To the Mom Who Shops at Target More Than the Pope Prays

I am writing this to say how resentful I am of you, my Target shopping mom. Yes, I am totally jealous. You are the epitome of perfect motherhood to me, though you don’t even realize it. You’ve been way too busy obsessing over the drama of the Kardashians and that fancy Coach accessory you’ve had your eyes on for your upcoming birthday.

Let me tell you, from a mom whose budget barely allows for shopping at The Dollar Tree and Five Below, you are my motherhood idol! My own personal celebrity. You are the kind of mom I wish I could be. It isn’t that I don’t love myself or own who I am – I absolutely do. Life just didn’t work out for me the way it did for you, despite the blood, sweat, and tears I shed trying to make it work in my favor. I equate the struggle with trying to make a gourmet meal with the food pantry donations handed out to the average family in need. The meal is not going to look appetizing; if the canned tuna turned pâté and spaghetti with tomato soup for sauce even tastes edible enough for human consumption. Who are we kidding, here? It wouldn’t even appeal to my dogs. No matter what you say to repel the statement, you admittedly have your shit together far better than I have my own.

Sure, everyone has their problems in life, which is certainly not in question here. Without a Kardashian-sized budget to pay their way through life, most people believe they aren’t living comfortably enough even when they are far above the poverty level. To moms like me, who believe we are stretching our purse strings thin just by shopping at Wal-Mart, you have the life we can only fantasize about. You have everything! I daydream endlessly about trading places with you; what it must be like to be a part of your world. I’m like a dog with its face pressed against the window, licking and slobbering all over it, obsessed with those delectable-looking squirrels I’ll never get my paws on. If Ursula the Sea Witch came and offered me a trade to make those dreams of mine a reality, you best believe there’d be no hesitation on my end of the pact.

You, my Queen of the Starbucks Drinking Red Circle Shoppers, have the motive and means to keep in check the chaos of your household. With more measures with which to facilitate routines and stay organized at your disposal, your house maintains some sense of regulated order. You take for granted your ability to purchase more than the bare minimums of daily essentials. I am the frazzled mom darting into the school office every morning with something forgotten because I lack structure to my chaos. Permission slips wind up in the mail pile discarded under a shoe box full of stray Barbie shoes, LEGOS, and broken crayons. Emergency cards are returned, complete with dried boogers and Kool-Aid stains. The vastness of the overflowing stack of paperwork on the top of the microwave is an unsuspecting black hole. I don’t want it to be this way, but without a homework station or even room for a desk to contain the mess, I’ll continue to be sneered at by the school secretary as I sheepishly bring in the day’s forgotten item. All the while, there you are, sending in your kids with those nutritiously packed Bento boxes and thoroughly labeled belongings I only wish I could pull off.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I think I’m entitled to your life by any means. I know why I am where I am financially, and I take full responsibility for the failures which landed me in this position. Accepting the fact still doesn’t prevent me from wondering what it must like to be you; to be a part of your world in all your très chic, suburban mom glory. To walk confidently into Target, dressed in the latest trends with a fresh mani/pedi, a professional dye job and newly-bleached smile looking all kinds of gorgeous. My eighteen-year-old minivan with its zip-tied-on front bumper, stuck-shut trunk and rusted undercarriage looks a little, ughm, well… hideous parked next to your five-year-old, shiny, clean, keyless entry SUV with the highly coveted heated lumbar support and satellite radio.

Girl, even your lounge wear on a down day are practically brand spankin’ new, with all the sexycoolposh I could never pull off. So very unlike my own oversized, tattered T-shirts and pair of paint-splattered, hole-laden sweat pants which have stretched out tremendously since they first appeared during my thug-girl-baggy phase, back in high school. That was sixteen years ago! Do you know what happens when I try to wear my only pair of yoga pants with the lone fitted tee where the pictured character isn’t peeling off? I manage to look like the crackhead bum living behind the corner party store. With her scraggly dumpster diving clothes, stringy unwashed hair and dinghy tennis shoes with toes peeking out at you in wide-eyed wiggly wonderment, no doubt. Far from the sexycoolposh which is you, my Target shopping-aholic mom crush!

I can only imagine how beautiful – under the imperfections of daily living – your modest abode must look. It is much easier to create a warm, inviting atmosphere when you can go into Target for toothpaste and diapers then spend a couple-few hundred dollars on all the wonderful odds and ends you find on sale with your venti-sized Starbucks in hand because, “it’s such a good price!” You surely have homework zones, crafty message boards, and stunningly framed photos on display. My mind imagines mounds of color-coordinated throw pillows with knick-knacks arranged to highlight the color scheme adding to the homey feel of it all. Even your children look like they came straight out of the pages of the Target weekly sales ads! My house? It looks like a thrift store vomited its contents within my original, hand-colored walls, courtesy of the in-resident artists. The furniture is one wood-staple-popping-out away from crashing down upon us with the next slammed door.

I bow down to you, my barely composed yet faking it with undeniable perfection, Shopping Queen of Target. The ability to browse the aisles with only the fear of losing your patience with your child’s behavior in public and without the worry of a budget overhead, amazes me in ways I cannot properly convey with words. I ogle over your purchases, eyeing you dreamily from the clearance racks. As I’m trying to avoid you noticing me watching you, I am wishing I could be a part of your world. Following at a distance behind you through the housewares department, my thoughts are on the day when I, too, can go into Target and buy brand new curtains, fancy looking candle holders and a few outfits with matching shoes (not on sale) for all of my children… just because I want to! To know how it feels to purchase a new backyard patio set, because I had the whim to after seeing it’s unbelievably low price! Honey, I hate to burst your bubble on this point, but garage sales are the real home of the truest low price there is for an item still brand new in the package… with its original tags on, if you’re really lucky. You can’t beat that discount when you look like the local, homeless, dope fiend.

The next time you are having a really bad “screw this, my life is so stressful, people everywhere suck, why can’t these kids go to bed at two o’clock in the afternoon” kind of day, you just have to remember me. The broke as a joke, Dollar Store loving mom who worships your very existence just as little girls do with Ariel, Cinderella, and those feminist Frozen Sisters. Remember me, the mom who would gladly trade her writers voice for your Target cart pushing legs- anytime, anywhere. I am watching you as I quickly sneak peeks between the aisle shelves, as I grab the one and only item I’ll count change to purchase, stalling a little longer just to glimpse the ship I’ll never get a chance to sail on, passing right by me unaware.

Let’s face it. I’m only in here because Family Dollar ran out of what I need, and it happens to be a necessity my family can’t go without for very good reasons. Everyone does like to have a clean butt, after all, regardless if they live above or below the poverty sea.

However, I also came in here because I wanted to see you in action in the world I long to be part of- you beautiful, stunning, piece of Target shopping obsessed royalty, you.

Kristina is a sahm of four rambunctious hoodlums who drive her to the brink of insanity and beyond. A writer by nature and a poet by heart, she has taken the leap into blogging to save her in therapy fees. A big dreamer with little luck in life, you can follow her journey at The Angrivated Mom or on Facebook and Twitter.