Hazed

I can’t count how many times I saw Revenge of the Nerds as a kid. Now that I think about it, I really didn’t have any business watching that, but every now and then, my parents let something sneak through. The alcohol-induced antics of the Tri-Lambs and the Alpha Betas gave me a skewed sense of collegiate reality.

By the time I was old enough to go to college, I knew that 99% of that film was far-fetched. Still, a teeny part of me was nervous when I applied to join my sorority. I needn’t have worried. A combination of university and sorority policies prohibited a good deal of nonsense, including riding a tricycle while guzzling cans of beer.
Even though there were no arm-wrestling and burping contests (Thank goodness!), we still had our share of good times. And one of my sorority sisters was there to document most of them with her camera. D would say the same thing every time she looked at pictures from our new-member phase:
“We hazed ourselves.”
D’s comment came to mind this weekend when my friends and I took our daughters for a girls day out. A local salon offers a “Princess Party,” a spa experience for girls ages 6 and up. Our kids ate pizza, danced to Kid’s Bop CDs, and got manis and pedis, all while wearing little pink robes, tiaras and feather boas. Meanwhile, we sat in a waiting room with bottles of water.
Oh, wait, I take that back. The salon was out of bottled water. We just sat there. Venting.
About how we need more hours in the day. And how hard it is to be a mom. And how sometimes we want to just pull the covers over our heads and sleep the day away. We could hear our girls singing along to Justin Bieber and Willow Smith.
We hazed ourselves.


There we were, four stressed out mamas, lamenting while our daughters were being pampered. We should have given ourselves a little love while we were treating our girls.
Mama’s Day Out is in the works for September. A massage is definitely in order.

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
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