I think they were brown sugar cinnamon.

You know you're a suburban parent when you're so out of shape that a strenous stroller aerobics class causes you to barf up your Pop Tarts in the bushes.

Party on, Wayne.

You know you're a suburban parent when the last time you felt totally wasted was when you rode the merry go round in the mall twice in a row without stopping. 


I could have barfed right on those gilded cherubs, I tell you.

I'm sure I could use dental floss to extend the strings if I needed to.

You know you're a suburban parent when you ask the pregnant lady next to you at the kids' waterpark "where she got that darling maternity swimsuit." If I'm ever nine months pregnant in the summer, I swear I'm wearing string bikini out of spite. 

Maybe I should just move into the mall.

You know you're a suburban parent when you seriously wonder how much it would cost to have the squishy, child-safe floor that they have at the mall playground installed in your house. I mean, it couldn't be more than hardwoods, right?

Summa-summa-summa tiiiiiime .... ooooh summertime

You know you're a suburban parent when the post-funeral emotional first aid for the family is making everyone (including the 2 year old) stay up late, catch fireflies, and eat s'mores off the grill. That'll truly cure what ails ya.

At least it makes for easy doll poop clean up.

You know you're a suburban parent when you have carried a dirty kitchen towel around in your purse for two weeks because your kid has decided it's her doll's "blanket."

My kid will also demand I produce it at will, which means lots of chances for the grocery store cashier with a blue French manicure to silently judge me.