I may have underestimated the Green Hills MOMS Club.
After my toddler and I attended one of their get-togethers a few weeks ago, I wrote in this column that despite my best efforts to secure a good social start for my child, I ended up feeling totally out of place among the mommy elite, particularly when I let it slip that I feed my toddler processed foods
(“Not Exactly Child’s Play,” Oct. 5).
Within a week, I began getting comments on my personal blog (www.suburbanturmoil.blogspot.com
) from some very upset MOMS Club members.
“You seem like someone who just likes to spew out bullshit to make yourself seem really clever and funny,” one wrote.
“I can’t believe you felt like a good journailst [sic] actually printing that stuff,” wrote another. “It seems like you had already made up your mind about us before you even met any of us.”
But the comment from a member who called herself “Mercedes Driver” was by far the most scathing: “And to think I was going to contact you about your sticky bun recipe!” she wrote.
Now that hurt. I totally
would have given her my sticky bun recipe. Everyone says my buns are awesome.
Perhaps, as some members seemed to believe, the problem was not with their attitudes, but with mine.
“In your meager fact-finding mission, did you actually ask these moms what their household incomes are?” wrote Vickie.
Well, no. I’ve found that doesn’t go over so well at playgroups.
“We all support each other,” wrote Susan. “You would have found the support you needed if you weren’t opportunistically looking to forwarding your writing career instead.”
Ouch. I carefully read through more of the MOMS Club members’ comments, looking to find that support.
“Some of us are hopping in our really expensive cars and heading out to the pumpkin patch this afternoon around 3,” Anonymous wrote. “If you and ‘baby’ are looking to hang, you should joiun [sic] us i [sic] am sure i [sic] can sport ya [sic] a pumpkin or two if you can’t afford it!”
Wow. She would buy me a pumpkin? That was really nice of her, particularly since I was running low on cash that day. But that wasn’t the only supportive comment I received: “Maybe you could get a book deal out of all your witty writing of modern day mothering then you would not have to work at the Red Lobster at night!” wrote MOMS Club member Angela. “I support you fully in that.”
I fairly glowed with the warmth of Angela’s words. Even though I don’t work at Red Lobster, it was
nice to know she was looking out for my best interests. Perhaps I’d given this group a bad rap. They
certainly seemed to think so.
“I encourage all of you to attend some of our events and see for self [sic] how much FUCKING fun and FUCKING nice we all are,” another comment advised.
And as if I weren’t already feeling warm and fuzzy enough, the MOMS Club president was nice enough to extend me a personal invitation to come back. “We have a general meeting this Friday and our speaker is on Moms mental health, so it should be a packed house,” she wrote. “Come check it out [and] meet some of us!”
A mental health discussion sounded like fun, but I wasn’t entirely convinced that the MOMS Club members weren’t planning a surprise tarring and feathering as part of the festivities. The president assured me I had nothing to worry about. “No one will scratch out your eyeballs,” she wrote, “In fact, I would be your bodyguard.”
A bodyguard at a MOMS Club meeting? Now that’s what I’m talking about.
So I hope I haven’t scared anyone off from joining the Green Hills MOMS Club. From all they’ve written, I can see that they’re actually a lovely group of women and if I felt out of place with them, well, that was to be expected. I clearly have some issues of my own that need addressing.
Just ask Anonymous. “You are the one that sounds bitter and your writing is so ’90s!” she informed me.
Or Vickie. “Many of us rarely wear makeup,” she wrote, “which, clearly, you do.”
Perhaps Jodi said it best when she wrote, “To set the record straight for anyone who is looking to find other moms and kids to have fun with, we are a very welcoming group and don’t care about what you feed your kids, what kind of car you drive, what school you did or did not graduate from, where you worked or work now, if you are in Junior League or not, and certainly not whether you wear Old Navy.”
they’ll buy you a pumpkin.