Who You Calling An Edgy Mom?

So, one of the side effects of my permanent banishment from Park Slope Parents is that I've been invited to join another club. I am now, God help me, an "edgy mom." Yes, the Park Slope doyenne of edginess, Louise “OTBKB” Crawford (aka smart mom/crazy lady) sent me a personal invitation. And no, it wasn't in the third person.

Whatever the fuck an edgy mom is, I’m not sure I want to be it. Past the first blush of earnest playful parenting? A free-range kid farmer? Apt to poke fun at this whole alternately grand and appalling experiment in raising future good citizens? Allergic to treacle-y sentimentality? Check. Check. Check. Check.

My new designation means, I suppose, that it’s no skin off my teeth that my seven-year-old daughter is now standing buck naked on our dining room table and playing "boy," complete with pencil. Or that she asked me for a tattoo last week (and I don’t mean temporary). Or that she barfed all over her suitcase, two rugs, and her brother’s favorite Jordans midway through her plans to run away last night. Or that I would be even thinking of penning this post at 7:54 am while I still have a lunch to pack and dog to walk.

I’m on edge, alright.

So, I have eight minutes on May 20 at 8pm at the Stone House (near the eggshell-covered dog park) to display the full gamut of my daring, risky brilliance. Any suggestions of how I should fill that time? And play nice, children!