Beta Mom

Private School Fascistionistas: Who Really Controls Your Life?

Betamom loves the new Hard Times.  Betamom loves the uprising of the People. Betamom loves the opportunity to not get a pedicure or a haircut or restalyn/botox/facials, to wear jeans with coffee spilled on them, and pretend it's all a political statement.

It's the new freedom.  And if you go to a private school in L.A. or New York or probably anywhere else in the country, it's a load of crap. 

Here's what the rest of the world is saying. Suck it, AIG. Suck it, SUV. Suck it, JUICY. Suck it, BEACH CLUBS. And here's what you want to say, more than anything, Suck it, ALPHA ACADEMY!  

Betamom hates to break it to ya'll, but its a load of crap.  The tuition letters went out this month, asking for a 2.5 percent increase, in spite of the economy.  The new families were solicited into the hundreds of thousands, in spite of the economy.  And our school "Fun-Raiser" -- which raised no money, to be sensitive to the New Economy -- cost too much for half the school to want to attend.

WHAT THE X($*#^@^@$&%@(* IS GOING ON HERE?  How is the rest of the world in a populist uprising, and my Alpha Academy chugs on, rejecting "good families" and "development opportunities"  like its nobody's business?

Betamom needs to vent a little, because she watches the news, and because she hasn't gotten a haircut since last September or waxed her eyebrows and it wasn't because she didn't want to.  Betamom's cuticles have now covered her big toe in its entirety.  DID YOU EVEN KNOW THAT COULD HAPPEN?  

Betamom has no choice to pay.  Pay tuition, pay the money, give the gift, buy the ticket to the thing that she also needs to donate the thing to.  Fascism lives on in West L.A. and probably the Upper West/East Side. And here is what Betamom is getting:

Judgmental Brownie Leaders. 

Headmasters who think they are above the law. 

Teachers who think you should kiss their teacher-sized butts for giving your child worksheets you could make at home or xerox from the workbooks they sell at Costco.

Private Schools that cost 20k for the equivalent of an OK public school with polyblend uniforms and teachers waiting for you to give them Lakers tickets. 

Alpha Bitches in the carpool line who call in to report you made an illegal U Turn when you were late to school eating soggy cereal in your car out of a cup.  

A general agreement to pretend that we are all not on serious depression and anxiety medicine and that we did not have to go on them after the fifth grade field trip to Washington DC, when the room mom said, "You're a bossy bitch and we all hate you, anyways."

Suck it, Private School. You sucked anyways.

And yes, my deposit is in for next year. 

After Dora uproar, Nick and Mattel soothe moms

Some crack journalism from Nekesa Mumbi Moody, AP Music Writer. I smell a Pulitzer.
My favorite phrase is "Dora the streetwalker." That's gonna make me happy all day.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090316/ap_en_ot/dora_for_tweens

does not play well with others

After an uncharacteristically social Sunday, I am left thinking this: do I really need to know and maintain relationships with this many people?  There are only a few people in the world that I truly like.  The rest - I just don't care.  They talk so much and have expectations of me and are hard to deal with.  I deal with them because I have to, or because if I don't, I get one of those emails telling me that WE think Betamom is hard to get a hold of because she doesn't return her calls, and WE are sure that Betamom does not want her unavailability to affect Betagirl's social schedule.

Really?

Really.

So to all you women that might call me this week, leave a message, send an email, expect me to show up, participate, look nice, or be nice:  GO AWAY.  Take your manicures, cute outfits and manicures nails elsewhere.  Betamom won't be answering because her soft listening ears (that's Betakid for earphones) are on, blasting the Raconteurs.  Jack White - please exercise me of those ladies' voices.  Make it stop. 

Betamom & the Beauty of Fat Monster Earphones

Friends come and go. Fortunes rise and fall. Betachild becomes Betateen and develops Betamonkeybrain. How does Betamom survive it all?

Earphones are key. 

Earphones routinely keep me out of jail and out of rehab and out of divorce arbitration. Out of lockup. Out of the unemployment line. Off the streets and out of the looney bin, not that I don't fantasize about that one sometimes, but only in a classy 19th century sanitorium in a white dress is a boat on a Swiss lake kind of a way. Give it a shot. The earphones, not the sanitorium, though that's really a personal decision.

Not the crappy little ipod ones. The big, fat, juicy padded ones. Bose or Sony or some ripoff of either.  It doesn't matter as long as it's a little cave for your psyche. A little pillowy ear cave. Your earphones care about you. They don't want anything. They don't need a sandwich or help with their Jekyll and Hyde paper or just to yell at you about what a terrible parent/person/fool you are. 

They will always be soft.  They will always make the sounds come softly. They want to keep all the bad children sounds and the bad talking sounds away. They're taking the bullet for you. That's just what they do. And like giant bouncers & bodyguards, people see those monster earphones and don't actually expect you to interact with them. In fact, they feel guilty for making you take them off, when you finally do. You can sit in bed or on a couch next to someone and give the appearance that you are actually in the same room.  Don't be fooled; you are in a galaxy far, far away.

Earphones are what keep me from hitting people, not limited to my spouse and children. Earphones are cheaper than therapy or wellbutrin or klonapin or lexapro or zoloft but is betarecommended in combination with any or all of the above.

Because who wants to listen to anything Betateen has to say? Betateen is AAAAAAAANGRY. Betatween is thus forced to pick sides, and (surprise) has gone with AAAAAAAAAANGRY. Betakid is getting crapped on by both of the above, so she's AAAAAAAAAAANGRY. That, and the fact that you just found her experimentation with four letter words in her journal, so you're AAAAAAAANGRY too.

If you put the earphones on you can't hear the crying after you send all the people to their rooms. Except in the case of Betateen, who is bigger than you are and just stays in your room to yell.  In that case, you can just put on your earphones and POOF. She disappears. Now you know why she wears hers all the time...

Who wants to answer the phone, cell or landline? These days, the cell is someone trying to get me to do something I usually don't want to do. And the land line is a bank, a car payment, the mortgage people, or the beta private school informal collections agency.

Put them on. Try it. You won't even hear m...

Betamom Knows: the Brentwood Country Mart Sleepover Scam

Do you have to learn everything the hard way, Betamom? Was it really that long ago that you were the one doing the lying? Did you actually think that sleeping over at BetaTeenFriend's house meant a trip to Blockbuster and microwave popcorn?  Maybe a little Facebook and some videochat?

Are you suddenly that stupid?

Betamom: "Why did you guys walk to the country mart for breakfast?"

Betateen: "For Breakfast."

Betamom: "But you never do that?"

Betateen: "Yes we do."

Betamom: "No, you walk down to Wilshire.  You never walk to the country mart."

Betateen: "Well we had to meet BetaFriend."

Betamom: "Why?"

Betateen: "Because her mom was picking her up at the countrymart."

Betamom: "I didn't know she was at the sleepover."

Betateen: "She was. If you ask her mom."

Betamom: "I don't get it."

Betateen: <eyeroll>

Betamom: "What?"

Betateen: "Do I have to spell everything out for you?"

Betamom: "Pretty much."

Betateen: "Her boyfriend lives four blocks away."

Betamom: "That's convenient."

Betateen: "So she said she was sleeping with us."

Betamom: "Oh."

Betateen: "So we had to meet at the country mart to prove that we had all been together."

Betamom: "Oh."

Betateen: "Are we done?"

Betamom: "Aren't you busy enough with your own lies? What are you, freelancing now?"

Betateen: "This should make me want to tell you things?"

Betamom: "Did you get paid to show up? Are you like, a pro?"

Betateen: "No."

Betamom: "Did she buy the breakfast?"

Betateen: "No."

Betamom: "The soy chai latte?"

Betateen: "No."

Betamom: "Do I have to spell everything out for you?"

Betachild has what we call the BetaMonkeybrain.  She's a genius all right, with all the wrong people, for all the wrong reasons.  But Betamom, come on.  Who's the sucker now?  

You bought that breakfast yourself.

Betamom Mourns: Rest In Peace, Library Book

Do not ever bring a library book into this house and expect to see it again.

For this house is built on a doomed Indian Burial Ground in the heart of the Bermuda Triangle in the eye of a Laundry Tornado at the base of Crap Mountain. 

Considering Betachild's birth certificate is probably in the pile of junk housed in the old bathtub next to the laundry room, who the hell would give said child A LIBRARY BOOK? And then assign a Fantasy Book Report that can only be written about a SECOND LIBRARY BOOK?  That can only be obtained upon return of the FIRST LIBRARY BOOK? That has been lost for so long we can't remember what it was about but only vaguely that it may or may not have something to do with gerbils / hamsters / guinea pigs?  Aliens?  Puppies?  

AlphaTeacher: "The book report was due today.  Please have Betachild turn it in tomorrow."

Betamom: "She can't.  She has no library book."

AlphaTeacher: "She needs a library book to do her report."

Betamom: "I know. She can't do her report."

AlphaTeacher: "I don't understand."

Betamom: "Can she do it about a different book?"

AlphaTeacher: "We'd really prefer not."

Betamom: "..."

AlphaTeacher: (BRIGHTLY) "Anyways, the book report was due today.  Please have Betachild turn it in tomorrow."

DO NOT EVER, EVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, GIVE ANYONE IN BETAFAMILY A LIBRARY BOOK!  DO NOT LISTEN TO BETAMOM IF SHE EVER, EVER, EVER SAYS OTHERWISE. SHE MUST BE DRUNK.

And while we're at it, don't let us near Blockbuster, either.

BetaDrugtesting: Pee or Hair?

That was Betateen's first question, when informed that the AlphaSport she plays conducts random drug testing.

"What's the difference?"

"One is three days, one is three months."

"Oh. How do you know that?"

"Duh. Everyone knows that."

"Oh. Okay. Hair."

Betateen is 15.

When Betamom was 15, only the drugs were different.

But the drug testing?

Just Pee.

And we had to record Love Boat and Fantasy Island on our VCRs. 

On actual videotape.

And there was no such thing as Diet Coke.

And they only had frozen yoghurt in one place in town.

And no Starbucks.

And no Facebook.

And no Blahgs.

And no Betamom.

Ah, those were the days.

They sound awful.

Betamom Congratulates Bite Recipient: Bite Me (No, Really!)

I overheard a conversation today between a group of wonderful, smart, funny, downtrodden Betamoms of Betakids.  I will relay the conversation and attempt to translate for any Alphas who may accidentally have found their way on to this site. (I forgot, Alphas don't do anything accidentally, so if you are here, you are spying.)

Betamom 1: (with joy and entusiasm)  "I had such a great day today, I picked up my Betachild at Alpha Academy, and there was a note in his cubby saying that someone bit him today."

Translation:  Some mother came to pick up to find a note that their kid bit someone!  Better her than me!

Betamoms 2, 3, & 4: Congratulations!  That's great!

Translation:That's great!  Finally one of us is the victim!  It's a victory for Betakids everywhere!  BTW, what's with the bragging?

Betamom 1: "I know, I had to read it three times!"

Translation: I lost my reading glasses and my Klonipin hadn't kicked in, so I couldn't believe my eyes. 

Only in Betacircles does an assault on rather than by your child merit cheering.  That's Betamoms.  Lookin' out for number 1. And sometimes number 2.

Betamom's Rules of Betabitch Revenge

Betamom has some theories and revenge, vengeance, justice and good old fashioned gettin' what's comin' to ya.  

Here's the the first rule of Betamom: there is no Betamom.  Just kidding, I had to say it.  

The first rule of Betavengence: DONT MESS WITH MY KID

If you do, you will pay. Betamom does not endorse anything illegal or violent, but is here to tell you that old school justice can be had, if you think long and hard about it. This is how I approach it:

1. Don't dirty yourself in the process. Remember what your mother said, "Lie down with dogs, wake up with herpes." I'm paraphrasing here, but really, don't get herpes. You need to remain beyond reproach.

2. Betamom believes in "natural consequences," both with her kids and her enemies. For example; betaboy throws his bakugan at betagirl - he loses the bakugan. Natural consequences - hurt with the bakugan, lose the bakugan. It is less effective to lose TV for throwing the bakugan because TV wasn't part of the offense. That is to say, the punishment should fit the crime. 

3. Enlist some close friends. If you have close friends to enlist, you are already ahead of the game. If they are truly your friend, they will take up your cause as their own without your asking. The truest friendships are forged on the battlefield.  And Starbucks.

4. Play a long game. This is the most important one, so I will list it twice, since in my house we say things twice. 

5. PLAY A LONG GAME. While indulging your fantasies of humiliating someone in public may seem satisfying in the short term, the only thing you gain is a reputation as a crazy person. Quick, extreme retaliation will come back to bite you in the ass, and only Betadad is allowed to do that. 

So play a long game. The careful planning of your infiltration, undermining and resulting psychological destruction of your opponent will be ultimately more satisfying, far reaching and savory.  Why?

Because revenge is a dish best served over and over again in a slightly un-hygenic but long buffet line.  With no sneeze guard.

Betamom's coming to getcha.  You know who you are.

On Stephenie Meyer, the New Poverty & (my) Child Slavery: Now Put Down TWILIGHT & Shine Those Boots, Gov!

Okay, Stephenie Meyer you perky little Cultural Phenom you, you owe me, and I'm not talking about the 125 bucks I spent on five books spread over the three Betagirls in my house.  Five, not four.  I had to buy Twilight twice, according to Betateen.  It was just that good.  (Ed. note: Okay.  It was.)  

I mean, don't get me wrong.  I'm grateful to you for many things, not the least of which including the raising of my Betachildren: the new literacy, the carrying around of Twilight like it was the Bible, and more than anything else the the idea that performing so much as a b.j. requires either a) marriage or  b) being made into a vampire, whichever floats your boat. An idea which, by the way, the entire class of BetaHighSchool could anecdotally or personally refute, unless they could choose plan b), and yet get this, they love your book...!

But here's the thing.  Enough is enough.  I need my children back, and I need them to put your book down and start reading Dickens, or anything else about poor street urchins willing to shine your boots, Gov?  It's time to put down The Host, which they gamely read in search of traces of Edward, as if he were something you had ground up and mashed into the paper itself.  It's time to stop looking up Robert Pattinson online.  

BECAUSE BETAMOM IS TOO POOR FOR TWILIGHT NOW.  Too poor for fantasy. Too poor for the Free Time of Betateens. And sadly, yes, too poor for hardcover books.  Edward needs to hawk one of those cars. Dogboy needs to start selling those dirtbikes at a profit. Bella needs to work her way up through to management at the sporting goods store.  We're broke over here and my children will eat up whatever you say... 

So I'm begging you, from one working Betamom to Another (because come on, your husband is named Pancho and you're from Arizona, you have to be one of us, aren't you?) use your powers for good instead of evil. WRITE A BOOK WHERE THE CHILDREN DON'T JUST COOK CHARLIE DINNER, THEY DO HIS  LAUNDRY!  I'll even pay, five bucks a load, that's the going rate in my house since we had to fire the $90 per day cleaning lady. Write a book where my impressionable Betateen learns to get a respectable job with health benefits because WE NO LONGER HAVE INSURANCE! Maybe even just a little babysitting moonlighting that will help buy the milk (OK, Diet Coke) or at least pay for Betateen's own razors and clear nail polish, which cost me 39.00 at Rite Aid yesterday and that was a splurge on the level of Christmas at my house.  Ah, the little things...

I know you probably voted for the other guy, being from Arizona or whatever, but we're all in this together now...

Betamoms everywhere are looking to you to lead our children to the path to fiscal responsibility. There's just no real clear career path in the world of eternal darkness, unless you mean writing about it. So don't let Edward Turn our Betadaughters. You, Steph, Turn them into Earners. Write the fantasy right out of them.  Help train up Betamom's own personal Betachildworkforce.  I know you know what I'm talking about: We all have work.  Let no one shirk.  Put your shoulder to the wheel, Steph.  

Yours in BetaChild Slavery,

Betamom

You need this, Alpha mom. So do I.

These were made by a true genius, artist Becky Stern. Check out her website. Nothing says I love you like Vicodin earrings. Do those come in Klonipin?

Oscars Week: a Time for Betamoms to Count How Many Movies We Never Got to See.

and also how few occasions we had to wear a floor length gown. Or any length gown. Or any gown. (Unless you want count that hospital gown you wore with your with socks while getting a mammogram?)

What did it take for you to see a movie this year, Betamom?

Enough caffeine to want to leave your bed & house recreationally. 

Remembering the name of a movie.

Childcare, plus another person with childcare.  

Finding your shoes that are not by the front door where you left them because Betateen wore them to school in the rain.

Parking without scraping the side of the van on the edge of the parking lot ramp.  (Okay, with scraping.)

A credit card that actually works. 

A debit card that works after your credit card is declined.

A friend who will buy your ticket after the debit card is declined.

Popcorn, with butter, because who are you kidding? 

Extra salt packets in your pocket, or the whole shaker stolen from the counter and left underneath your seat (possibly next to your lost cellphone.)

A large diet coke that cost nearly the price of the movie and doesn't fit in your armhole so it freezes your crotch.

A bladder that will permit you to sit through enough key points to understand the plot (see diet coke.)

Children who will finish their Mayflower Report (that was due last November but never actually written) without you.

Making it home without peeing your pants because the line at the theatre was too long after the movie got out.

Remembering anything that happened in the movie that you just saw.

Popcorn regret.

If you managed to see a single Oscar Nominated Best Picture this year, give yourself 5 points.  If you manage to remember to watch the Oscars, give yourself 3 points.  If you manage to pick up the Cheaple magazine that covers the Oscar dresses, give yourself 1 point.

If the best you can pull is a big fat betazero, go back to bed because Simon and Paula and Randy and House and Heidi and Tim are waiting and you may not have any popcorn but the bathroom is around the corner.

Betamom is Back (& forged her own signature for her unexcused absence, hoping this time to avoid detention)

Oh, Betamoms. 

Sorry to have just slacked off on you for the last year or so.  Two?  Who can say, when we last checked in we were going all Britney on the carseat and feeling sorry for Tomkat.  As if.  How a year can change things.  New shows.  New Paula.  New Tim.  New Tyra.  Fierceness taken to new heights in the comfort of our own Betabed.

Standards were lowered.  The New Hard Times allow Betamom to blend in more easily, as if the dirt of one's jeans (and hair and car and child's hair and teeth and dogs and dogs teeth...) as well as the sharing of clothes with Betateens, can be ascribed to Democratic ideals, Being Green, or the New Poverty.  Ha!

We might want to say, Alphamoms, we told you so.  Our day is finally coming.  The Beach Club Birthday Party is finally out of fashion.  Less is Less which has somehow become Enough, if not More.  But, slackers as we are, we all know the truth.  Sometimes dirt is just dirt.

Certain goals, however, were achieved in the past year hiatus.  All seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer were watched back to back for heightened gaiety.  (That's what the invitation to Cotillion notes, a Cotillion Betagirl will never again be invited to, after Betamom tried to pick her up from the Alpha Country Club wearing Jeans.)  Carpooling to Cotillion "heightens the gaity," did you know that?  So here we are, to heighten the gaiety.

Thanks for all your posts and comments.  In answer to all of you, and in no particular order of importance, we're glad if you're making betamom tshirts because we have no clean laundry.  We're glad if the Betamom Manifesto was quoted in USA Today, though Beta as we are, we didn't realize it until 3 years later, or today.  (And if you even think we are capable of providing that link, you are oh-so-clearly on the wrong site!)   We're going to have to pass on the Wife Swap TV Show offer, even though we found that super rewarding, since you don't have to be an alpha brain to understand the critical relationship between reality television and the Betasphere.

There you go.  All we have to show for the last year is this: we're still here, and apparently you are too.  So let's drink to both of us, even on a school night, even with drip coffee since we no longer can afford a latte, even if two different people did buy us the Starbucks Black Discount Card for our birthday. 

With no excuse and even less remorse but much fondness,

 

Betamom

Betamom vs. Snoring

I fell asleep tonight at 8pm. Who am I kidding - I fell asleep before 8pm. Betadad agreed to put the BetaKids to BetaBed so I could fall asleep. And what happened?

I woke up at 11pm.

Everyone in my family is snoring. BetaDad is snoring and rolling around. BetaGirl is snoring because the has a sinus infection that will hang around for the next month. BetaBoy is snoring because, well, I don't know why, but his feet are on his pillow and his head is hanging off the bed, and at that point, why worry about offending others - JUST GO AHEAD AND SNORE!

So amid the heavy breathing of my family, I did what any self-respecting BetaMom would do. I watched all the TV on my TIVO that I missed by falling asleep so early. That got me to midnight.

Which brings me to my question:

"Is midnight too late to take an Ambien CR?"

For those of you not familiar with the full line of Ambien products, Ambien CR is a controlled release version of the sleep aid, Ambien. For those of us who have trouble staying asleep at night, Ambien CR gives gentle sprinkles of sleeping fairy dust all night. (Ironically, it is said to cause sleep-eating of Sprinkles cupcakes.)

The truth is, I have already taken it. As my typing torpoor increases, I know I am going to have to wrap this post up soon, lest I fall out of my chair, but I am left wondering...

Did I just doom my kids to a late morning to school?

If so, did it really have anything to do with the Ambien?

*Betamom is not a doctor, and judging by the number of prescription pills she has in her bathroom, she is not a good judge of medicine or medical practices. Betamom does not receive kickbacks for promoting Ambien CR, but would consider it if an offer was to be made.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Deadbeat Brownie Moms Unite!

Okay, I have to be honest. I am a Brownie Leader. I know, I know. That's so Alpha it's not even funny. But all you Beta Moms out there, listen to me. It's time to rise up and spread the Beta word. Be a Brownie Leader. A Beta Brownie Leader.

Badges? Stand at the back of the room and offer to spray glue them on before the girls go home. Who sews? Who cares? I used spray styrafoam glue left over from the mission model. And you know what, except for one Alpha, every single kid wanted their badge glued on. Alpha mom: "Oh come on. I can do better than that at home."

Meetings? It's not supposed to be a birthday party. Since when in life did everything involving a child supposed to be a birthday party? You make crap out of popsicle sticks. You sing the Brownie Smile Song in super fast and super robot slow motion. Time flies when you're doing nothing at all.

Healthy Snack? Bite me. It's called BROWNIES for a reason.

There have been Brownie Moms at our school who have taken kids camping in a Hummer Limo, and that is not a joke. There have been Brownie Moms at our school who showed Troop Beverly Hills without a hint of irony. There have been Brownie Moms at our school who demanded that you sell 200 boxes of cookies or not participate at all.

Hello? It's called the Brownies, not the Hitler Youth. Beta Moms Everywhere, Unite! The Alpha Brownie Leader is a thing of the past, like the Clapper and the ChiaPet. Slack away! It's better for everyone! Especially the girls.

Be a Beta Role Model. Be like my troop. Use urine specimen cups for your Dues Banks. You'll all be happier, in the long run. And who knows? If we get enough Beta Leaders out there, maybe between us, we can take down the whole organization.

A big Brownie Smile to all my Beta Sisters,

Beta Mom

New Year, New You

So Betakid started Alpha Academy today.

After a six year campaign of check writing, notes on stationery writing, phone calling, string pulling and groveling, The Child has finally attended her first day of school. Mommy's a whore with a heart of gold, and she did it all for her little girl.

Today's report from BetaKid: "This was the best day of my life. This is the best school ever. I love it a thousand times around the earth."

Awwwwwww.

PS. Yes, I know, this can't last. She will have a meltdown tomorrow. Just let me enjoy it while I can, before the Ambien kicks in.

The Diet Starts Monday

Just back from our family spring break trip to Oahu, breaking our longstanding Maui tradition. How was it? I don't know. I am not sure that I am able to tell if I am having fun anymore.

I think I enjoyed it, but didn't realize that until I got home. The kids were pretty good, we hung out on the beach, had some afternoon lava flows, ate pupus. What's so bad about that? Nothing.

So what is wrong with me that I didn't enjoy it until the day before we left? Do I need to up my meds? Maybe, but that's beside the point. It is the ultimate mother's conundrum - is taking care of your kids in paradise the same as taking care of your kids at home?

You tell me. I am going to bed.

Where are you going next year?

Acceptance season has come and gone, and, like Hurricane Katrina, now we are left to clean up the stinking aftermath.

Did you Get In to the school of your choice?

We did, which is probably why I am so sick of hearing about it. That said, I have been talking about the "will BetaKid Get In" topic for 5 years now. People are probably sick of me too. Luckily I got in, so I am no longer talking about and exude a smug glow of accpetance.

Those who Didn't Get In have spent the last few days talking and talking and talking. You can hear their murmur over the din of the city noise. "Why didn't my AlphaKid get in?" "Who dinged me?" Why did (insert name of another kid in your class) get in?

Stop talking all of you. I am tired of your complaining. Everyone is tired of your complaining. Everyone is tired of talking to you. When you ask for counsel nobody will tell you the truth because it is too painful. Luckily BetaMom is a straight shooter. Seriously, I wouldn't tell you this if I didn't really care:

1. Your kid is out of control. He treats the teachers the same way he treats you - like the hired help.

2. You kid is acting out sexually. She has simulated lesbian sex at a sleepover. He simulated "humping on a classmate AT SCHOOL. She has a MySpace site that uses the word "sexi" and claims to have gone all the way.

3. You are out of control. You treat the headmaster, teachers and your wife like the hired help.

4. You are acting out sexually. You met someone online (of the same gender or otherwise) and took a road trip to meet them in another state. You got drunk and slept wtih other moms on the class trip. You spread your divorce crap all over the school.

5. Your child got abysmal scores. What did you expect?

6. Your kid is not so bad, but you went to the interview and made an ass of yourself. See 3 - 5.

Stop complaining. Get off the phone and pay some attention to your kid. Teach them some manners and learn some yourself. Have a nice day.

Did I mention I Got In?

THE BEST CUPCAKE ALERT!

Next time you are at Lakeshore, gymnastics, or your developmental elementary school, stop by Bluebird Cafe for the best cupcake in LA. They are huge. They are sloppy and look like a real person made them. They are not dry like many other fad cupcakes (that's you Magnolia.) Most of the frostings are cream cheese-based and YOU GET TO CHOOSE YOUR FROSTING!

Get thee to Culver City and eat a cupcake for lunch.

Bluebird Cafe

Ease back in to it...

I've got a little problem with Christmas Sweaters. It goes like this: I saw the Commish while I was running today. He noticed my double-take and gave me a "I can tell you recognized me - don't call me the commish - keep on running little lady" sort of grimace/smile. Like, I'm old, right? And the Commish, he would be my hot guy?

Then today I had a meeting with the Christmas Sweater Set. We discussed our annual event for Nameless Childrens Charity. As I looked around the room, I realized that I was the age of many of their daughters and this threw me into an exsistential tailspin. I can tell I am headed for it - the question every sane westsider under 50 asks themselves:

Why am I hanging out with such old moms?

I am not old. I used to be cool. Why am I hanging out with these women who wear jeans with front butt technology? Where are all the cool moms?

I have some theories. I could list them, but I am bored already, so let's say it has something to do with money, being the second wife and the time it takes to land a man, get him to divorce his wife, take some hormones, pump out some babies and get them into school. Then let the philanthropy begin!

I guess if I moved to Silverlake or somewhere cool, there would be more cool moms. Then maybe I wouldn't be the coolest mom. There would be unspoken competition for who is the coolest and I would start caring about what I wear to school, and what are my plans for the weekend, and where I have lunch.

It would be high school all over again.

Christmas Sweater Ladies, this photo's for you. Snaps to amandabauer.blogspot.com

That's why it's called BETAmom.

For all of you who discussed the fact that having a blog is inherently alpha, not beta. I'll show you. I will start a blog, post obsessively, then avoid it for six months.

That's beta.

That's how I roll.

Baby, it's cold outside

After a long silence, Betamom finds herself in the Snack Yurt, (yes, I said yurt) at an innertubing park. People are starting to come off the mountain and they keep opening the door and it is getting colder and colder.

We are in the mountain town, ski resort of your choice. We came here to get away from it all. Most of Los Angeles came too.

"But Betamom," you ask, "how is it a getaway if all the alphafamilies came too?"

The answer is simple, ladies - just ignore them. Don't stay where they stay. They will think you are vacation with them.

Don't make plans - not even fake plans that you mean to cancel later. The alphamoms are all ramped up on vacation, because to them, it tests the friendship. How close are we? Are we more than just Starbucks friends? Are our kids friends? Are our husbands friends? This is what it boils down to - does your whole family like my whole family the best?

The answer is always no.

So Long Summer

The fog rolled in today.

We are almost through with the dreaded First Week Of School, but I was in denial. I thought we would have another month of summer bliss. I expected sunshine until bedtime, the beach after school, sitting on the grass until it's time to go to bed. All that is gone now. I am wearing a sweatshirt for the first time in three months. I am in mourning.

Here are the things I will miss about summer:

1. Didio's Blood Orange Italian Ice - a superfantastic summer treat, also good in their Iced Iced Tea. It has been replaced by the atumnal Pomegranate.

2. Marie Callender's peach pie. Get it while you can.

3. The glaring sun and terrible service at Back on the Beach. Sand in my Pasta Greco never tasted so good. We have lost one wedding ring and one pair of glasses at that restaurant, making it the most expensive restaurant we have ever been to.

4. White pants. I don't care if they make the junk in my trunk look lumpier.

5. Tan feet will turn white. If you have a nice pedi, all is forgiven, but all feet are strange, and they look better with a real tan. Preferably with a tan line from the sandals you have been wearing all summer.

6. Tomatoes. Goodbye ripe, sweet, juicy tomatoes. Hello mealy, syrofoamy, acidic replacements.

Kappa Kappa Kindergarten

Tomorrow is the first day of school for Betakindergartener.

Which, in Westla-speak, means -- Rush is on! Time to Rush Kindergarten. Tomorrow will Betakid pack the tried and true Pink Princess Lunchbox, which got her through pre-K -- purchased in a fit one day after you figured out that the reason your child wouldn't stay for Stay Days was because all girls without princess lunchboxes were being victimized by Alpha Miniature FTWs -- Future Trophy Wives? Or is the Princess Thing over yet? Is Hello Kitty a safer bet? It has a little Asian twist to it -- Paris Hilton would carry it. Or should you stay neutral in case black is the new pink?

Kindergarten Rush also means time for day after day of shoot-me-in-the-head, mommy and me playdates, the Kindergarten equivalent of the blind date. I don't know who it's more painful for, actually -- the kids who don't know each other and play at opposite sides of the over-pinked bedroom, or the mommies who don't know each other and have to prove how educated ("When I was at school in New Haven...," translation: Yale) how wealthy ("When we were in Idaho...," translation: the 6,000 square foot house in Sun Valley) and how down to earth they are. This can only go on for so long before you call yourself on your cell phone and leave.

Here's the best performance of last week's rush: a lovely couple, a kindly enough westla mother and daughter, meet you for a blind playdate for ice cream, "unless you belong to the Beach Club, where A Few Of The Other Kids (translation: "who are gentry like me") Are Meeting." Sorry, no. While they eat kiddie cones, Betakid wolfs it down and asks for a Large. (Has she not gotten the memo that nobody eats in this town? Have you done nothing right?) Not wanting to cause a scene, and possibly because you forgot to feed her lunch, you compromise with the Medium. The kids still do not speak to each other. Betakid finally crawls into Betamom's lap and comes up with her first words of the day, the classic line of all time, the ultimate Blind Date Torpedo:

"THIS IS BORING. I WISH I WAS IN MY ROOM PLAYING WITH LISA. CAN WE GO HOME NOW?"

"Who is Lisa?" asks the Blind Date Kindergartener. Her interest is piqued by Betakid's diss, because, like all good Westa-creatures, she only wants what she cannot have. Lisa is, in fact, the nanny's eight year old daughter, who is hanging out at your house because school is out for the summer and she has nowhere to go. Lisa was born in Guatemala, and has some marginal developmental disabilities that make her the ideal partner for playing ponies, drawing pictures, watching cartoons, just hanging out.

Betakid assures everyone, "Lisa is The Best Girl in the World."

The Blind Date is intrigued. "Mommy, can we go home and play with Lisa?" Blind Date Mom is trapped. What answer can anyone give in that situation but yes? Either you're racist, or you're phobic about disability, or you're rigid, or you're controlling. In any event -- you can guess what happens next.

In Betakid's super-pinked bedroom, Lisa reliably strikes up a game of My Little Pony make believe. Betakid, back in her comfort zone, sort of ignores the Blind Date. Blind Date Mom toughs it out gamely. She's being admirably Flexible. When you have to call her that night for the grand finale, to tell her that Betakid has a fever, and admit that you are also That Family, the Family Who Spreads Contagion Throughout Your School, she still manages to keep up that poker face. This woman didn't go to law school for nothing.

You think about calling to apologize, but then you realize - this is Rush. It's a test. Take advantage of the ritual screening process. If she ever speaks to you again, she's a match. She can rush Beta Beta Beta. You can pick up her kid late for carpool and get her to fax over the missing girl scout permission slip, no sweat. She's great.

And if she's not going to speak to you ever again, it's better you know now, anyways. Once an Alpha, always an Alpha.

So here's a last piece of advice. Suck it up. It's time to teach Betakid the facts of life. Sleeping Beauty has that Alpha hair. Snow White has that Alpha skin. Jasmine has those Alpha Abs...FTW's, all of them. Ditch the princess lunchbox while you have the chance. Eat the big cone. Play with the nanny's kid.

Rush Beta.

Back to School @ the Gap

Take BetaGirl to the Gap - picking out school clothes is the highlight of the school year.

Note - if Mom holds up any article of clothing and says "How about this?" the answer will be "No." Keep your mouth shut and drink your latte.

Crusin'

You should get a bike - it will make your life better. Get outside once in a while.

You don't have to be a hardcore mountain biker, and you don't have to wear a skin tight lycra outfit. We would prefer that you didn't. Just go to Helen's and get a bike, a helmet, and a pair of bike shorts that have padding in the tush. (Wear them under your shorts if it is too scary to wear them alone.) Get on that bike and just go!

Bike to the beach and lie out for 30 minutes. Bike to the SM Pier and eat a hot dog on a stick. Go ahead, you earned it! Bike to Didio's and get the blood orange italian ice. Bike to SusieCakes on San Vicente and have a red velvet cupcake.

The point is, you will feel better if you get outside. You will burn a few calories and can then justify eating a naughty treat. What could be bad? (Just don't get hit by a car.)

Biking - it's good for the soul.

...blowin' through the jasmine of my mind

Summer is here and betamom has hardly had a thing to say. Why? Because the summer breeze blew away my angst, or at least the people that cause it. Bye bye, stressful mothers and mean children - summer is not for you. The sun is out, I no longer have to get my tan sprayed on, my kids can play outside, and I have not seen anyone from school. I have not scheduled playdates or made calls to keep in touch. So long, suckers. I will have enough of you in the fall. This is my time right now.

I went to Italy and ate fresh vegetables every day. I swam in the blue Agean Sea. I rode a bike with the kids in a buggy to get ice cream. I ate ice cream too. I gained a few pounds and instead of heading for the gym, I went to the gap outlet and bought bigger shorts. I spent time in the mountains and went to a farmer's market.

I bought cheap jewelry from hippies and remembered that I used to be one. This Betamom used to leave college and follow the Grateful Dead around the western half of the country. I used to be a free and open person. Somewhere towards the end of my second senoir year of college, it happened. Maybe it was reading Atlas Shrugged, maybe it was the fact that my major required alot more library time than your average, say, anthropologie major. Regardless, that's when it began -

I became cynical.

Becoming a mom didn't help. It's wasn't the kids - it was the other mothers. The endless competition, your baby doesn't walk? Mine walked at 9 months. The unsolicited suggestions that nibble away at your self image, your should call my hair color guy - he's the best blonder in LA. The commentary on your house It's nobody's dream house (yes, someone acutally said that) your nanny, kids, school of choice, whatever.

Somewhere between Atlas Shrugged and you ladies picking on me, I became cynical and defensive. I learned enough about politics to run for congress. And it has all led to this ephipany:

I like riding a bike. I like eating vegetables. I like being outside.

In other words: I give up.

So here it is, ladies - my new manifesto. (Yes, Betamom enjoys a manifesto). This summer is going to last all year. When school starts, I am not volunteering for anything. I am not playing social games. I am not going to be on anyone's side. I withdraw. All that time I spent doing those things will be used riding my bike to the beach, going to the farmer's market, taking my kids to the park, and napping. This year I will let my hair be brown, and I will not be wearing a suit to any event. Not even a "wear your suit or go to jail party." I will only hang out with nice people that like me. I will not have anyone mean in my house.

I am sure that in September we will run into each other and you start in on the lastest school scandal. You may be too self involved to notice my faraway gaze. Do I look like I am listening? Rest assured I am not listening to you, but rather to the summer breeze, blowing through the jasmine of my mind.

Peace,

Betamom

Lice, Twice

Here is the sum total of my lice knowledge:

I used Rid, but waited too long to do the second treatment. You have to follow the directions EXACTLY.

We went to hair fairies: http://www.hairfairies.com
The were a fortune, and I bought all their products, because I like going to a specialist.

Tea tree oil (from whole foods) is a good preventative - put a few drops in the shampoo. Don't douse your brush with it and brush it through your hair or your husband will think you smell like a eucalyptus forest and suggest that you take another shower.

I believe Paul Mitchell also sells a shampoo with tea tree oil in it.

A teacher I know avoided lice by putting tea tree oil around her hairline and wearing her hair in a bun or braids. Keeping your hair up seems to be a common preventative.

Wash everything in hot water.

The lice combs don't get everything out, and sometimes you have to use your $15 tweezerman tweezers.

Maternity Leave

Ciao, Babies!

This Betamom is on the lam, sitting on the plane heading from LAX to JFK to Rome. Unpredictably and unbelievably, I am alone. I am checking out of Mommyland and leaving the Betakids with Betadad. Betadad will have to get the dog out of the hospital. Betadad may or may not squeeze the right amount of antibiotic into those big floppy ears, and will probably not correctly apply the hot pack. Betakid might not make it to swimming lessons, and might not have the right amount or any sunscreen on. But for twelve long, unsupervised and unrecorded days, I will be in Italy, and that is remarkable. I will not be driving a car or a carpool. I will not be packing or unpacking any form of snack. I will not be wiping any butt that is not my own. I will not see a worksheet, a nanny, a piano, a recorder, a teacher, a parent, or even a friend. I may not even write or check email for twelve days. I will not, under any circumstances, hear the word “MAAAHMEEEE!!!”

Things I will do may or may not include the following:

Read a book for pleasure, maybe a really crappy one I’ll never admit to, and leave there.
Not speak unless I decide to and not answer if you speak to me. Maybe for days.
Wear impractical sandals all day long. Buy another pair if I feel like it.
Drink a glass of wine in the view of a 200 year old building. Or maybe a Bellini.
Take a picture with no people in it. (Maybe just the Bellini...)
Write something and never show it to anyone. Like this.
Eat gelato for lunch and pasta for dinner. Or gelato for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

If you think of anything else, let me know. This is all sort of new for me, free time.

Ciao, babies!

...And All These People Hate Me

There were six Room Moms in my grade this year. Two Full Time Jobs. One Alpha, One Beta. One Transitional (former working/Beta with chip on shoulder, moving into Alpha. They were not all awful. Dealing with them was. When asked if she was going to be a Room Mom again, T said “HELL NO!” Same with Alpha and Beta. FTJ #1 seemed to feel the same way, but was too hostile to even communicate that much with the other three. The remaining FTJ was too FTJ to be found.

One of the FTJs told the FTD that she had a problem with Betamom. Actually, she told the FTD, several teachers, other parents, etc. She hated the Alpha too, but truly, you have to find it somewhat interesting that she bothered to focus on a Beta. We usually get overlooked. The other FTJ, as well as the T, mostly focused their energy on hating the Alpha. But Alpha’s tend to organize a pack like that, by channeling the discontent. It goes with the territory. And Alphas seem to know they’re not going to win friends with their ruthless competence.

So, here’s the thing: is there such a thing as a good room mom experience?

Granted, if there was, I wouldn’t be the one to have it. But has it ever really gone well? Has a group of parents ever willingly worked together and not Hated Everything Everyone Does In A Verbal And Inflammatory Fashion And On A Highly Personal Level? Have we really ever learned to play with each other any better than the children? And why do we care so much about what the other Moms do and do not do?

What is really going on here? Why do we hate each other so much?

BetaMom’s Theories on Inter-Mom Tribal Warfare:

1. We resent your competence, and we’re scared of you, because you’re probably a bitch or
2. We mock your incompetence, and we think you’re a loser because you’re probably an idiot or
3. We resent kiss-ass teacher pets, and we see right through you because you’re probably a big phoney or
4. If the teachers hate you, we hate you too. You’re probably a nut case or
5. We’re jealous if you do something well, just because we probably didn’t do it or
6. We’re gleeful and spiteful if you do something badly, especially in front of the teachers. And we’ll make sure they know about it, or
7. We hate you for being cheap. We mocked your lameass Ralphs brownie plate or
8. If you’re a big spender, we accuse you of “not getting it,” or “ratcheting things up a notch.” We think you’re showing off or
9. We believe the things we hear about you, even if deep down we know it isn’t true or
10. We’re secretly suspect you already hate us, too.

The point being, we can either give up and not ever set foot in our children’s schools or we’re going to have to find a way to do this thing.

So here’s what BetaMom recommends: Truce. Pinky Square. Call it for what it is. We promise not to expect you to like us. We promise not to try to like or not like you. If you won’t believe everything you hear about us, we won’t believe everything we hear about you. At the end of the day, we’ve all bought brownies from Ralphs. And we’ve all thought about embroidering a pillow that says I Hate All These People.

It’s just none of us knew how to embroider.

I Hate All These People...

BetaBFF swears she is going to embroider me a pillow that says that. It’s all I say during the month of May, which as you know for Beta(Room)mom is the craziest, o.k. and by that I mean worst, time of the year, excepting the holidays. The End of School might as well be the End of the World; there is just that much crap to do. And just that many people to hate How You Are Doing It Which Is All Wrong On A Very Personal Level.

Beta(Room)Mom has to collect twenty miserable scrabbly little checks for the teacher gift, and that is always a shocker. It shouldn’t be. People are cheeeeap, no surprise there. Something about the anonymous collection aspect makes it seem meaningful, and sad; ie, deep down, when nobody is looking, people really just don’t give a crap about the teacher who may or may not have changed their child’s life. They just don’t give a crap, because nobody will know. It’s their sad little secret, something to know about one’s self. Deep down, you don’t value teachers, which is sort of like saying, deep down, you have to secretly admit to yourself you just don’t care about soldiers or policemen or even, on some level, your children. Or at least, not enough to give them more than you would give the UPS man. Because Nobody Knows. And let’s face it, you’re about to write that check for two or three summer camps, summer vacation, extra nanny time…because BetaNanny’s got to write her check for summer school, her sister’s wedding in Guatemala, extra babysitting time. And Nobody Will Know, anyway.

This is of course, delusional, because especially at Your School, Everybody Will Know, as that is the fallacy of the anonymous gift. Everybody Knows. Everybody Knows Everything. Everybody Knows when the other room mom has collected more for her aide than you have for your classroom teacher. You have to ask yourself, does this happen to you every year? Does this happen because you are Beta and less intimidating than Alpha(Room)Mom, who was collecting for the other class – and who is so Snap that she doesn’t even have to send out reminder emails, that’s how scared people are of her?

Which also brings up the topic of the End of the Year Teacher Gift, the actual gift, that you end up giving, on top of the cash. Did you also have to hide from the receptionist at the front desk because you stiffed her this year? (Just use the other door, that’s what I did.) Did you think the Head of School wasn’t going to notice whether or not there was a gift from you in the piles? (Maybe she will stop sending you Fruit of the Month now?) Did you break your own rule of consistency and not give to the Science Specialist for the first time in three years?

Here is the first ever Betamom Rule Set for End of the Year School Giving.

Do not be consistent. Never, ever give the same gift two years in a row, in particular do not give a Barnes & Noble gift certificate two years in a row. You overspent in a panic at the last minute, and now they think you are going to do it every year. If you do it twice, you’re doomed. You’ll be handing out the end of the year B&N bribe for the next seven years.

If you have already committed to the B&N bribe, don’t stop now! You will be Creating An Issue. It’s a sunk cost, suck it up, and shave a few bucks off each gift card, in hopes that they won’t remember how much, exactly, it was you sent in last year. Never forget that there is already at least one teacher out there who thinks you hate her, when you don’t necessarily even know her name and may or may not be able to pick her out on the street. But she has an Issue. She has Told People this. Don’t mess with the bribe, especially for the crazy aid. These people could blow at any second.

Do not stand out. Avoid branding. The goal here is to blend. You just want the check by your name. You don’t want the target on your forehead. It’s all fiscal evidence that will be used against you later when you are being hit up for something else. It’s like the internet, you just can’t take it back. Avoid the impulse to go Alpha. It will only bring you sorrow in the long run.

On the other hand, do not get 30 tall plastic jars of pistachio nuts from Costco and think the teachers will appreciate it. They won’t. A) they live at Costco and don’t appreciate Costco From You. And B) when you accidentally didn’t get one for you’re the Kindergarten teacher you don’t even have anymore or the Computer Specialist who hates you for being late every day, they will blacken your name anyway.

Do not forget to send in your check for the preschool teacher collection the same week you are trashing all the other BetaMoms for not giving to yours. It will just make you feel as crappy as I am feeling right now.

Do not keep thinking about this, not even one minute after the last half day of school. Let it all float away. You have bigger problems now. You’ve got to juggle all those swimming lessons, summer camps, all new drives, not to mention packing the big kids for sleepaway camp, passports for whatever that other part of Alaska touches…

And how long does a Guatemalan wedding take, anyways?