My two cents on...mini van driving Catholic school moms:

Remember yesterday how I said I may offend someone?  Let the offending commence...


I'm Catholic.  I'm a mom.  I drive a, well not a mini van, but close enough.  But I am not the topic of this blog.  The topic of this blog is the self righteous, holier-than-thou, "I donate 1/4 of my husband's salary (which is still more than I could make in a lifetime) to the school, so I'm somehow better than you" moms who are Catholic and drive mini vans.  Brand new mini vans with the little people stickers on the back to be exact.  The ones that cut you off in front of the school and then when you honk at them to let them know you exist, they cut you off in the car line and almost run your kid over just to prove to you how much better they are than you.


Here's the deal, I grew up poor.  I went to Catholic school because I was the type of kid who would have ended up on the pole if I had attended public school, if you know what I mean.  I just didn't have the attention span, common sense or leadership skills necessary to make it in today's (or 15 years ago's) public school system.  I'm sorry, it's terribly flawed, but that's for another blog.  My parents didn't have the money, but somehow I made it 3rd-5th grade, 8th grade and all of high school in Catholic school.  My mom has many flaws, but a mini van driving, pompous snob she is not, so I never grew up with this type of modeled behavior.  She worked many long hours away from home, so I did not grow up with the Betty Crocker stay at home mom, award-winning pie baking, apron wearing picture of perfection, mother of the year.  I've often felt resentful of her for that until I became a mother myself and realized what a train wreck I was, in fact, not missing out on.


The Noise attends Catholic school because, well, we're Catholic.  I've often wondered how these moms do it.  How they are so put together.  Their outfits always match, and their hair is always so perfect.  They always wear the expensive makeup, you can tell.  I go in to drop her off and realize I'm wearing the sweatpants I slept in, a T-shirt with baby puke on it, and shoes with no socks.  I have no makeup on and my hair is in the same wet bun from the day before.  I always get the same scoffs from the mini van drivers, and it takes everything in me not to want to tell them to meet me in the parking lot in five minutes.


Maybe I have better things to do, but getting dolled up to drop my kids off isn't my idea of a priority.  Does it mean I love my daughter any less if I accidentally wear my shirt backwards when I walk her in?  I hope not.  I feel less resentful now of my own mother, because I don't want to be that Betty Crocker mom.  She seems pretty closely related to these mini van drivers, and I really don't like them or their stupid stickers!  I'm a stay at home mom now.  I have a part time gig that I do from home, and I try to dabble in other means to bring in some income, but my main career is to care for my kids.  Most of the "drivers" I've come in close proximity to have also been stay at home moms, with more than one child.  So how do they do it?  How do they have all that time to match the perfect pair of designer jeans with that designer tee?  How do they have the time to make sure they make their every six week hair appointment, and fix their hair daily?  How do they have the time to apply that MAC makeup in their 5x magnifying mirror, while inspecting their perfectly minimized pores and wrinkle-free skin?  And most importantly, how in the world do they fit in all that nasty behavior into their day if they're spending all their time looking so awesome?  But wait.  What about being a mom?  When do they find the time to sit on the floor and play with their infant, or get elbow deep in ground beef showing their daughter how to make meatballs?  How much time do they spend sitting at the table reviewing flash cards over and over and over and over because their kid just can't remember what 7x6 is?  How many trips to the craft store do they make the night before a school project is due so their kid can find the "cat sweater for the bunny to wear" in the diorama?  What about watching their baby roll over?  Did they see it? Do they have more hours in their day than me?  Or do I just have a better handle on my priorities?


I'm not really sure if God just gave them a different clock because they dress better, but I guess I'll take what I have and enjoy it.  I love my kids, and I know they love me, no matter how I dress or wear my hair.  I'll probably still continue to curse under my breath at the mini van driving, well dressed, Betty Crockers out there, but I'll try not to think of them as any better than I am just because they have people stickers on their vans.