Invasion of the Soccer Moms

I have a friend, Emily, who is a fantastic bread-baker. Like most Molly Mormon activities, I've always been sort of challenged when it comes to making bread. Usually I end up with dough wrapping itself around the neck of my Kitchen Aid, which smokes and sparks in protest. So when Emily offered to teach one of the girls we visit teach how to make cinnamon bread, I was way excited.

When we got to Sara's house, we all started in measuring and mixing and chatting. I was telling a story about how I had taken my kids to a Saturday swimming class this weekend (they usually go on a weekday) and commenting on how different the dynamic of the Saturday moms was from the weekday moms. We weekday moms either chase little ones or bury ourselves in novels while we wait for our big kids to swim. The Saturday moms, on the other hand, did a lot of networking. One of the moms, in particular, seemed to be working the room as if at a cocktail party, comparing private preschools (her daughter went to the Montessori Country Day school, a name which makes me laugh) and ballet classes and debating when it would be best for her three-month-old to start swimming (right when he turns six months or next spring? she wondered). I left with the impression that she, and several of the other moms there, were using expensive lessons and fancy preschools to make up for the time they didn't get to spend with their kids. I was telling my friends how lucky I felt that my kids could home and play with each other in the playroom and kick back because I didn't feel guilted into putting them into "the best" of everything.

As we chatted and baked this morning, imagine the scene: four minivans in the driveway; four women (two with big pregnant bellies) all in their twenties or early thirties inside; seven children running around (and that doesn't count the five that we have that were in school). The doorbell rang and some workman came in to check on something (I was a little fuzzy on the details). Anyway, on his way out, he looked at Sara, our hostess, and said, "It's like invasion of the soccer moms in here."

The other moms laughed, and I smiled along with them, but inwardly I was seething. A soccer mom? I'm not a soccer mom (mostly because my soccer-age kid hates the sport and refuses to play anymore-- but that's beside the point). I'm not unhappy with my life or ashamed of the fact that I stay at home, but it bores me sometimes. I mean, I know I'm doing what's best for my family and my kids, but sometimes it feels like I'm sacrificing a lot of what makes me me in order to do that, if that makes any sense. Anyway, my gut reaction this morning was to be annoyed by being called as soccer mom, as if my whole person were being written off just as someone who drives a minivan and stays home with a bunch of kids.

After I left Sara's, running off to my next appointment and from there to Bryce's school to have lunch with him (all soccer mom things to do, I suppose), I started thinking about the soccer mom comment and realized that by distilling the Saturday swim mom down to a "networker" I was probably doing exactly the same thing to her that the repairman did when he called us soccer moms. I'm sure she'd be on the defensive if she knew that while I pretended to read my novel, I was really listening to her and forming opinions about her based on "Montessori Country Day" and the fact that she mentioned three times that her daughter had "already passed the float test but was staying in the easier class until they could fit her into the one that was appropriate for her skill level." She too, is probably a mom doing her best, and hoping at the end of the day that it's good enough.

I taught the visiting teaching message today, although I obviously didn't learn anything from it until later. I shared this quote from Lucy Mack Smith, who says, "We must cherish one another, watch over one another, comfort one another and gain instruction that we may all sit down in heaven together." It's easy for me to comfort and watch over the girls in my ward, the other soccer moms whose lives are so similar to mine, but I think I need to learn to protect and reach out to all moms, especially the ones whose lives look so different from mine.

--originally published 9/19/06