Dear Snarky – The Summer Reading Log Cheater

Dear Snarky,dear_snarky_logo

I’m so sick of kids cheating! School starts in a couple of weeks and all summer my kids have had to keep a reading log. Every year their school gives an award to the student who has read the most books and every year the same girl wins because while other kids are reading Harry Potter she’s reading what amounts to board books (and she’s a smart girl so it’s not like that’s her reading level).

 Last year she wrote down that she read 115 books!!! That’s more than one a day. I doubt that really happened. Should I complain to the school about this or just suck it up and keep my mouth shut.

 Signed, Book Mom

Dear Book Mom,

Yes, you should complain but not about the girl who’s enjoying revisiting the books of her infancy. Your complaint or let’s call it a concern (because it sounds better) should be directed to the school about their summer reading contest that stresses quantity over quality.

In fact, I would take it a step further and ask the school why they feel the need to turn reading into a contest? Shouldn’t it be about enjoying literature and increasing reading skills and comprehension not about how many titles you can quickly shove down your book pie hole and then regurgitate on a log sheet?

 You also need to remember that your kids are already winners for embracing reading and tackling larger and more challenging books. Their prize is a bigger brain which trumps whatever lame award your school gives.

If you have a question for Dear Snarky please email me at snarkyinthesuburbs@gmail.com

Starbucks Saga

starbucks-1So there I was at Starbucks minding my own business, drinking an overpriced “shaken” ice tea. (Seriously, I think they charge an $1 extra just for the privilege of having your beverage get what amounts to a ten second hand job.) I sat there delaying going home because I knew what awaited me – teenagers and making dinner. Ugh. As I was pondering what I could cook this evening I noticed the two women next to me where getting into what sounded like an argument. Of course, I had to listen in.

There was one woman who seemed to be in her late 20’s early 30’s and was cute in an “I spend way too much time on my appearance” kind of way. She was the one who was angry. The other woman looked to be still in her 20’s and was rocking an extreme hipster vibe. Her top resembled a macramé plant hanger I made at Girl Scout camp about a hundred years ago.

At first their argument didn’t seem that intriguing. It was Over Groom complaining about her job, her bills and her lack of success in finding a husband. She seemed to be blaming Macramé for what sounded like a hot mess of a life. My ears perked up considerably when Miss Over Groom called Macramé her life coach. You can bet after hearing that I was all in.

From what I could gather Over Groom was ticked off about the advice her life coach had been giving her. Apparently, it wasn’t working. When Over Groom called Macramé out on her bad guidance it got good.

Macramé said her advice would work if Over Groom would “surrender to it.” This is when I scooted my chair in closer. Over Groom called “bull shit” on that pretty loudly and this caused Macramé to go into what looked like a trance. This made Over Groom go cray. She took the palm of her hand and hit the table. Macramé snapped out of her trance and then told Over Groom that she had “hostility issues.” Over Groom said, “Yeah because I paid you a lot and got nothing.”

I had been trying to stay out of if. I was biting my straw, my lip, anything to keep my mouth shut. But try as I might I just couldn’t be quiet and mind my own business. There were so many things that needed addressed – like how a girl in her 20’s could call herself a life coach. Don’t you need to have more than two decades of life under your belt before you can coach it? And anyone that wears a top that ugly and see through obviously shouldn’t be coaching anyone about anything.

As for Over Groom, hadn’t she heard of buyer beware? Why did someone who probably spends at least 15 minutes a day just on eyebrow maintenance think a chick like Macramé would be able to help her navigate life’s turbulent waters? And even more important how much did this life coach gig pay? I’m always looking for some extra freelance work.

It was easy to insert myself into their argument. If you call easy just plain old butting in. I, without a how do you do? Or pardon me; ask Macramé, “So, you’re a life coach?”

This catches her off guard and she gives me a superior look as she corrects me and says she’s “technically a life healer.” Well, my friends my day has just been made and I now have scooted my chair all the way up to their table.

“Life healer, really?” I ask. Do you go to school for that?”

Of course she did – on the Internet. I then turn my attention to Over Groom and ask how she met her life healer. If you guessed at yoga class give yourself a gold star because you are correct.

Over Groom has grown impatient with my Q&A and unsuccessfully attempts to disengage me from their fight/conversation. I won’t budge. Instead I offer unsolicited advice. I tell Macramé that calling herself a life healer carries with it some pretty big responsibility and that she should be prepared for her paying clients to want significant results.

I then look at Over Groom and admit I had been listening to her problems and suggest she shop less, work more and that her goal to “get married and then do nothing” is fraught with peril. I channel my mother and tell her no man of quality (that’s my mom talking) will be attracted to a woman who cites “doing nothing” as her primary life ambition.

I knew I had pissed both of them off so as I’m saying that last part I’ve grabbed my purse from my lap and I’m standing. Over Groom tells me I’m “mean” and Macramé has tears in her eyes. I couldn’t resist so I tell her, “there’s no crying in life healing.”

I’m not sure but I think both of them then shot me the bird. For sure, Over Groom did and I know Macramé gave me some sort of finger, maybe it was the international life healer symbol for thank you. Whatever, I’m just glad I could make a difference in two young women’s lives.

**For all things wonderfully Snarky go to www.snarkygear.com where you can find the new summer Snarky line of clothing and accessories. (Snarky Tervis Tumbler anyone?) Plus, there’s my book – Snarky in the Suburbs Back to School. (Click here for purchase information.On sale the entire month of July for only 99 cents! 

Here’s a little ditty about it: The Spring Creek Elementary School PTA board (a coven of Mean Moms dressed in Uggs, yoga pants, and dermal filler) is up to no good.  Wynn Butler (middle-aged, uncool, and not bringing sexy back) is determined to find out what’s going on. With help from her two kids, a Roomba vacuum turned mobile surveillance drone, and a few good friends, Wynn launches a covert investigation that leads to the “mother of all revenge capers” at the school’s annual Fall Festival.  If you’ve ever fantasized about smoke bombing the idiot parent who has yet to master the fine art of the school drop-off lane, or standing up and shouting, “Liar, liar, Botox on fire” during a PTA meeting, then this delicious tale of payback is for you. 
To stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link – http://is.gd/iEgnJ (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.

Are You Ready to Be Uncool?

3607ac3166c88155c9642afc080146c7There are a great many things to celebrate about getting older, mainly the fact that you are still here. But another thing I embrace about my advanced middle-aged years (oh and just for the record I will be in my 70’s and still calling myself advanced middle-aged so just roll with it) is the freedom to be your self.

You’re far enough along in your career and parenting duties that you can cuddle up, wallow even, in your uncoolness. (I’m not talking socks and sandals uncool because that’s just showing off.) This is a glorious thing. Yet, I see many women my age, who still seem to be clinging to the coolness doctrine. This is a mistake, to quote the song from Frozen, “Let it Go.” (I know the song is mind numbingly popular with the preschool set but I’m here to tell you it’s an advanced middle-aged anthem.)

Let it go, let it go

And I’ll rise like the break of dawn

Let it go, let it go

That perfect girl is gone

Earlier in the summer I was at one of those ladies who lunch functions and saw a gaggle of women still clinging to coolness. One in particular I wanted to personally invite to join the uncool club. She had all the signs of a woman who needed to liberate herself from the confines of conformity. In Texas she would be called a “Bless her heart.”

This fellow AMA (advanced middle-aged) woman was on the fringe of a group of cool moms. (And by this I mean the women who have pissing contests disguised as friendship.) You could tell she was trying to get into their circle. She even had the big purse. For those of you (men) uneducated in the language of designer handbags typically the bigger the purse (and by that I mean Prada, Gucci etc – not some “factory inventory” leather tote you got at the pop up Coach store at the Outlet Mall or in my case the Target off label) the more insecure/needy you are. She even went so far as to nudge her purse into the group circle. Not her body, mind you, but her purse.

I saw this as a cry for help. Once you hit the big 45+ it’s time for sweet, sweet freedom. Not junior high the menopausal years. I tried to mind my own business and leave well enough alone but I just couldn’t. So, I went over to Big Purse and attempted to engage her in conversation thus beginning phase one of Operation Uncool.

Try as I might, and (not to brag) I can be pretty engaging, she resisted all my efforts at recruitment. By the end of the very one-sided chitchat I wanted to scream, “Listen up honey, you’re missing out by not joining Team Uncool!”

If only I could have given her our team stats. They’re impressive! By becoming a member of Team Uncool you can, for the most part, say what you think. This alone is worth the price of membership. Because as a uncooler you have the luxury of not catering to other people’s preconceived notions of how you should act. This does not give you permission to be unkind or go full crazy it just allows you the gift of not fitting in.

As a parent it liberates you from caring what your kids or anyone else’s kids (or kid’s parents think). So, for example when your teenager asks if they can go to a boy/girl sleepover (yes, this happens and you betcha I’ll be writing about this very, very soon) you can proudly say, “Not in my lifetime.” Because here’s the deal the cool parents are all about “Well, everyone does it and the kids are all just friends so what’s the problem?” (I’m stopping right here with that lest I go off topic but you all know what I mean.)

Being a uncooler makes all areas of your life more pleasant. It frees you leave the house without a BB cream (aka wrinkle camo), discard your Spanx, and like yourself a whole lot more. It makes your marriage fun again because the less high maintenance a spouse the better the relationship.

Nothing is more boring than a person who talks about how they look all time (or how they played a NCAA division sport and almost went pro). As a uncooler you have better, more interesting things to focus on; and oh, the joy of conversation when you can truly say how you feel.

Have I enticed you yet to become a uncooler? No worries if you’re not ready yet. We’re a patient bunch, that’s another plus about being uncool.

***For all things wonderfully Snarky go to www.snarkygear.com where you can find the new summer Snarky line of clothing and accessories. (Snarky Tervis Tumbler anyone?) Plus, there’s my book – Snarky in the Suburbs Back to School. (Click here for purchase information.On sale the entire month of July for only 99 cents! 

Here’s a little ditty about it: The Spring Creek Elementary School PTA board (a coven of Mean Moms dressed in Uggs, yoga pants, and dermal filler) is up to no good.  Wynn Butler (middle-aged, uncool, and not bringing sexy back) is determined to find out what’s going on. With help from her two kids, a Roomba vacuum turned mobile surveillance drone, and a few good friends, Wynn launches a covert investigation that leads to the “mother of all revenge capers” at the school’s annual Fall Festival.  If you’ve ever fantasized about smoke bombing the idiot parent who has yet to master the fine art of the school drop-off lane, or standing up and shouting, “Liar, liar, Botox on fire” during a PTA meeting, then this delicious tale of payback is for you. 
To stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link – http://is.gd/iEgnJ (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.

 

 

 

 

Not So Magical – Part 2

6359369You know your day at the Magic Kingdom has changed course considerably when your main concern is seeking air-conditioned shelter. It’s no longer about the rides instead your focus is on which activities you can pursue that will result in AC blasting you in the face. This is why the Hall of Presidents became my refuge. It’s an attraction modeled after Independence Hall in Philadelphia that features all 43 presidents in “Audio-Animatronics form” which is Disney speak for robots.

Those Commander-In-Chief droids must require a muy refrigerated environment because the Hall of Presidents was the coolest place in the park. I could, at max, go on three rides before I had to get back to the Hall for a cool down. I found an AC vent in the rotunda, that if you stood at a 90-degree angle, you could get a rush of cold air up your shorts. It was like oxygen for someone climbing Mt. Everest.

The only problem was my daughter was getting crabby about my need for an AC refresh. She also complained about the time we were wasting having to constantly go back to the Hall of Presidents. This necessitated me finding another chill zone. It wasn’t quite as cold as the Hall of Presidents but it got the job done. It also had much better people watching.

It was a Fantasy Land gift shop located right next to the Cinderella Castle where little girls could for the bargain price of $199 could go to the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique and get the full princess treatment. This means hair and make up done and the Disney character gown of their choice.

The mothers coming out of the Boutique, with their coiffured tots in tow, were their own cast of characters. The most tragic was the Sobbing MOP (Mom Of a Princess.) These are the teary eyed mothers dragging a crying princess out of the boutique. The child was usually have a melt down because her “hair hurt.” Otherwise known as bun head burn.

Each princess got a bun and a crown and let me tell you those buns were pulled back tight enough to withstand the G force of Space Mountain. I got why both the child and the mom were bawling. If I had just dropped $200 on a “Princess Experience” and it resulted in my daughter going full royal tantrum I’d need a Kleenex too.

Once the sun had set I was able to significantly limit my AC visits. It’s not that is was that much cooler, it still felt like I was wearing a Grizzly pelt lined with polar fleece and dunked in Icy Hot but at least I wasn’t getting a solar bitch slapping. I had hoped that after the 10 p.m. fireworks families would start to clear out of the park. I mean, really who would stay till 1 a.m. if you had small children or even an infant? Everyone, is the answer to that question.

The state song of Florida has to be children crying to the tune of It’s a Small World After All because that melody followed me throughout Disney World and it got cranked up every night. You had parents, who had to know better, waking up babies and toddlers to put then on rides. I swear after 11 p.m. Fantasy Land was the Trail of Tears.

To escape the screaming my daughter and I fled to Adventure Land to set sail on the Jungle Cruise. We thought we were safe from unhappy children until a dad boarded our boat with a preschooler who was afraid of water. The poor kid howled. The dad announced that he was just going to let the kid “cry it out.” I gave my daughter the look that said make a run for it and we got off that boat faster than you can say “God Help Us All.”

After that our strategy was to stay in Frontier Land till the park closed at 1 a.m. That way we could ride the Splash Mountain log plume, get wet and then blow dry while riding the Thunder Mountain rollercoaster. This was a great plan and upping the fun factor was standing in line with people who didn’t want to get wet.

There are signs posted all along the line stating that you will get wet. When you step into the log it is wet and people getting off the ride are drenched. Yet, there are still people angry, confused and dumbfounded after the ride is over, that they were baptized in Lake Disney. To make matters worse these are the people who usually want to sit in the front log, known in theme park terminology as the super soaker. Who out there doesn’t know the front log takes the biggest direct hit? It’s simple physics – force x mass x person at the front of a log ride = 100% chance your clothes will be soppy wet. I think another Disney improvement would be IQ tests for certain rides. It would certainly thin the theme park herd.

But no matter the tears, the heat, the idiot quotient I did it. I crossed the finish line of 17 hours at the Magic Kingdom. Where’s that T-shirt at the gift shop?

***For all things wonderfully Snarky go to www.snarkygear.com where you can find the new summer Snarky line of clothing and accessories. (Snarky Tervis Tumbler anyone?) Plus, there’s my book – Snarky in the Suburbs Back to School. (Click here for purchase information.On sale the entire month of July for only 99 cents! 

Here’s a little ditty about it: The Spring Creek Elementary School PTA board (a coven of Mean Moms dressed in Uggs, yoga pants, and dermal filler) is up to no good.  Wynn Butler (middle-aged, uncool, and not bringing sexy back) is determined to find out what’s going on. With help from her two kids, a Roomba vacuum turned mobile surveillance drone, and a few good friends, Wynn launches a covert investigation that leads to the “mother of all revenge capers” at the school’s annual Fall Festival.  If you’ve ever fantasized about smoke bombing the idiot parent who has yet to master the fine art of the school drop-off lane, or standing up and shouting, “Liar, liar, Botox on fire” during a PTA meeting, then this delicious tale of payback is for you. 
To stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link – http://is.gd/iEgnJ (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.

 

 

 

Not So Magical

pic06867I’ve seen the end of times. It’s Disney World in the summer. Oh, I know right now some of you are thinking, “Hey, fool don’t you know better than to go to Orlando in any season that starts with the letter S?”

The answer to that question would be yes, of course, I know better but I was there for my daughter’s dance competition. The travel dates were non negotiable which is why I spent last Sunday (into Monday) at the Magic Kingdom from 8:00 a.m. to 1:00 a.m. That’s right 17 hours straight at Disney and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have some PTSD from the experience.

I knew Disney would be thick with humanity and humidity. I just didn’t realize the extent of the thickness until about 1 o’clock in the afternoon. That’s when the park reaches maximum stroller and scooter capacity. Who knew the double stroller could multitask as a weapons grade battering ram?

I don’t know what happens to parents at Disney World but it seems to me they become focused on one mission; harming anyone who slows down their forward motion (including their own children).  I feared for my life more than once especially when a mom pushing a double stroller was teamed up with grandma and grandpa in scooters.  The mom was in the middle and the grandparents were flanking her on the left and right.  The trio was plowing through the crowds at Fantasy Land and mowing down anything that got in their way. General Patton rolling through Europe had nothing of this threesome.

As for the weather, the humidity was so thick you felt like you had been dipped in chicken fried steak gravy and rolled in mashed potatoes. Now, add in the body odor of thousands of profusely sweating adults and you’ve got yourself a crock pot cooking up a simmering stew of gag. You know what would be really magical at the Magic Kingdom? A deodorant kiosk.

The only way to dress for this kind of weather is to wear your “I’ve given up on life” outfit.  Which means your most comfortable shoes, shorts and shirt. I was confused by the number of women in heels, full make up and free range hair. And by this I mean their long, unfettered locks heating up their back like a microwaved Shamwow.  I wanted to reach into my fanny pack (yeah, I wore a fanny pack, your fashion pride goes right out the window when you’re doing hard time at a Disney Park) and hand them a Wet One and a pony tail holder but I thought that might be perceived as being a little forward.

The most popular clothing item, by far, at the park was the family Disney T-shirt. This is a shirt with a Disney logo, your family’s name and some other tidbit of information like how many park visits you were currently enjoying.  One family was on their 32 reunion at the Magic Kingdom. Who willingly advertises this kind of crazy?

After I came to terms with the weather and crowds I sought to get to know my fellow Disney guests by visiting with strangers standing in a line, that seemed long enough to circle the earth, for the newly opened Seven Dwarfs Mine Train ride. This was where I discovered an idiocy that will haunt me for months, if not years. The family that was in front of me in line lives in Orlando. That’s right, they live Disney adjacent and yet they pick a Sunday and the hottest day of the year (96 degrees with a “feels like 107” to come to Disney World). I had to ask them why (this is when my daughter pretends she doesn’t know me). Their answer, “I dunno, I guess we didn’t think about it that hard.”

Who wouldn’t think about that? Who would voluntarily choose to go to Disney on a crowded, steamy, Sunday if they lived right next door?

After the family acted scared of me for asking a couple of simple questions, I had no choice but to amuse myself by Tweeting about my Disney experience. My daughter, still pretending we’re not related, whispers, “Stop doing that.”

“Why?” I ask.  It’s not like you’re talking to me.

“Because Disney is probably tracking us with the bar code on our tickets and you’re going to get us throw out of the park.”

“Really, you think they’re tracking us?”

“Yeah, did you notice they also scanned our fingerprint.”

Now this is what I call fun, a kid in the throes of a Disney conspiracy theory. Let me tell you something, if you’re not raising a child that can’t concoct a couple of conspiracy theories than you’re not raising a good American. But before I had a chance to delve deeper into this exciting topic the Mine Train ride gets temporarily closed and the line gets ugly, like double stroller ugly. It was time to seek refuge in the Hall of President’s, or as my daughter calls it, the empty theatre.

Part 2 of Not So Magical tomorrow.

***For all things wonderfully Snarky go to www.snarkygear.com where you can find the new summer Snarky line of clothing and accessories. (Snarky Tervis Tumbler anyone?) Plus, there’s my book – Snarky in the Suburbs Back to School. (Click here for purchase information.On sale the entire month of July for only 99 cents! 

Here’s a little ditty about it: The Spring Creek Elementary School PTA board (a coven of Mean Moms dressed in Uggs, yoga pants, and dermal filler) is up to no good.  Wynn Butler (middle-aged, uncool, and not bringing sexy back) is determined to find out what’s going on. With help from her two kids, a Roomba vacuum turned mobile surveillance drone, and a few good friends, Wynn launches a covert investigation that leads to the “mother of all revenge capers” at the school’s annual Fall Festival.  If you’ve ever fantasized about smoke bombing the idiot parent who has yet to master the fine art of the school drop-off lane, or standing up and shouting, “Liar, liar, Botox on fire” during a PTA meeting, then this delicious tale of payback is for you. 
To stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link – http://is.gd/iEgnJ (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.

 

 

Dear Snarky – Unwanted Parenting Advice

dear_snarky_logoDear Snarky,

I am this close to punching my sister-in-law! We just got back from a family reunion and all she did was correct every child’s behavior but her own. She even went so far as to pull up parenting books from Amazon on her phone telling us we should read them to “get our kids under control.” Meanwhile her 3 less than perfect children, when they weren’t bullying their cousins, were fighting with their parents.

It was awful. Please help me get this woman under control.

Signed, Family Feud

Dear Family,

 The only way to deal with someone who loves to dispense advice is to fight fire with fire. Sure, you could do the whole turn the other cheek thing but all that will do is give your sister-in-law permission to keep on being the family authority of child rearing. And who wants that?

 So, I suggest at the next family get together you come locked and loaded with your own advice. And just don’t resort to pulling up parenting books on your iPhone. That’s for amateurs. What you want to do is up the visual aid ante and come with handouts.

 That’s right girlfriend, load up your purse with print outs from the Internet on how to deal with kids who bully and parents who allow it. When your sister-in-law starts pointing out your kids’ faults you reach into your purse and say, “Hey I saw this and thought of you.”

 I can’t guarantee this will shut her down but it will serve notice that two can play this game and you’re going to play it better.

If you have a question for Dear Snarky email me at snarkyinthesuburbs@gmail.com

Country Club Moms: Swim Team Edition

Swim team-StricklerLet’s be honest, first and foremost, having your child involved in a Country Club swim team is all part of your Summer 2014 Kid Avoidance Plan. What with morning and evening practices you’re lucky if you see your precious love bugs more than a couple of hours during the heat of the day. Swimming in lane #2, right next to kid avoidance, are the social aspects of a Country Club swim program. In fact, having your kid “summer swim” will pretty much dominate your social calendar until the middle of July. While the kids are competing or waiting to compete at a meet many parents find themselves enjoying what could be described as sorority and fraternity mixers – the middle-aged years.

Just like there are many different calibers of swimmers on a team there are also many different kinds of moms lurking around the pool at practice and meets. From the party girl to the obsessive year round swim mom right up to the country club climber – there’s always something to watch. (And I’m not talking about the kid who did an illegal flip turn. I mean really, who cares, who won the boys 12 and under 50 Meter Freestyle when you’ve got a mom whose Roberto Cavalli tube top maxi dress got caught on her Valentino espadrille wedge platform sandals causing her to plunge head first into the deep end. Is it wrong that many women were hoping she wouldn’t resurface?)

Each country club swim meet has its own unique vibe that not even the rules and regulations of the CCSA (Country Club Swim Association) can micromanage. For example, one less pricey country club will be working a more laid back chicken fingers and beer atmosphere while the old money, fancy pants club will be all about the poulet frit and Coudert Clos de la Roilette Fleurie. Though as different as Country Clubs are the personality traits of the moms that roam the poolside stay the same.

The Hard Core Swim Mom: It doesn’t matter if this mom has on shorts from Targets or Gucci her identifying trait is the stopwatch she carries. She’s constantly timing her kid and has graphs of his/her best times on her phone along with the app “On Deck” to update her 24/7 on the competitive swim scene. The stopwatch surveillance wouldn’t be so bad if she did it in stealth mode. But no, usually the Hard Core Swim Mom has a set of lungs so powerful a blue whale might get a severe case of envy. She shouts, she screeches and if that’s not annoying enough she’s been known to utilize noise making devices like a bull horn or cow bell as she paces the pool lane bellowing instructions and blasting sound effects at her child. She’ll tell anyone who complains that her noise making is a way to encourage her kid. But everyone knows it’s code for “you better move your ass.”

The Fashionistas: For these moms it’s not a swim meet. It’s a fashion event and there’s no better way to cheer on your kid than by wearing matching Lilly Pulitzer outfits that fit in with the club’s swim team color motif. Accessories are also important. Jewelry is coordinated to match the team’s colors and just to be sure their family and friends remember who they are the Fashionista loves monogramming. Look for her initials on everything from her phone case to her car.

The Party Girl: It’s hard to blame parents for losing track of how many mojitos they’ve imbibed. The swim meets last for hours and it’s usually 90 degrees in the shade and we all know Fun + Sun = Rum. This means you can count on there being a contingent of parents participating in a medley relay of booze. If you’ve ever wondered what someone was like in college their swim meet behavior is usually a pretty decent clue. Teams, have in the past, (like last year) had to gently remind parents that their club was getting the reputation of being a little to drinky and they may want to switch to hydrating themselves with a liquid that wasn’t 80 proof. Also, throwing back a Tequilla shot every time a kid gets DQ’ed (disqualified) for not doing a two hand lane touch is just going to lead to another person taking an unintentional tumble into the pool. Safety first parents.

The Flirt: This is the only mom who actually wears a swimsuit to a swim meet. She’s got on a bikini, a beachy straw cowboy hat and of course, a sandal with a heel. When not bending over a pool lane to cheer her cherubs on and affording everyone poolside an unobstructed view of her charms she’s busy flirting with the dads. Her scorecard is not how many races her kids won but how many men bought her drinks.

The Club Climber: The grass is always greener at another Country Club. Or at least that’s what this club aspirational mom thinks. She’s uses the “away” swim meets as a chance to work the poolside and begin her campaign to find a country club “proposer” and “sponsor.” She’ll need at least two to help her wedge her Tory Burch flip-flops a rung higher on that club-climbing ladder.

The So Busy: Do not walk but run away from this mom so fast your flip-flops will sound like artillery fire. The So Busy’s sole purpose is to prance around acting confused about what is going on. For example she’ll say, “Wait, are all the kids doing the 100 meter Butterfly relay?” Her primary purpose for asking questions is so she can follow-up with, “I should know this but I’ve just been SO BUSY . . .”  A) Redecorating my summer home B) Vacationing in Europe C) Traveling with a child(ren) doing multiple national level “select” or “elite” sports competition D) Buying a private island or E) All of the above. There’s no bigger summer buzz kill than listening to this mom make sure you know she’s “living the dream.”

Shamps Time: The holy grail of the swim team season are the championships usually held in July. This one event can define your summer. The championships rotate every year from club to club. Although in country club vernacular they are referred as shamps. Not champs, which is the industry standard as the abbreviation for championships but shamps as in you’re saying the first syllable in shampoo and adding an s. This event is resplendent with an opening ceremony that has in the past included bagpipers, circus performers and bands that have performed at the Super Bowl. (Take that Sochi.)

If you hear women, this summer, saying shamps over and over again you can correctly surmise they are a country club swim team mom and not suffering from a speech impediment. Smile at them and be kind. These poor souls are having to wear makeup and heels to the pool.

***For all things wonderfully Snarky go to www.snarkygear.com where you can find the new summer Snarky line of clothing and accessories. (Snarky Tervis Tumbler anyone?) Plus, there’s my book – Snarky in the Suburbs Back to School. (Click here for purchase information.) On sale the entire month of July for only 99 cents! 

Here’s a little ditty about it: The Spring Creek Elementary School PTA board (a coven of Mean Moms dressed in Uggs, yoga pants, and dermal filler) is up to no good.  Wynn Butler (middle-aged, uncool, and not bringing sexy back) is determined to find out what’s going on. With help from her two kids, a Roomba vacuum turned mobile surveillance drone, and a few good friends, Wynn launches a covert investigation that leads to the “mother of all revenge capers” at the school’s annual Fall Festival.  If you’ve ever fantasized about smoke bombing the idiot parent who has yet to master the fine art of the school drop-off lane, or standing up and shouting, “Liar, liar, Botox on fire” during a PTA meeting, then this delicious tale of payback is for you. 
To stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link – http://is.gd/iEgnJ (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.