs

am i *allowed* to wear these?

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Is it a requirement that I do yoga to be *allowed* to wear black yoga pants? (I don’t mean to discriminate by color but I don’t see anyone wearing any other color.)

It seems to me that I am required to wear yoga pants if I wanna look like one of the cool girls at:

1. Whole Foods

2. Starbucks

3. Target

(FYI – those are the places cool girls shop)

This weekend, I made my way to Whole Foods and it got me thinking. I looked around at my fellow shoppers and shouted “You all can’t really be doing yoga!” A few other random thoughts I may or may not have shouted:

1. Damn, she definitely does yoga.

2. That other She, on the other hand, requires a much longer t-shirt. Just like I’m modeling. Unfortunately for all of us, she isn’t.

3. Really? You’re all doing yoga? Really? Are you all driving Suburbans too?

Or are you just like me? Me who, a few weeks after the holidays, puts anything requiring a button in front of my muffin top and it screams in agony “STOP, I can’t breathe. Please find something with elastic and elastic ONLY!” Deep breaths, deep breaths.

I’ve tried yoga a couple of times. I can stretch my body real fine, and yes it feels good. My mind on the other hand doesn’t rest. I know, I know. This simply means I need more yoga. K. I hear ya. Now on to my next thought.

I wear yoga pants cuz they are comfortable. Not cuz I’m heading to a yoga class at 10 am after hitting up Starbucks and Whole Foods after filling up my Suburban. My body is fearful of buttons. I wear a t-shirt to cover my backside so as to not scare my fellow shoppers. And for that, you are welcome.

I also drive a minivan, may not shower every day, own 2 dogs that I don’t walk regularly and I haven’t been to the gym in about 6 months. Maybe 12 months. Whatever!

Go ahead and judge. Cuz I’m wearing my yoga pants like I just don’t care!

the hangover

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Long overdue for a mommy’s night, I took my rump shaker out on the town last night. And by out on the town, I mean to the local pub for “Cougar Night.” I’m not kidding.

Rrrrr-aaarrrrr.

Thursday nights at this place are affectionately called Cougar Night. Not sure why. Maybe it’s just a silly rumor. My old lady friends and I have been before and haven’t witnessed much “cougaring.” But it’s amazing people-watching that allows us to comment and feel better about ourselves, good beers and whole lotta fun. There’s even a DJ that plays crappy country music until you tell him not to.

Last night was a whole lotta fun.

My rump shaker shook. (And it shook hard. Like jiggly hard.)

I have new facebook stranger friends (Always the sign of a good night but who are you people?)

I danced with a guy who says he’s a bit of a Youtube *sensation* in the States and in England. By day he works at the AT&T store. (Don’t think I’m not stalking YouTube to find him today!)

I attempted to play the role of matchmaker between a local and a foreigner. (Ahhh, young love across the oceans.)

And I took out most of a Yuengling keg (Cuz that’s what all the cool kids are drinking.)

For breakfast this am, I enjoyed coffee, gatorade and a few ibuprofens. All I can think about is a sausage mcmuffin with egg & a fountain coke.

Mmmmmmmm sausage. Which one of you is bringing me the grease??? I ain’t got much shake left in my rump and I’m not sure I could walk the 25 feet over to my garage/vehicle. And then drive something like 3 miles. That’s just way toooo much to ask of me today!

the definition of (h)ott mama

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Let’s review what just occurred to me, but first a quick refresher:

I work from home. I’ve let go of most personal hygiene habits anytime before 4pm. My diet is crap and needs improvement. I’ve got several windows open in the house today so it’s a bit chilly in here. My office looks out onto the front yard of which anyone needs to pass by on their way to the front door. We’ve recently moved and I’m trying desperately to find new friends. Ideally moms in the neighborhood that like to drink enjoy a mommy’s night now & again.

So where to start….It’s about lunch time so I decide I’m going to heat up the leftover lo mein. I realize it’s about a week old, ponder whether I’m going to vomit profusely or die upon eating it but throw it in the microwave regardless. While it’s heating up, I realize it’s a bit chilly so I wrap a blanket around my waist which falls to my feet. Kinda like a towel after a shower except on the lower half of my body.

I quickly eat the lo mein while standing in the kitchen. Death does not instantly find me, but I do decide I’m still hungry and an oversized bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream will do my body good. Hell, I’ve got a blanket wrapped around my lower half so bring it on cold food.

I take my yummy bowl of ice cream and blanket wrapped body on a walk from the kitchen to my office at which time I see a girl walking up my sidewalk with flyers. Oh great, someone leaving something at my door. The girl then knocks to which I think “okay, I’ll grab what she hands me and quickly move on.”

So I proceed to carry my overloaded bowl of ice cream and blanket wrapped body to the front door, open it (remember I’ve not showered yet today nor am I wearing a hat or a scarf. Think Billy Idol! To make me even more attractive, there is no bra in this story!)

OH SHIT! YOU’RE NOT A GIRL. YOU’RE THE MOM THAT I’VE MET AT THE POOL A COUPLE OF TIMES & YOU’RE HANDING OUT FLYERS FOR A NEIGHBORHOOD PARTY NEXT WEEKEND & WE ARE ABOUT TO HAVE A CONVERSATION!!! FUCK

We started chatting and I start a conversation in my head: Well aren’t you just all cute in your green tank top, short shorts and sleek brown hair! Why can’t I look like this when I haven’t showered? Do you like mint chocolate chip ice cream? Would you like one of my 7 scoops? It’s kinda chilly out here today, want a blanket? I just happen to have one on my body. Sorry, no bra. But there’s a whole pile of dirty ones upstairs so I could go grab both of us one!!

ARE YOU KIDDING ME THIS IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?

During our longer than I expected conversation, which I welcomed but couldn’t stop the voices in my head, I learned her son & my son are part of a shared classroom/team teaching set up at school this year and we are scrimmaging her son’s football team tonight.

I need to go get my ass in the shower as I need to clean up for tonight’s second showing of my HOTT self! Just as soon as I stop laughing.

the ponies

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We closed on our new house last Friday and although we haven’t officially moved, we spent the weekend in the new house.  Since we haven’t officially moved none of our stuff was with us so we spent the weekend in a very fancy fashion – air mattresses and card tables. (Remember, we are moving on up.)

Here’s a photog of our fanciness.  I think the card table from Our House, not quite Arhaus, looks real nice. I may just keep it!  And the red solo cups….hello beer pong fancy new neighbors.

Let’s now address the fancy new neighbors. I don’t know that they are, but I’m new to this suburbia concept so I’m coming in with stereotypes a’blazin’.  Let’s start with meeting the couple that previously owned the house who we met at closing. They could. not. have. been. nicer!!  ”The wife” is about as outgoing as I am and we had a lovely, easy banter about our new place, their move across the street from the subdivision, where to get our nails done and who can cut the grass. Seems I’ve got a lunch date to schedule once I get down there.  I could not be more grateful for her being so nice and welcoming and I believe I may have a new friend. We exchanged phone numbers and she’s already left me a voicemail this week saying that she can’t stop thinking about me knowing how difficult it can be to move, knowing we haven’t moved down there yet and is there anything she can do to help? She knows all the neighbors and would make any phone calls if I needed anything.  (Thank you Kate!) (And NO! current Kate, you aren’t being replaced so get it outta your head.  Yes, I’m in your head while you are reading this. Love, me!)

And then did we meet any of the other neighbors?  Not really, the weather was drizzly so not a large number of people were out.  There were some strollers, and walkers, and “mommie’s” in track suits and blonde ponytails (oh, yeh! I look just the same. I look exactly the same!) One of the next door neighbors did introduce himself and we’ve met our first P&G’er.  We’ve heard lots of folks in the neighborhood work for Procter & Gamble. (TANGENT: Dear Christine, if I don’t start getting my JIF natural creamy samples and Folgers Vanilla Biscotti k-cups, I’m going to have to switch companies and try for some Crest and, and, something else I buy from P&G but just can’t think of it right now!)

Back to the neighbors: Since we’ve previously lived in this new city we had a few friends come by and shared some beverages in the backyard.  It’s really the only way I know to christen a house. (insert dirty comments here about christening options). Post impromptu party in the backyard, we walked around front and I saw the following:

WHAT THE WHAT? None of these properties have acreage so, um, WHAT THE WHAT? Based on balloons attached to the mailbox, I realized it was new neighbor’s daughter’s birthday party. WHAT THE WHAT? Apparently, in new suburban neighborhood we rent ponies for birthday parties. As I’ve said and will continue to say, I cannot host a birthday party in my own home let alone a party with ponies crapping in my front yard. The bar has been raised. I’ve been given several quality recommendations on how to handle the situation:

1). Have my father bring up his horses for Hannah’s birthday next year and trot those up and down the street.

2). Wear my pajama pants over there and kindly ask what kind of dogs those are.

3). Rent an inflatable mechanical bull and set-up in the front yard for our housewarming party.

All of these are excellent recommendations and are under serious consideration. After the first weekend here’s my take on the new ‘hood: the blonde ponytails in track suits, the pony renters and stroller pushers probably like Pinot Grigio just as much as me and Ramona from the RHNY so I’m hopeful all is gonna be just fine.

So HELLO new neighbors!  I look forward meeting you.  (Oh – ignore the dent in the van. I’ll fix it some day.)