I am “such a mom,” the comic foil in every situation, like Brooke in The Five Star Weekend or really any next door neighbor in any ‘90s-era sitcom. Some people can’t stand this mom which means they probably can’t stand me, an extroverted, excited, earnest mom trying too hard and fumbling around for a good sun hat. I have no fewer than four sun hats and, much like Brooke, would absolutely overpack for a weekend in Nantucket if I was ever invited to Nantucket. The problem is I’m not sure if I would be invited to Nantucket by a cool group of moms. I think I would get on their nerves.
I have grown accustomed to eye rolls fully visible in my presence, affectionate smirks when I mention my Christmas party theme (pajamas around the bonfire! Caroling around the piano!) in July. I send out group texts with titles like “Girls’ Weekend #4” or “Adult Pumpkin Carving??” or “Group Choir!” I am, at times, a human exclamation point. I have, at times, hated everything about myself for being this person. My need to organize, to include, to make fun happen for every single person around me has felt like a tic I would desperately love to get under control. For years I wanted to be able to bake cookies without suggesting a bake sale fundraiser or start wondering if I should add a cookie cupboard to the end of my driveway. I’ve wished I could watch a movie without asking my friends if we should consider a film club where we just watch romantic comedies.
My friends — who, I promise, are kind and true and do, in fact, have my best wishes at heart — have wished I was different too. I’ve been secretly and then openly mortified to hear other friends secretly and then openly mocking me. “Jen and her little parties,” that kind of thing. I’ve pretended to laugh as I passed around a charcuterie board and pretended that it didn’t embarrass me to be seen as this kind of caricature, a human meme. I tried to take up less space when I worried I was too much, too present, too excited to take the wheel.
I took a break from being me for about three months, an eternity for me. No plans for the weekend, no plans for a Wednesday, no plans for a rainy Sunday afternoon when I would normally ask a few girlfriends over to play Rummikub and eat various dips. It felt like I was grounding myself from my life; it gave me flashbacks to being a grounded 16-year-old finding out the best party ever happened on a Friday when I was alone in my room. During that break, I started to plan too many things for myself: Volunteering in a local little theater where I then decided I should write a one-woman show about being a single mom and maybe I could sell fun T-shirts as merch and have a macaroni and cheese break halfway through the show. Made by me.
I broke my fast. I became me again but what’s more, my little break made me realize this part of me is kind of great. I realized my friends and I did nothing for three months. Everyone just hibernated, waiting for me to break my fast and become a cheerleader again.
Much like John Candy in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, I like me. And what’s more, other people like me too. My friends noticed that I wasn’t arranging things. They got bored. They reached out to make sure I was okay. When I broke my fast with sunset pizza and wine at the beach, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
The truth is, they need me. The truth is, being an organizer is who I am. The truth is, no one really wants me to change.
Least of all, me.
Jen McGuire is a contributing writer for Romper and Scary Mommy. She lives in Canada with four boys and teaches life writing workshops where someone cries in every class. When she is not traveling as often as possible, she’s trying to organize pie parties and outdoor karaoke with her neighbors. She will sing Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” at least once, but she’s open to requests.
source https://www.scarymommy.com/lifestyle/i-am-the-desperate-mom-friend-organizer-youre-going-to-like-more-than-you-think
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