The hook to “Big Little Lies” is that we know a murder in has been committed at a posh elementary school fundraiser, but we don’t know who is dead and who did it. But that device is really a hook into viewing the bizarre power dynamics that can occur when you combine affluence, small children and helicopter moms with a bit of history together.

There’s a lot to like in the performances of “Big Little Lies,” particularly Reese Witherspoon’s. Still, this is not everyone’s cup of tea. Vox’s Todd VanDerWerff complains about the “simplistic scripts that lack subtext and seem to tread water between big moments.” And then there’s the fact that much of the drama of the first few episodes revolves around a child’s birthday party. This might be off-putting to those who don’t have kids:

To these carping critics, I say: Raise some children and get back to me. Because as a parent, the primary feeling watching this show engenders is PTSD.

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Live in a small community with some degree of affluence and parenting drama is a logical outcome. Inevitably, someone does not get invited to someone else’s event, and social circles harden just a little bit. Adults can tolerate social slights directed at them; those directed at their children bring out an altogether different kind of reaction, bordering between rage and self-righteousness. Whatever it is, it’s potent. And mini-traumas like who declines a birthday party invitation, or who is not even invited in the first place, linger in a parent’s memory. This is particularly true for smart, ambitious people who are primarily stay-at-home parents.

As a colleague once put it to me, the problem with arranging a play-date for your young child is that it’s really a double-date. You are hoping that your kid makes a friend and that you can enjoy the parent’s company. It’s great when that works out, but often only one of those two dyads pans out, raising the specter of palpable awkwardness for years to come.

I should stress that these scars fade quickly as one’s child leaves sweet childhood for surly adolescence. Watching “Big Little Lies,” however, has reminded me of those years and how bewildering they can be.

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