the smell of my desperation has become a stench

I’d totally be a groupie

Last night we had snacks and drinks with some close friends and inevitably the men all ended up on the couch talking about nerd-related topics while the women corralled the kids and discussed More Important Things: childcare, work, what was Natalie Portman going to wear to the Golden globes?

My friend has struggled with the decision to increase the hours her son is in daycare, and the dilemma is made all the more unsettling because nosy people keep asking, “So when are you going back to work?” Lemme just go ahead and fist pump all the stay-at-home parents out there who want to yell OH HELL, NO.

Have you ever been a stay-at-home parent? Do you have any idea the amount of rigorous work and emotion it requires? The tireless hours of performing tasks that will never earn you a raise or a gold star or even be acknowledged by another human being? Cause Imma let you shut your mouth if you haven’t.

Anyway, my friend was like, no, I’m not going back to work anytime soon. In fact, I’m going to sit on my butt and listen to the quiet.

And I was like, The Quiet? Who is this band, and why have I not heard of them?

Someone has got to make this happen. Someone has got to put a band together that just stands still on stage, their guitars hanging languidly around their necks, the keyboard and drum set untouched. And in order to buy a ticket you have to be a parent. And you can’t bring your kids. And you just sit there in the theater with all these other parents basking in the exhilarating silence of it all.

…..

“What’d you do last night?”

“My husband and I went downtown to see The Quiet.”

“Oh yeah? I’ve heard they’re pretty good live.”

“You’ve no idea. The track I downloaded from iTunes doesn’t do them justice.”

…..

I told Jon about this idea on the way home, and skeptically he asked, “You can’t even talk while you’re sitting there?”

Um, no, I explained. In fact, if you say one word the security guards will come yank you out of your seat, drag you to an airtight room filled with screaming toddlers covered in peanut butter who have been ordered to try and climb into your lap.

And you have to sit there for as many minutes as you are old.

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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