Suburban Mommy Monsters
Saturday, February 20, 2016 at 9:06AM
Gale Martin / @Gale_Martin in lamentations, love, mommie dearest, parenting, personal, rant, reflections, showing love, suburban moms

My daughter showing off her backyard snowman, c. 1991If I am being honest, I am glad to have an adult child at this point in my life and to be freed from the day-to-day travails of child rearing. Reflections on my young mommy years have drawn me into silent mommy watching all around me--on the train, in restaurants, and at the grocery store. 

Sometimes it is refreshing to see young mothers enjoying the journey. One young mom on my commuter train chats with her baby son during the entire half hour ride, asking gentle questions like, "Can you hear the wind?" and "What do you see outside the window?" My now-grown daughter who taught preschool for years told me that talking with your child at an early age is critical to their intellectual and language development.

Sadly, I encounter more bad mothering episodes than good. Case in point, the Suburban Mommy Monster I observed at Lancaster's premier grocery store Stauffers of Kissel Hill. Stauffers is a family-run store that has for decades committed themselves to creating a shopping experience. They offer lots of samples year round, especially in the produce department. I'll stop at Stauffers after a long day to pick up something for dinner and be revived by a juicy little morsel of cantaloupe or a ruby red grapefruit slice. It's a tiny reprieve from the noisy, gritty, lumbering commute I face daily.

On one such stop-by after work, I pulled into the parking lot, and climbed out of my car, expectantly, anxious for my tiny shopping experience (as opposed to trip) to lift my spirits.

I heard Suburban Mommy Monster before I saw her. Doors slamming. They are no sooner out of the car then she's scolding her three little charges, clad exceedingly well to brave the chilly wind-whipped day in adorable puffy pink coats and fleece-lined pink boots. I can't tell what she is saying to them on the way into the store--only the tone. Sharp, mean, hateful. Lots of "no's" and "I said no."

She herself is a typical Suburban Lancaster Mommy--trim, well-dressed, attractive. The minions trudge behind her, except the littlest one whose tiny mittened hand she clutches in hers like this poor child (three at most) is the most loathesome creature on earth.

The produce section is right up front. I enter the store. Jackpot! Fresh navel orange slices, grapefruit sections, pineapple chunks, honeydew and cantaloupe pieces set out for sampling. A tropical haven for weary travelers.

"Don't anyone touch those samples! No samples, I said," Suburban Mommy Monster snarls as I myself savor an orange slice. The flesh is sweet and full of juice. A perfect piece of fruit for which shoppers pay a perfect price.

The little girls and their tiny tummies muster no challenge against the Suburban Mommy Monster. Not even the tiniest whine of protest. They scuffle behind her to the canned goods aisle.

This particular Stauffers is the smallest of their stores in the area. It's perfect for doing catch-up shopping more so than a week's worth of groceries. It is like a little dalliance rather than a full on shopping tour of duty. If one is dallying, why wouldn't you want growing little girls to enjoy a little piece of fruit? Something healthful to tickle their palates and stave off hunger until dinnertime?

I grab the few items I need for dinner plus some I don't--a half a pound of peel and eat shrimp, fresh mushrooms, Gouda cheese.

Only one cashier is open so I steer my cart towards the checkout. Whose purchases are being rung up ahead of me? Why, Suburban Mommy Monster's, of course.

"Would you like a rewards card?" the cashier kindly asks. All the cashiers are always kind at Stauffers. Great customer service is their hallmark.

In the nicest, most mellifluous voice I believe I have ever heard in my five decades on Planet Earth, Suburban Mommy Monster purrs, "Not this time. But perhaps the next time we stop in. Thanks so much for the offer. I appreciate it."

My mouth dropped open. Suburban Mommy Monster can be lovely and charming with strangers. But can't be warm and kind to her own children? Let me tell you something, Suburban Mommy Monster. There will be plenty of people in your seemingly adorable children's lives who will have no kind word for them. They will be teased, bullied, picked on, and passed over as they grow by plenty of others. If you can't show your children love, if your home is no safe haven, then you have just sealed the deal to deliver three more Suburban Mommy Monsters into the world in due time.

Why did this incident rankle me? I think it's because I have trotted out the phony baloney tone of voice in a similar situation. It is patently clear the harm this woman is doing her own children. Even at 3, 4, and 5, their little psyches can feel the sting. Big people who don't even know Mommy are more important than we are. We are nobodies. Worse than nobodies. We are burdensome. Well-dressed little splinters who deserve our Mommy's scorn.

Looking back, my daughter's childhood years passed far too quickly. I know I didn't always appreciate those young mother years for the treasure they were. Perhaps that's why seeing Suburban Mommy Monsters stings so much now.

I'd much rather have a do-over than be tormented by Suburban Mommy Monsters for the rest of my life. My only hope for redemption is grandchildren. Someday, perhaps. But not soon enough.

Article originally appeared on Gale Martin | Clever Fiction for Clever Readers (http://galemartin.me/).
See website for complete article licensing information.