FALL SUNDAY: Marijuana And Moms














A long time ago, when I was twenty-something and at the apex of my carefree partying lifestyle, I was shocked to learn that an older friend of mine—a mother of two—smoked pot. “But, you’re a mom!” I said.

“How do you think I can play Candyland ten times in a row?” she grinned.

Years and years later, a mom now myself, I’ve started noticing that a lot of my mom friends—maybe half of them—use marijuana. Subtly, discreetly, and always in moderation, they get stoned. It’s like the new parenting paradigm, replacing the 60s suburban housewives who used to unwind with “Mother’s Little Helper,” martinis, wine, or prescription pills.

These friends of mine are, across the board, the best mothers I know. They are not the ones who forget to pick up their kids, or sit their children in front of a TV all day, or hire nannies to entertain them. They are the moms who sit down and paint with their kids, take on one of the characters in their imaginary play, and spend precious time on walks looking at the flowers, playing in the dirt, splashing through the puddles. Their houses are clean, their kids eat home-cooked meals. They are the model of patience, always smiling, always using that calm mommy voice when they speak to their child. As the harried mother who is constantly nagging and tries so hard to maintain that patient demeanor and tone, I have to say I’m just a little jealous.

When my children were born, I resorted to voracious exercise, dragging them in baby carriers over unholy distances, and social media, with endless Facebook posts and rants, That worked OK. But I honestly don’t think it worked as well as pot. And my pothead mom friends also found time to exercise and check in on Facebook.

Don’t try this at home—unless you’re someone who’s already comfortable with pot. You don’t want to end up like those people who visit Telluride and hit The Green Room for the first time with a vengeance, ending up at the medical center, unsure why time seems to have slowed down and why they are so inexplicably nervous and can’t stop eating ice cream. Or like the person who dipped too heavy into the party favors and went skiing. They were utterly lost and tripped out and had to summon ski patrol. The radio chatter went something like this:

(static) Patroller who responded to “incident”: Um, we have a guest here who seems to be tripping or something. He is conscious but extremely anxious and unsure he can make it down the slope. His vitals are OK. Does anyone have any medical advice?

(long radio silence)

(static) Second patroller: Play him some Allman Brothers? (static, followed by giggling)

No doubt it was a much funnier story in the locker room than it was for the poor skier. But the point is that with everything you do, you need to be responsible. If you’re not sure you can function when you’re stoned, then you shouldn’t do it before you go skiing—or before you hang out with your kids.

Sure, some pothead moms are going to have that moment of hypocrisy when they find a Ziploc baggie of weed in their teen’s room and have to talk to them about it. But there are lots of things we do as adults that we won’t let our children do: drinking, sex, tattoos. So now that Colorado has legalized recreational marijuana for adults, it seems like it’s time to acknowledge the dirty little secret that so many moms are keeping stashed away. I don’t want to “out” any of my friends, but if you’ve ever wondered how those model moms do it, the perfect kids, clean house, patient smiles—it’s probably the pot.



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