I’m going through a difficult time. My husband is underemployed, and my job is very demanding and consuming. The hardest part is not seeing my kids as much as I’d like. And when stay-home mothers from my largely affluent suburb want to make small talk about their recent trip to Turks and Caicos or how they are so overwhelmed — though they have no jobs — with the task of adding a sunroom to their house or planning their child’s bar mitzvah, I want to clock them. I used to be a nice, patient person, and I would like to be again. In truth, I know I have many blessings, including a gorgeous rental home, two happy and healthy children, and a supportive family. But creeping bitterness makes me unable to do the suburban schmooze, and I don’t want to be that way.