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Not too long ago, Hal and I spent some time in Austin, TX. It was an actual vacation, because we left the kids with Mimi. Over the course of our little getaway, our good friends Owen and Jodi Edgerton reintroduced us to a world we had almost forgotten ever really existed. A world full of Jazz clubs and Blues haunts. Of laughter late in the night and early into the morning. Of philosophical talks over lingering cups of coffee. Real coffee. The kind that holds up your spoon once you stop stirring. The kind that I remember from my college days at Captain Quackenbush's Café.

As we sat and talked about old times, I remembered that I used feel right at home in a place like Quack's Cafe. I used to read philosophy. I used to be hungry for knowledge. I used to see live music, even if it was bad. I used to. I used to. Now, instead of reading Hume and Kant, I read about the grooming habits of prarie dogs as I help my kids with their homework. And I spend more time in my minivan than I ever thought possible, driving to birthday parties for kids I don't even really know.

After heading home and sliding back into routine, something just didn’t sit well with me. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was tangible nonetheless. I tried to push away this gnawing sense of malaise and convince myself that I should be exceedingly happy. I had everything I’d always wanted: an adoring husband, two beautiful children, and a quaint, brick house with a fenced-in backyard. My house is just down the street from a nice shopping center with a Super WalMart where I can go to find anything I could ever want. I can even drive through the Starbucks next door for a Vanilla Latte on the way home.

Suddenly, my throat started to close as I connected the dots.

• My subdivision actually has a white picket fence.

• I only go to chain restaurants.

• An adventurous evening is wondering if tonight's CSI episode will be new or a rerun.

• People actually refer to me as “Hannah and Brandon’s Mom”.

I now knew exactly what had been bothering me, bubbling beneath the surface on my Texas trip. Somewhere between college and now, I had officially turned into one of... them. I became a minivan driving, cell-phone wearing, bland, boring, suburbanite soccer mom. Oh, the siren call of Starbucks and suburbia!!! I not only enjoy vanilla latte, I AM vanilla latte! How did this happen? When exactly did my battle cry change from, “I am woman hear me roar!” to,”I am mother, watch me bore!”?

The horror! The horror! I always promised myself that I wouldn’t become that woman. My shoulders slumped as I contemplated a future filled with a comfortable pair of Mom Jeans and a hand sanitizer key chain. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my once active brain came the words of the great poet, Dylan Thomas. As clear as day, I heard his voice plead with me from the grave…

“Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, Rage against the dying of the light!”

And for the first time, that poem made total sense to me. Thomas was right. Even though the end may be inevitable, I must go down fighting. I must resist the tractor beam of suburbia and all of its numbing paraphernalia. I knew then what I must do. I must rise up and boldly call out others just like me.

Oh, yes, there are others. I’ve seen them out there. You just have to look in the right places. They lurk in the classics section of Barnes and Noble, sneaking a peek at Jane Eyre before heading to Mommy and Me class. They sit on the fringe of the playground group and feign interest as the other mothers talk about which preschool program offers the most mental stimulation for their precocious geniuses. Oh, yes, they are out there. And they need my help.

I will form a new kind of mom. I will unite the multitude of mothers who have been liberated by our feminist predecessors only to be shackled by our own chains of mommy guilt. Our motto will be, They may take away our free-time, but they will never take our freedom! We will not resign ourselves to scrap-booking clubs and PTO meetings as our sole source of sisterhood. We will refuse to throw our full selves into the lives of our children. We will have lives of our own!

Instead of settling down for a dose of reality TV, we will venture downtown for the ultimate reality shows - live entertainment, art, music, CULTURE!!!!! We will schedule time alone doing only adult activities. During such time, no talk of children's accomplishments or interior decorating feats of strength will be allowed. We will resolve never again to send out those annoyingly chipper Christmas update letters that self-servingly gloat about our harmonious families. We will again experience life as it was meant to be lived. With passion! With vigor! With real coffee!!! We will hunt and we WILL find a coffee shop like Quack's Cafe where we can gather and talk about important events and social issues. What's that, you ask? When will I begin my mommy movement? Let me check my calendar. This week's booked with baseball and band concerts - next week's no good because of class parties and chorus. The kids are just so busy these days. I'll tell you what, as soon as things settle down, I'll get right on it.