Sh*tty Mom

by Laurie Kilmartin

  Remember: The only thing they’ll say when you get home is “What did you get me?” In the end, it’s all about the airport snow globe.

  Things You Should Do in a Different City

  Before You Go Home

  It doesn’t matter where you are—London, Tokyo, or Cincinnati. It only matters where you aren’t: with the kids. Stop checking in, stop Skyping. They’re fine, and your freedom will end soon. If you have even a few hours to yourself, try doing one or all of these things:

  Browse.

  How long has it been since you’ve gone to a bookstore and headed directly to the fiction aisle? Then stayed there, for twenty minutes? Without wondering where your kid went, or sitting through Storytime, or spending $10 on a children’s book that has forty words in it, total. How long has it been since you read a book where the protagonist is a person, not a monkey or a dog or a tugboat? Be an optimist. Buy a book. Promise yourself you will finish it this year.

  You know you want to …

  After you finish feeding your brain, make time to visit a female-friendly sex-toy shop. Buy a vibrator—let that ole vag of yours relive her glory days. C’mon, what else are you going to do in your hotel room tonight?

  See an independent movie.

  It’s not enough to see an R-rated movie at a mall movie chain—you’ll run into kids there. This business trip is your vacation, it should be completely child-free. Go to one of those snotty independent movie houses that only show foreign films or American ones starring Maggie Gyllenhaal. Feels good to be a grown-up again, doesn’t it?

  A bar.

  Sh*tty Mom hesitates to bring this up, because if you’re the kind of person who needs to be reminded to drink alcohol, perhaps alcohol isn’t for you. But if your hotel has a bar, or you’re in a city with cabs … there’s no reason you can’t get yourself buzzed before you take yourself back to your room and put batteries in the vibrator.

  SECTION FOUR

  OTHER

  PEOPLE

  ARE

  HORRIBLE

  * CHAPTER 17 *

  Someone Stole Your Baby Name! aka Ballad of the First Aidan Mom

  “I hope you don’t mind, but we were thinking of naming our baby [your child’s name].”

  Imagine the plight of the mom who, pregnant with a boy in 2000, bravely decided to bring back the name Aidan (or Aiden). It wasn’t popular back then, and no one but the most fervent Aidan Quinn fan was even aware of it. A great name, a nugget of gold picked from a riverbed filled with the same twelve apostles’ names.

  And how was this mom rewarded for her vision? By copycats, who nudged Aidan into the Social Security’s Top 100 list of boys’ names and then into the Top 10. Not to mention the creative spellings (Aaden, Aidyn) and the rhymes (Braedon, Caydon, and Jayden). Finally, in December of 2009, BabyCenter.com declared it the top boy’s name of the decade.

  Aidan Mom had to wonder: Could she have done anything to stop it?

  Don’t let that happen to you.

  Look, you did all the legwork. You pored over books and websites, in search of a name that would prophesy greatness. You became an expert in Greek and Latin root words. Your first choice for a girl, “Sophia,” is Greek and means “wisdom,” and you deftly used that fact to shoot down your husband’s first choice, “Darcy,” which is French and means … “from Arcy.”

  If you are an immigrant, you wondered if you should keep it ethnically real with “Liu Liu,” or go full-throttle all-American with “Jennifer.” Fit in, or stand out? If you are white, you convinced yourself that one Irish great-grandparent justifies naming your son “Declan” and your daughter “Maeve.”

  You read Freakonomics and prudently avoided the middle name “Wayne.” In short, you researched, you argued, and, finally, you decided. And then some bitch comes along and steals your baby’s name.

  If her baby is still in utero:

  Speak up! In today’s world, there is no reason for any preschool to have more than one Holden (certain parts of Manhattan excepted). Remind your friend that this is the twenty-first century. Any noun can be a name. A fruit, a city, an IKEA product (when will their “Vika” line crack the girls’ Top 10?).

  Provide substitutes. You can’t take “Maude” away from her without providing some imaginative alternates. Suggest one of your backup names. You and she obviously have the same taste, and c’mon, you aren’t having another kid. Let your friend have “Audrey.” (If your birth control fails, you still have “Caroline” in your back pocket.)

  If her baby has been born:

  End the friendship. What else is this bitch going to take from you? Your job? Your husband?

  “Caroline”?

  Remember: If you don’t say anything, your daughter “Stella” will instead be known as “Olivia C. The blond Olivia C.”

  How to Tell When Your Friends Are Pretending They Like Your Baby’s Name

  You went your own way with the baby’s name. You picked a name that you’re pretty sure no one else will touch. You like it, your husband likes it, and that’s all that matters. Besides, if first names were destiny, Condoleezza Rice would have been a stripper.

  Back to your friend. Perhaps she is old-fashioned—raised to be a Jacob Mom or an Emily Mom. Your name has taken her by surprise.

  She will ask you to spell it. This is a stalling technique. She really wants to say, “Uh, what the fuck did you just say?” Spellcheck is a gentle way for her to confirm that, yes, your son’s name is Z-e-p-h-y-r.

  She may ask, “How did you come up with that?” She is giving you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was a family name. In fact, before you answer, she’ll suggest that very thing, and her voice will trail upwards: “Sounds like a family name …?”

  Your response, “It is, now,” will not help her.

  * CHAPTER 18 *

  Unspeakable Evil: Private Birthday Party—with a Bouncy Castle—at a Public Park

  There is a special place in hell for parents who have their kid’s birthday party in a public park and rent a bouncy castle. (And that hell is a never-ending kid’s birthday party with two bouncy castles.) Unknowing moms and dads amble up to the park for a relaxing afternoon of texting and judging. Instead, they’re treated to endless whines from their children: “I want to play in the bouncy castle!”

  Their kids’ tear-streaked faces pressed up against a giant plastic bubble.

  How is a Sh*tty Mom like you supposed to keep her child from trying to crash a bouncy-castle party?

  1. Don’t.

  Talking your way into a place where you’re not wanted is a survival skill, and your number-one job as a parent is to teach your child how to survive. Look, Earth is doomed. One day, a meteor will hit the planet or a nuclear bomb will hit the country. So back off and let your kid take his best shot. The four-year-old who can fudge his way into a private bouncy castle will grow into the man who can talk his way into a locked fallout shelter. Or at least into a packed restaurant that won’t seat without a reservation.

  This is bigger than you or this other kid’s birthday party.

  2. Play dumb.

  * Keep a low profile until your kid gets busted. It’s best not to outwardly condone grifty behavior.

  * Shift the blame. After the exasperated bouncy mom yells, “Hey, whose kid is this,” spring up from your bench and shout, “Hey, what the hell are you doing with my kid?”

  3. Leave the park.

  Your kid will probably be upset, and who can blame him? It truly is not fair. Greet him like Paulie did a young Henry Hill in Goodfellas, after his first pinch outside the courthouse. Give your kid a hug and tell him you’re proud because he broke his cherry (don’t explain what that means just yet). Then take him out for some ice cream.

  Remember: It’s never too early to start resenting the kind-of-rich kids.

  * CHAPTER 19 *

  Put a Stop to the Awful Nickname Your Father-in-Law Gave Your Kid

  Imagine the chill that soars up the spine of an Isabella Mom
the first time her daughter is called “Izzy.” Mom nervously tries to steer the Titanic back toward “Isabella” or at least “Bella,” but it’s too late. The “Izzy” iceberg has been struck. Now, it’s fifteen years of “Can Izzy come out to play?” and “Is Izzy home?” Which will itself be shortened to “Is-zy home?”

  Don’t be surprised if the daughter named for Spain’s greatest queen will hook up with a Charles and, together, they will be “Chuck and Izzy.”

  NEVER SHORTEN YOUR CHILD’S NAME, NOT EVEN ONCE.

  It’s the start of a slippery slope. If friends, family, or neighbors hear you call your Margaret “Meg,” they will take matters into their own hands and, before you know it, you’re the proud mother of a “Marge.” People are jerks that way.

  MAKE YOUR FEELINGS KNOWN.

  It doesn’t matter who the nicknamer is—devoted uncle, well-meaning grandpa. As Henry’s mom, you’ve got to get the word out that “Hank” is unacceptable. Slash their tires, key your child’s full name into their car. It’s send-a-message time.

  STAY AWAY FROM THE CLASSICS.

  People like to tamper with great names. Is it jealousy? It must be. How else does Maureen become “Mo” or Elizabeth “Betsy”? Maybe that’s why made-up names are popular. Once you put in the effort to crack the spelling and pronunciation of “Nevaeh” (it’s “Heaven” spelled backward, and it was the twenty-fifth most popular girl’s name in 2010), you don’t want to void all of your hard work by calling the kid “Nev.”

  Remember: Nicknames should never be derived from first names. Instead, nicknames should be cruel reminders of your child’s physical flaws, like “Brace Face” and “Four Eyes” and “Fatso.”

  SECTION FIVE

  AND

  SOMETIMES

  THE

  ASSHOLE

  IS YOU

  * CHAPTER 20 *

  How to Drop Off Your Sick Kid at Daycare Before the Teacher Figures It Out

  If you read that title and thought, Oh, I could never do that! It’s so irresponsible! Just stay home!, then this chapter is not for you. Move along, princess. Enjoy your supportive husband or your family nearby or your boss that lets you work from home, or your own money, or whatever it is you have that allows you to react to a working mom’s dilemma with such horror.

  Bye-bye.

  Is she gone? Good. It’s time to discuss the only parenting topic more taboo than incest: taking your sick kid to daycare.

  Let’s set the table properly so all concerned can understand what’s at stake: You have a job. You can’t stay home to care for your daughter, and no one else is available either. Yes, you are aware that if you bring her to daycare, she’s going to get another kid sick. Well, you can’t think about that right now. Eyes on the prize: You have a job.

  For now.

  If you lose your job because you stayed home with your sick kid, terrible things will happen. You will fall back on your rent or mortgage, and you will be evicted. You and your child(ren) will be thrown onto the streets, in this economy. To pay for the seedy hotel that you now call home, you will sell your body. You will strut all over your corner (yes, you will secure a corner) and lean into car windows. You will negotiate the price of a blow job. And sister, they go for a lot less than they should.

  And where are the kids during all this debauchery? If you couldn’t leave them home alone when you had a good job, you certainly can’t do it now. The kids are in your car, counting your money. For now, they don’t know how you earn it. All they know is: Mommy goes for a ride, then Mommy brings back $35. Ten or twenty times a day. “Well,” you tell yourself, “at least they’re getting good at math.”

  OK, this may not be exactly how things play out, but it’s what you have to tell yourself to stay focused.

  THE NUTS AND BOLTS OF A SICK KID DAYCARE DROP-OFF

  1. Never bring your kid to school if she has a fever.

  2. Correction: Never bring your kid to daycare if you know she has a fever, which is why you should never take your child’s temperature, especially if she feels hot. The less you know, the less you have to lie about.

  3. Teachers can tell when you’re lying. Like cops, they hear the same bullshit over and over again. If the teacher asks point-blank if your daughter has a fever, you can’t say no when the answer is yes without tipping her off. However, you can look her in the eyes and say, “Not that I know of.” Because it’s true. Information is your enemy.

  4. Drop her off during a busy time, like eight A.M. Get lost in the herd of moms dropping off their healthy-for-now kids. Then run. Try to be in your car before your kid coughs.

  5. Teach your child how to cough into her elbow. The less your kid coughs on others, the less likely the teacher is to call you at work.

  6. Teach her how to say, “I have allergies.” If she’s particularly articulate: “year-round allergies.”

  7. If the teacher does call you at work, don’t pick up the phone. Better yet, leave the phone in the car. How can you feel guilty about missing a call if you don’t have your phone with you? Remember: Information is your enemy.

  8. Don’t return a call from daycare until the second voice mail. If your kid is really sick, they will leave multiple messages.

  9. If you have to pick up your kid, wait until the end of the day. Pick her up an hour earlier than normal. You’ll still get there before closing time, but you won’t be leaving work too early.

  10. You work when you’re sick—most people do. It’s the new America. And how can we compete in a global economy if our kids stay home every time they have a “cold” or “strep throat”? Take your sick kid to daycare. For yourself. For America.

  Remember: Your kid got sick from some other Sh*tty Mom’s sick kid. Why should you be a hero and stop the virus in its tracks? Pay it forward.

  What a Sh*tty Mom’s Mom, a Retired Preschool Teacher, Said After Reading This Chapter

  “This is a joke, right?”

  …

  “What do you mean you’ve ‘done this’ before?”

  …

  “Is that why my granddaughter could cough into her elbow before she could walk? So she wouldn’t attract the attention of the teacher when she had a cold?”

  …

  “Well, I’m shocked. I raised you better than that.”

  …

  “Yes I did.”

  …

  “I tell you what, if you’d been a mom at my school, I would’ve asked you to leave.”

  …

  “And another thing: Are you wearing enough sunscreen? Your skin looks terrible.”

  …

  “Where are you going? What did I say?”

  * CHAPTER 21 *

  Should You Stop Texting if Another Mom Yells at Your Kid?

  You and your child are at the pirate ship park, tucked away in a gated area. Which means you can text your friend without checking your son’s whereabouts every fifteen seconds. You’re getting consistent LOLs and the occasional OMG—a relaxing, fun textversation. It’s the little things that make life worth living (ITLTTMLWL).

  You hear wails, but not your kid’s. You continue to text.

  You hear wails again, but this time, it’s your kid. You stop texting. Your son is standing on the pirate ship. He’s crying the tears of a guilty man who fears the jury will convict. You didn’t witness the crime, but another three-year-old is rubbing sand from his eyes.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” the vic’s mom says to your son. She is wagging her finger in his face.

  “Waaaah,” your son cries, looking for you.

  Don’t put that phone down just yet.

  Let’s pause and assess. Is your kid being a jerk? He is descended from you, and you’re reading a book called Sh*tty Mom, so it’s possible you have a shitty kid. In fact, it’s probable. All kids are assholes some times—maybe today is your boy’s day. Only rookies assume their kid is innocent. If yours threw sand, he needs to be disciplined. In your absence, this mom has stepped in.

&nbs
p; Let her. You need a day off from lecturing, and she has apparently brought her “A” game. Settle in on the bench and watch the show. A couple things could happen:

  * You can observe your child’s lying technique from afar. So this is what he’s like at preschool. He looks at his feet when he lies to a stranger. Good to know.

  * You are the devil your child knows. Another mom’s parenting style may help your kid appreciate yours. Finally.

  * You realize she is better at resolving conflict, and steal her technique.

  * You realize you are better at resolving conflict. Every now and then, it’s good to acknowledge that you aren’t the shittiest Sh*tty Mom.

  Get off the bench if:

  * The mom hits your kid. Whoa. That’s your gig.

  But wait. What if you’re the mom stuck disciplining someone else’s ill-mannered kid?

  Well, that’s a different matter altogether. At the end of the day, Sh*tty Mom is Team Reader. If you’re that other mom, then so are we. Here goes.

  Sister, you didn’t buckle your baby in the car, fill the sippy cups, and drive to the park so you could teach Empathy 101 to some disengaged layabout’s unattended kid. How dare she plop her fat ass on a bench, sexting last night’s booty call, all the while pretending she’s not responsible for the brat who threw sand in your kid’s eyes?