The final nail is in the coffin of my suburban domesticity: we are now the proud owners of a Volvo station wagon. My mom couldn’t drive hers any more, so she gave it to us. I was leery. Isn’t enough that I have a child, and a gardener, and a house in the suburbs? Noooooo. I had to get a frickin’ station wagon as well. And what a station wagon – the damn thing’s a MFN tank. You get behind the wheel and suddenly feel like you can take on semi’s – it’s like driving an M1-A1 down the interstate. And as I was driving down I-5 to come home, with Sammy Hagar on my i-pod, I thought, “Oh geez, could I be anymore of a stereotype?”
I’m not sure why I’m so upset by all of this – it’s not like I don’t like my life. I think I’m just suddenly very aware that it’s not where I thought it would end up. I have no illusions about ever having been, or even hoping to be, cool hipster-mom. Yeah, those of you who know me know that was never in the cards. I just never saw myself as suburban mom.
Perhaps a piercing or tatoo is in order.