The Hungry Mom

This woman will have you think that she eats a lot. She talks about food and posts recipes on Pinterest and Facebook to throw us off. She often posts pictures of shakes and smoothies and weird barrels of protein powder.

Yet despite all of this supposed beverage and protein consumption, she weighs a mere 85 pounds.

You will find this woman at happy hours drinking straight vodka because it has the least amount of calories, and she will order some sort of salad that she will pick at and move around. Another popular choice for the hungry mom is shrimp cocktail.

She is known to walk around schools or parks in spandex outfits that will just barely cover her breasts and vagina.

She is “gluten-free” or sometimes “dairy-free” or “vegan” or sometimes all of the above.

She claims that when she eats anything other than air or water she has HORRIBLE PAINS! in her intestines and bowels. She will share this information with any who dare to ask why she is so painfully thin.

Her skeletal body is annoying enough but the obsession with working out and dieting is enough to send me home crying straight to my pizza and red wine.

The Pajamas Mom

Look — I am exhausted. I have described my morning routine many times online, and it basically involves everyone in my household sleeping way too late and then frantically attempting to get to school/work. Despite this fact, you will NEVER see me outside of my home in my pajamas.

There is simply no excuse for these mothers who think it’s perfectly acceptable to show up at school in their sleeping clothes! Take two minutes to get dressed people! It’s bad enough that you have no makeup on and your hair looks like you stuck your finger in the toaster.

Put regular street clothes on and also put on a f*cking bra.

Do you think we don’t see your tits swinging in the breeze under your polyester pajamas? My kids don’t want to see my boobs hanging to my belly button — what makes you think they want to look at yours??

I cannot tell you how it irks me to wake up in the morning and to be greeted by anyone other than Kelly Ripa [2] . . . the last thing I need to look at is someone in pilly pajamas pants and a sheer top with loose boobs.

The Hippie Mom

Speaking of boobs — this mom was found just a few years ago in every public place she could think of with her boob in her kid’s mouth. No matter that he might be 3 years old, she would stop when “he was ready.”

Now she can be spotted a mile away with her graying hair and her “aging gracefully” face. She wears clothing that might as well be homemade and puts her children's snacks and lunches in organic cotton pouches.

Her children live off of greens and homemade granola bars and haven’t had a haircut since 1982. Her husband has a beard (not the hipster kind), and they speak in slow soft language with zero affect.

She is f*cking annoying and ridiculous. She eats her own placenta [3].

She is green.

She walks or bikes her children to school to save the environment.

It’s not the 1970s — get a bottle of Clairol Root Touch Up and some face cream for god sakes, and give that kid a burger.

The Sports Mom

This is a mom that I run into frequently at the children’s sporting events. As I am reading my magazine, texting friends watching basketball or baseball games featuring 8- and 9-year-old children, I am often caught off guard by women who somehow believe they are at a major league or NBA Finals game. They sometimes even wear team-related offensive attire and they bark out commands, cheers, and ref/ump scoldings like it’s their job.

She knows the rules of every game and she wants us all to know it [4].

She takes great enjoyment in screaming in my ear when there is a bad call of some sort.

I attempt to pay enough attention so that I can catch my son’s eye at just the right time and give him a thumbs-up so that he thinks I am watching.

That’s not good enough for this manly mother. She is seemingly appalled when I don’t know the score or who’s winning, or when I don’t notice that my child is at bat or just scored.

They don’t quite understand that until someone in my household is in the running for a gold medal or college scholarship — I just don’t find all of this that interesting.

The PTO Mom

The picture of perfection. She loves her children, she loves her children’s school, she even loves your children. She loves all children and schools in America.

She wants you to do the same.

She will have you giving every penny you have for wrapping paper, apple pies, teacher gifts, teacher luncheons, field trips, book fairs . . . the list is endless.

But money is not enough.

She also wants your time.

It’s not enough to just write out a check to his maniac — she will have you running cash registers at farmers markets, hanging artwork for the art show, face painting at the school carnival . . . it never ends.

And there’s no hiding. She will email you. She will call you. She will pepper you with reminders, school updates, fliers, until you give in.

It’s not enough to give your money or your time.

She won’t stop until she has your soul.

The Perfect Mom

This b*tch will never admit defeat.

She looks perfect. Her clothing and accessories are impeccable. Her children are dressed to the nines in Vineyard Vines and Mini Boden apparel.

Her hair is perfectly coiffed and she drives a luxury SUV of some sort.

She is never rattled.

Her children’s clothing and bags are stitched with perfectly embroidered initials, and her manicure is never chipped.

She loves her husband.

She loves her Golden Retriever.

She loves your Golden Retriever.

She packs her children’s lunches in a bento box filled with fresh-picked berries and julienne vegetables. Sometimes she uses carrot shreds to spell out her child’s name on his sandwich — accompanied by a love note [5].

She is the room mother and offers to take your children for a playdate with a smile on her face.

When you complain or say that you are tired she looks at you with a perplexed look as though exhaustion or disgust are emotions she is unfamiliar with.

She uses social media as a weapon to remind us all that everything in her life is dreamy.

She is the reason my town is called “Goopville” because her idol is Gwyneth and she shops at Whole Foods looking for macrobiotic ingredients with fervor.

She is also the reason why we all feel unworthy and less than as mothers. She is the reason that I started this blog in the first place.

She is a liar . . .

She lies to us, to her husband and kids, and to herself.

Because we all know that nobody’s perfect.

The Mom Blogger

She is a judger. She notices when you haven’t dyed your roots or forgot your bra for school drop-off.

She pretends to read her magazine at the games but his silently taking pictures of you while you innocently cheer for your child wearing a football jersey.

She pretends to be indifferent about the school and PTO but somehow finds herself face painting and running the farmers markets like an idiot.

Watch out for her — because behind her oversize sunglasses that she rarely takes off . . . she notices everything . . .

and she will blog about it.