Suburban Mom? Me?

Now that I have a large tub of margarine and the equivalent of my mother’s body weight in kitty litter, our household is back on track. (And in case you are curious, I came in $16 under yesterday’s Costco guesstimate.)

Somehow I became a suburban mom. My rise was slow, like that of a winter sunrise in the Canadian North. How I got here, I am not even really sure. Nobody who knows me truly believes that I am a suburban mom. They don’t buy it. If they read my blog, they would realize that I am secretly leading a double life. (But they don’t even know that I have my own URL.) Maybe it is because I don’t drive a mini-van. Or have highlights. Maybe that is why they don’t believe that I am a Suburban mom. Or maybe, because this town is too small to have suburbs. Maybe.

I didn’t even really realize that I was a suburban mom until last night. I was lying there thinking about how busy today was going to be. First I had to take my daughter to <gulp> her French class (she is four) and then home for lunch after picking up cat food at the vets and more milk at the grocery store. After lunch, off to playschool to play lifeguard at their beach party. Parent helper, French class…oh yeah, those were signs alright.

(Although, I do have to mention that the French classes are because my daughter is obsessed with French. I will often find her watching ‘Lunar Jim’ en francais in the mornings on one of the 5 1/2 channels we get. So, French class has not stemmed from my need for her to be cultured or to give her an edge in playschool, is it simply a free class that she is super-duper excited about. There, I feel better now.)

On an unrelated note, my daughter has managed to whittle away at my husband’s ownership of his cat. He has had the cat in question since she was a small kitten–ten years ago. They had an official handing over ceremony last weekend while I was still sleeping. I’m okay with it.

Okay, well, except for the part where the cat now goes into my daughter’s room every night (yes, literally every night since the handing over ceremony) and meows at my daughter until she wakes up. This is a totally new habit. I suppose the cat is saying, “Hey, do you know what you are in for? Do you know how demanding having your own cat can be? Do you know how much love I need? And god dammit, I don’t want to belong to a kid younger than I am. Your allowance will not cover my needs. Besides it just isn’t fair. I am a PRINCESS. You may have the crown, shoes and dresses little girl, but I am the original.”

And then my daughter picks up her cat and tosses her out of her room. Then I wake up and tell them to knock it off. The complaints are voiced in the morning. Seriously, it is like I have two children now instead of one.