Fathermucker by Greg Olear Page A

PRACTICE POLITICAL COOPERATION: I’LL HUG YOUR ELEPHANT IF YOU KISS MY ASS, END THE WAR , a red-white-and-blue Deadhead, and a good half-dozen more), and Gloria Hynek—the über-est of über-moms and driver of said Subaru-cum-billboard—sees me pulling out of the (evil) McDonald’s, my face stuffed with (evil) Egg Mac, and I’m pretty sure, although not certain, that she shakes her head at me and scowls in tsk-tsk disapproval. Busted by the Crunch Patrol! Because, you know, how dare I eat food that isn’t organic and locally produced. She’s sure to give me shit at the playdate. Worse, I’ve forgotten to skip the post–“Hotel California” tracks, and Charlie Daniels is now sawing at his fucking fiddle and playing it hot.
    Gloria exhibits the gamut of infuriatingly crunchy behaviors known to the New Paltz parental demographic. To wit: attachment parenting. When Haven was an infant, Gloria adhered strictly to this draconian practice, the central tenet being that a baby, like a consecrated American flag, should never touch the ground, lest the momentary separation from the parent, and the resulting feeling of abandonment, scar him for life. Instead, he should be worn , in a sling or a Baby Björn, while the mother goes about her daily routine. It’s sort of like being pregnant for four extra trimesters, except the infant is heavier, cries a lot, and needs to be fed and changed—although in Haven’s case, diapers were not involved, not even the unbleached Seventh Generation kind, because Gloria also practiced elimination communication. ( EC , as its zealots call it, is a potty-training technique in which the infant uses “baby signs” to indicate a need for going wee-wee or poo-poo, at which time the vigilant parent transfers his or her behind to a potty, toilet, or roadside shrub. While EC does work after a few short years, and it’s environmentally laudable, is it really worth the effort and extra loads of laundry to teach your tyke the toilet a few months before the next kid?) The most prominent advocate for attachment parenting—a technique imported from China, the country that popularized foot-binding, lead-painted toys, and female infanticide—is one Dr. Sears, a pediatrician and author who specializes (as too many famous pediatricians do) in making mothers feel bad about themselves. Dr. Sears claims to have employed attachment parenting on all of his own children. He has eight kids, so either his wife is a kangaroo, or he’s full of shit. You can’t fit eight kids in an Escalade, let alone a Baby Björn.
    So: Gloria is a proponent of attachment parenting, and elimination communication, and she breastfed her son until he turned three, and she doesn’t let Haven’s precious, unsullied eyes gaze upon screen images of any kind, nor does she let him play with plastic toys, or toys that require batteries, or toys that bleep. When she and Stacy go out for drinks, however, she complains and complains and complains about how hard it is to be a mother, seemingly unaware that she is herself multiplying the degree of difficulty by being such an inflexible ideologue. Yet Stacy continues to go out with her, because Gloria can be really fun. One-on-one, she’s a hoot. But Haven’s presence turns her into a deranged, hypermaternal Ms. Hyde. She’s one of those people who are great when alone, but insufferable when with her kid.
    The other issue with Gloria is that she’s a stay-at-home mom—a SAHM , as they call themselves on the comment boards at the Hudson Valley Parents website—to a single child. With the first kid, you want everything to be perfect, and you tend to rail against the many forces at work to corrupt the pure, blameless creature in your care. Little lamb, who made thee? Once a sibling enters the world, you stop drilling the first kid on his ABCs and his multiplication tables, and charting when they