I was so tickled when I found this blog. Here are some people who think like me. They even have a name for those moms I see at school and at my old church that made me want to scream. They are the “Muffia.”
I had the priviledge to be in Muffia Heaven this morning. Mrs. Smith’s Second Grade class had “Muffins for Moms” (heh) to celebrate Mother’s Day. We go, they’re supposed to serve us, blah blah. They give us a gift. It’s a sweet thing, do not get me wrong, but, it’s so obvious to me that these sorts of things are planned with the Muffia Mother in mind.
Judging by the way most of the moms were dressed, I was in the minority in that I’m a working mom. They all had on their cuter than cute capris, cutesy tootsie flip flops, perfectly pedicured toes, size 6 figures, tanning bed tans….I mean, even one of the moms who lost her home in the tornado last month looked like the Muffia Godmother. HOW DO THEY DO THIS?!?!??!??!
So, it was cute and all…they made cookbooks for the moms and there were contests. They played the purse game…you know “If you have something in your purse that starts with an ‘M'”…your kid gets scholar dollars. I had a Maxi Pad in my purse. Seriously, I started to wave it in the air to get #2 his Scholar Dollars, but, my better judgement said that maybe that might cause some premature questions from the children.
The teacher called out all this other crap, none of which I had in my purse because I’m a bad mother and am so not prepared…nail clippers, safety pins, something monogrammed. I looked in my purse and besides the maxi pad (with wings!), I had three bouncy balls #2 got out of the machine at CiCi’s the other night, a ton of pennies on the bottom, and Nasonex.
I did finally earn my kid some Scholar Dollars because I have a French Pedicure on my toes!!!! I just had it done the other day so pedicures DO have some value in the grand scheme.
I’d be a lot more hearty and flowery over the whole thing had #2 not started crying, complaining his head and stomach hurt. Yeah, yeah…likely story. He had asked me earlier if I could pick him up after Muffias For Moms. Not at 10:00 in the morning!
He cried and got pitiful so I took him home, grumbling, as I do so well. Get him home and tell him “You better finish that book, Mister! I’m not doing this report for you.” I go to work (unlike the other Muffia moms) and I get a call from Mr. Smiff after I get there that #2 has thrown up.
I’m such a good mother aren’t I?