Sunday, December 11, 2011

Dating newly divorced dads is a bad idea, and this is why....

So after 2 years of self imposed celibacy/non dating, I decided to put my toe in slowly...and accepted a date with a parent of my child's classmate...he had been interested in me for a bit, apparently, and reached out on a social networking site.  Pretty innocuous start, some light messages, texts, etc.  Met for drinks a few weeks ago.  I made it clear going in that I only had a certain window of time (1 hr) due to work conflict...he managed to guilt me into staying for over 2 hrs...(first sign).

It was fine, no vibes felt on this side of the bar stool, though.  I figured, hey, he's nice and we are friends.  Bonus.  Apparently the vibes were one sided, though...cause he went in for the post date kiss, which led to about 10 minutes of uncomfortable small talk as I tried to explain that I *really had to go home...NOW*.

Drove home, though nothing of it.  He's a friend.  Awesome.

Apparently, in his mind, we were destined to be not only lovers, but married and have kids and live forever and ever in a big house with kids, a white picket fence and 2 dogs.  He sent many texts, first nice, then prodding, then progressively needier.  I felt awful.   He was smothering me after 1 semi-half, non-date date.

I tried to put him off, said I was *really busy* with work and stuff.  Delayed in getting back to him for a day or two.  It didn't help at all.  In fact, it made him want me more.  WTF.  I do not play games.  If I do not respond to you, it is because I am not interested.  Plain and simple.

Apparently, he didn't get the hint.  Kept pushing to see me.

Finally, last weekend, I responded that I was out running errands and we should get coffee.  My plan was to let him down gently.  He did not see it that way.  Said he was out with his kids and could we hang out, see a movie.  Um, no.  I said we could get coffee another date.  Cause coffee is pretty clearly NOT a date, right??? 

Well, he hunted my down (with his kids in tow) at a big box store.  AWKWARD.  So I ran my errands with him and his kids following me.  His youngest kid actually said "you know, everyone thinks you are my mommy now!"

*shudder*

Ok, fine.  I left.  They went on their way.  I got a flurry of texts asking to see me, etc.  Well, I was busy.  ALL WEEK.  And I said so.  Many phone calls later, pleading texts, etc.  I had to end it.

12 days after our first (and only) date, I had to let him down and call it a day.  He had sent like 10 texts in a 3 hr window...I responded that I just didn't have time, sorry.  I am not trying to date anyone.  But we can be friends.

That didn't go over well.  4 more texts and a LONG ASS email later...begging me to call. 

Fine, I waited until the next day and called.  From the parking lot of a store as I was running errands.  what should have been a 5 minute call turned into 30 minutes of me explaining 10 different ways WHY I WAS NOT GOING TO DATE YOU.

No, you cannot change my mind.

No, I will not reconsider.

No, begging won't help.

No, we do not have a connection.

Yes, this is different than my other boyfriends, in that I WANTED to date them.

Yes, you will find love again.

No, I am not sorry we hung out...but

Yes, we can only be friends.

No, we will never be more than friends.

Yes, I am sure.

No, asking me to give it a try won't help.

No, it isn't you.  It REALLY is me.  As in, I do not want to date you.

Thank you. 

As we were hanging up he asked me to call him later so we could talk *more*.

No, we will not.  I hung up and feel that I adequately explained why our 1 drink date will not turn into the next "great love story" and I do not want to rehash it again.

Why?   Let's think this out:

I do not know your middle name.  Or even how to spell your first name.  I do not know where you live.  I do not know what you do for a job.  You do not know what I do or where I live.  I do not know (or care to know) your favorite music, movies, color, any allergies you may have.  I do not know (or care) if you like cats, dogs, lizards, sheep, etc.  I do not know how old you are.  I do not care if you want more kids or a wife or if you hope to move to Alaska one day.  I do not care who you sleep with or what you do with your free time.

Do you know why?  Because I do not want to date you.  You scared me with your intensity and the way in which you thought, in your mind, that we had some insane connection.

I am gun shy as it is.  I do not date well.  I get scared easily, like a foal being put in in the ring for the first time with a saddle on her back.  I shudder and run when people come at me professing love like a crazy stalker after spending 2 hrs with me.

Yes, I am flattered.  Sure, being told I am beautiful is nice.   Hearing that I am funny and smart is great.  But dude, chill the eff out.

No more dates until 2013...

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Foodtarded

So a general rule of thumb I have is pretty simple- no cooking.  I don't like it, I suck at it, I avoid it.  I can DO it...but I have to want to and even then I don't really have any specialties.  I make a mean grilled cheese.  I don't think that counts.  But I have 3 variations- plain cheese, cheese and avocado, and ham and cheese.  That is as creatively culinary as I get.  If I do decide to fix something more complicated (Easter brunch comes to mind, I attempted pancakes, sausage, and scrambled eggs) I'm usually so done with cooking at the end that I've lost my appetite and don't want to eat whatever it is that I slaved over a hot stove to make.

Tonight, though, I decided vegetarianism might not be a bad thing.  Because I attempted to...make tacos.  It was a disaster, I am sitting here eating dinner as I type, and it isn't tacos.  It is peanut butter and honey toast and a nice crisp apple.  I don't mind the effort of cooking.  I do mind cooking RAW MEAT.  I don't know how people do it.  It is pink.  Red is not dead.  It is fragrant.  It is fatty drippy GROSS.

Me at the start- This looks easy.  Skillet?  Got it.  Ground turkey?  Got it.  Open turkey package.  Dump turkey in skillet.  Turn on stove.  Wait for sizzling.  Break up with utensil.  More sizzling.  More breaking up with utensil. 

Me in the middle-  This neither looks or smells good.  Well, you like tacos. Not just like tacos, love tacos! They will be delicious.  You will put seasoning and think of your childhood and it will be worth it.

Me towards the end-  Oh my I think I am going to pass out.  Boyfriend walks in.  Asks if I am OK.  Notices my pallor and says he will take over.  NO NO NO.  I CAN DO THIS.  GO AWAY.

2 minutes later- Boyfriend, come here, I can't do this anymore, SAVE ME, GET IN HERE NOW.  NOW! 

Ah food and cooking.  Something so simple, so elemental, something that most people don't think about....I wish it was easier for me...

~J

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Mother's Day Guilt, Table of 1

Motther's Day.  The ONE friggin' day of the year when mothers are supposed to be cherished, revered, spoiled, pampered and all around given the day off from "mom duty."  But for Single Mom's, like me and J, it is just a regular day on the job.  We don't have husbands to take over so we can go to the Red Door Spa and get the "works" of a massage, facial, mani/pedi.  Hell, we don't even get to rest.  We get ANOTHER day off custody to spend with our screaming kid by ourselves.

Yes, we get the requisite card and gift.  But at the end of the day, our kids don't get that it is supposed to be a special day.  They need to be fed.  Their butts need to get wiped.  They demand toys.  They throw tantrums.  They need to be bathed.  They NEED NEED NEED. 

Does it make me a bad mom to have dropped my kid off at his dads at 6pm so I could get some quiet time?  Some alone time?  So I could find 15 minutes to change my sheets on my bed and polish my nails?  Cause I feel guilty.  Like the worst kind of guilt.

Every year before this I have dutifully kept my son on Mother's Day while quietly stewing inside.  Wishing my stupid ex husband hadn't left.  I have always been alone with my son on Mother's Day.  We go out and I feel like other mom's look at me and think "aw, that poor single mom...no man to love her" and I feel  like a pariah. 

This year my ex boyfriend was kind enough to spend the day with us, and that was awesome.  He didn't do much other than chase the kid around a museum, but he did take tons of pictures of me with the kid.  That is a first.  On previous years there have been no photos taken of us together.  No photographic evidence that I celebrated Mother's Day.  So that was nice.  But I still made lunch, did nap time, etc.  No help there.  The ex is great - good looking, kind, funny, my kid thinks he is a superhero, etc.  But not much in the "fathering" department comes to mind.  I guess vomit doesn't scare him, so that is a bonus....

So yeah, I did the "Mom" thing all day.  It is 7:45pm.  I am in pjs.  Laundry is in.  I ate a pb sandwich for dinner cause I am too lazy to go to the grocery store.  I am going to do my nails and hopefully crawl into bed by 9pm. Probably won't happen...but I will shoot for it.

Does this make me a bad mother?

Die PMS, die!!!

Watch out.  I'm going to go off.  I'd bust a cap in someone's ass if I had a cap for busting or even an ass handy. (I'm home alone, fortunately, you are welcome, world).  I can feel it bubbling up to the surface like an overboiling pot of water or even more accurately, like a dam that is about to burst at the seams and send an entire lake full of water rushing down towards a small unsuspecting town.  Run for your lives, people.  Run for your lives.

It's that time of month.

I am on edge.  I am pissed off.  I even know why I am pissed off, yet I am helpless to change it.  Damn PMS just needs to run it's damn course so I can feel human again.  It's bad enough that my uterus feels like it is twisting into balloon animals.  I can deal with that. They even make pills for that. Cramps are minor compared to this frickin MONSTER I have become. I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to do anything, if you are in my way, get OUT of it, because I am not moving, even if I technically wasn't I will be operating on the following principles for the next 3-7 days:

1.  I was here first.
2.  I am always right

I love Mexican food and I bought a tamale.  It tasted like ass.  I am pissed.  It is a one day sale at Macy's so I went.  They didn't have any good shoes.  I am pissed.  I went to DSW to salvage the shoe situation.  Still no good shoes.  I am pissed.  I went to Costco so my daughter could snack on samples (a favorite pastime of hers) and we waited for 10 minutes at the ham station, and it could have been done faster, but the sample lady was gabbing instead of doing her job, so we had to wait.  I am pissed.  The weekend is almost over, I have nothing to show for it, I have to go back to work tomorrow.  I AM PISSED.

Consider yourself warned...

~J

Monday, April 11, 2011

The "I miss my baby girl" ramble

So I keep trying to type a blog, and I keep erasing what I wrote.  I was going to write the West Coast version of "how do you know when you shop too much" and didn't get anywhere.  I was going to write "I hate minivans with the passion of nine million burning suns" and didn't get anywhere.

I was supposed to have my daughter tonight but I switched with my ex, and I miss her.

I DID shop tonight...I got her the cutest little pair of bright pink, orange, and green sandals with flowers on them.  My daughter isn't a girly girl, she is more of a tomboy, but she loves bright colors.  These are just her style.  I didn't buy anything for myself...although I did look (I passed up a Splendid cowl neck sweater on sale at Anthropologie).  Side note, even if I don't buy anything at Anthro, that store just has the most calming vibe.  They have such cool visual displays.  I wish my house looked like that...

Back on track.  Whatever track that is!

Sharing sucks.  I mean, a few hours a week of a break is enough for me.  I would much rather have my daughter than not.  I don't care if she whines, I don't care if she resists bedtime, I don't care if I can't get her to eat a vegetable even if it was coated in chocolate and baked into a cookie.  Everything that is hard about being a mom goes away when that little person climbs into your lap, puts their arms around you, and says "I love you mommy."

She comes home tomorrow.  I can't wait!

~J

How do you know you shop too much???

Answer: when you walk through the mall and imaginary price tag bubbles pop up on people's clothes...because you can look at at least 90% of stuff women are wearing and know (a) where they got it, (b) what season it came from, (c) how much it cost - originally AND on sale and (d) what mall it was from. 

See, I shop alot.  I don't really buy much...seeing as single mom's who work for the govenment and owe more in student loans then I will ever make in a 5 year period rarely BUY many things.  But I look.  And I try things on.  And I IMAGINE what I would buy if I miraculously came upon a money tree (the one my parents swore didn't grow in our backyard, but I secretly thought did until I was, oh, 19)...

So the other night I was walking around the mall, per the usual "kid free night activity"...and I saw lots of people.  Teen girls, moms, old ladies...and I started to notice a pattern.  I could tell where the clothes was from.  And this is not "labeled" clothes, ala Seven jeans or polo shirts.  No, this was sweaters from Kohls, a tee shirt with ruching from Gap (spring 2010) and Nine West nude heels (holiday 2010)...I could IDENTIFY random stranger's clothes.  And I knew (roughly) what they paid...either full price or sale.   Because a good shopanista always knows the sale price of things they covet.

And I started to feel guilty.  Like I was peering into these women's closets and wallets and could identify how much money they had.  Were they frugal buyers who only splurged on a few nice things or shopaholics who waited and stalked clothes and bought tons of sale at the end of the season...

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Style Snaps Suck

There isn't much to add other than the title...

You know the premise- a way to hem pants (and they have other handy uses!  Tame that unruly shirt collar!  Stick down that annoying belt overage!) that doesn't involve a trip to the tailor.

Well.  I imagine they might work on straight leg styles, and if you are trying to shorten pants longer than an inch. I am tall...I only need half an inch, maybe an inch shorter.  I followed the instructions.  Turn pants inside out.  Carefully affix 4 style snaps near the hem.  Get out ruler and measure.  Carefully affix the 2nd side of the style snap to the folded hem.  Turn pants outside in.  Put pants on.  

They are the correct length, I will give them that...for about 5 minutes and then the sticky unstuck.

I will be making a trip to the tailor.

~J

Friday, April 1, 2011

Younger Men vs Older Men

As a single mom, I find myself lost as to who I "should" be dating.  My family (ahem, my mom) keeps telling me I need to find an "older, stable guy."  I think she pictures me with a 40-something guy who owns his own home, has a generous 401k, drives a volvo or camry, has a stable job with upward mobility, a closet full of chinos, blue and white button down starched shirts, red and blue striped ties and "sensible" shoes.  He doesn't own a pair of designer jeans, shops only when he needs to and tends to buy 5 of the same thing at one time.  He may be losing his hair a bit, but he honestly doesn't care.  He eats healthy and is past the bar scene.  He doesn't keep up with the latest music and avoids going out past 10pm.

Sounds good...if I am looking forward to getting into bed at 9pm, spending weekends at farmers markets and home depot, plan on only having sex on "scheduled nights" and am ok with SUPER boring life.

ARHGHGHGHGHG.  I want to scream.  I hate those guys.

So who do I want?  I want a 23 - 29 year old guy, out of college, maybe a few tattoos.  Still likes to go out to bars, but is past the "drinking till I black out or pass out covered in puke" stage.  A guy who likes sports, but doesn't live at the sports bar with his stupid friends, covering his face in paint and screaming at the tv.  I want a guy who is cool with me having a kid, but isn't trying to be his dad and would prefer to be the fun friend to my kid.  I want the guy who still LOVES to have sex, doesnt object to dirty texts, but also isn't out chasing every piece of tail he sees.  I want a guy who doesn't MIND farmers markets of home depot, but also loves to see crazy movies and make out in the back row, to hit Georgetown and shop at fancy stores or just go play at Dave and Buster's or paintball.  I want a guy who can do his own laundry and doesn't wear crazy ripped old tee shirts from high school, but he hasn't given up on dressing kind of cool. 

I guess even though I am approaching my mid-30's, I refuse to get out of my 20's mentally.  In my mind, I am 25.  I look 25, I feel 25, I think like a 25 year old.  I refuse to give in to the "mom" title and give up on myself.

I dress nicely, I keep my hair long.  I wear nice makeup and occassional go "all out" with colorful Urban Decay eyeliner - IN THE DAYTIME.  I wear designer jeans, but I also love my old Levi's and Gap jeans.  I don't push it and sport leggings, even though I can get away with it.  I don't do crazy hair color anymore...although I am tempted to put in a few magenta streaks in...just for fun.  I wear stilettos, but not the cheap, slutty ones from Bakers of Aldo...I prefer high quality from Nordstrom or Saks.  I read fashion magazines, although my taste is more Allure or Marie Claire than Seventeen...

Where was I going with this?  Ah yes, the debate about what type of guy I should date....men in their 20's or 40's.   I am sure I am going to end up with the title "cougar" at some point, and I am fine with that.  Truthfully, I don't know if I'd be ashamed to be out at 40 with a 24 year old guy.  I am still not obviously that much older yet.  I think I would be a bit embarrased about it, to be quite honest.  I think by that point I'd be keeping the 24 year old on reserve as a booty call, versus a "real relationship"...but that doesn't mean I will settle for a 40 year old.  I look at the ads on guys in that age bracket on craigslist and online dating sites and the guys look SO DAMN OLD.  They are losing their hair, bellies are expanding, upper arms and back are hairy, teeth are yellowing, wrinkles settling in...and that is just GROSS to me.  So yeah, I'll work it with 20 year olds until I cant do it anymore...and then I'll move on the 30 year olds ;)

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Where does a hot, single mom meet a guy??

No, really...where do I FIND A GUY?  I find that as I get older, it is harder and harder to meet a nice guy.  Screw the whole "single mom" thing...that is an excuse out of shape moms use.  Guys don't care that I am a mom, really.  I am still as hot as I was before.  I fit into the same clothes, my ass hasn't fallen and I didn't get fat.  Outside of the screaming kid chasing me yelling "mommmmmmm...buy me this toy" in the mall, it isn't obvious that I AM a mom (although I readily volunteer it at every chance). 

Here is my problem - most of my friends are still married.  For now ;)  They aren't dying to hang out with me lately...they prefer to hang out with their "families"...pffft.  Screw that.  I am too old to go to bars and clubs.  Seriously, some of these kids could be MY kids (had I starting pushing babies out at 16)...it is creepy. 

I am not against dating younger guys, in fact most of the guys I am interested in are in their 20's...some are in their early 20's...I refuse to date 40 year olds...they seem so OLD and STABLE and I am not looking for stable.  I was married.  I was a wife.  I am a mom.  I don't need stable in my free time.  I need fun, carefree...a chance to go back a bit...live a little.

So what do I do?  Online dating has been a bust.  I am creeped out and refuse to introduce anyone to my kid.  Half because I need to protect him, half because I am afraid his stubborn, crazy streak will scare men away.   I think I am going to start hanging out at Home Depot or Best Buy in tight jeans with a confused look on my face.  I am sure some guy will ask if I need help...

If you have a better suggestion, post in comments.  I am the east coast mama, fyi...in case that helps.

~ S

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be harlots

For shame, Abercrombie and Fitch.  Offering padded bikini tops for KIDS.  I have a daughter.  She is 4.  The way I see it, she can wear Hello Kitty for the next 14 years and I would be perfectly happy.  Now, I realize I have several years yet until she becomes a teenager and I have to worry about these things (although apparently, they're are starting early these days).  What is wrong with kids just being kids???

My daughter's daycare used to be across the street from a local high school.  At dropoff time, I would have to carefully navigate my way through the throng of teens on their way to class.  Now, I am no prude- but where are these kids parents???  There is no way, absolutely no freaking way, that my daughter will ever, EVER be going to school in shorts so short they barely cover her...um...assets.  Pair this with low cut tank tops and push up bras and they might as well all be headed to a stripper convention instead of learning algebra or english.  What's next, pole dancing lessons in PE?

There is a time and a place for looking sexy, and yes, I am definitely of the "if you've got it, flaunt it" mentality, but not at elementary school, middle school, or even high school.  Wait until you go to college and THEN become one of the "girls gone wild" if you are so inclined.  

Bring back the one-piece!
 
~J

Pink my A$$

So yesterday I ventured to Victoria's Secret with a mission- to obtain 7 pairs of panties for $25.  Generally I do not care about underwear, no one sees it except me.  I mean, even if I were in an accident (knock on wood) and the paramedics had to see me in my skivvies, I figure they have more important things to worry about.  Like saving my life.

Victoria’s Secret intimidates me  I don’t know why.  It is just a store.  And I love to shop.  I mean, LOVE.  You would think I would feel right at home.  I think it is the undergarment aspect of it.  I don’t want strangers seeing if I prefer briefs or thongs. It took years for me to find out my correct bra size, I was stuffing the girls into a B cup until I finally consented to get measured and discovered I was actually a C.   Which, on a side note, yay, and I didn’t even need to consult with a plastic surgeon.

So I walked in and immediately joined the fray of dozens of women digging through drawers and pawing through piles of tiny scraps fabric.  Ignored them.  Seven.  Pick seven.  This is not a big deal.  The display is chaos.  I feel bad for the sales associates having to re-sort and put it all back.  I feel bad for ME having to try and find my size.

I’m sure most of you are familiar with the Victoria’s Secret Brand Pink, which was what was on sale today.  Bright.  Skimpy.  Not really my style, I am a 30 something single mom after all.  But I figure I can get all black, or plain colors.  THIS IS AN IMPOSSIBLE TASK.  I don’t want cherries, I don’t want polka dots, I don’t want “Spend the night” emblazoned in glitter across my ass. The leopard print intrigued me but they didn’t have my size.  What I do want? Is to LEAVE. After what seemed like forever, I had seven pairs of semi-plain lacy panties clutched in my fist.  I made my way up to the register and got in line.  My phone went off.  As any modern girl would do, I took it out and checked it.  “Miss?  Are you ready?”  Crap.  I was one of those rude spacey cell phone customers.  I thought the line was longer.

I handed the panty wad to the checkout girl.  She carefully unfolded each one and scanned it.  This was taking forever.  I wanted my panties paid for, in the bag, so I could get out of there.  “Um, you need 2 more hon.”  WHAT?  I can count.  I had seven.  I swear I had seven.  “Are you sure?”  She held each one up individually.  I could hear the snickers in the line behind me. “One.  Two. Three. Four. Five.” “What happened to the bright pink ones?” I asked.  She gave me the death stare.  “OK, save those, I’ll be right back.” I hurried back to the display.  And couldn’t decide.  I could see the checkout girl watching me.  I felt like the whole store was watching me.  The whole store was watching me choose underwear. Awful. I grabbed two random pairs and hurried back up to the register, where I paid and pretended to listen to her rattle off about whatever rewards promotion card buy one get one whatever blah blah blah thing they have going on right now.

I brought my pretty pink striped bag home and opened it up to put my purchase in the wash.  My plain, simple, lacy panties?  All have the following slogan sewn on the tag:  “Heart your Cheeks.”  I really wonder at the wisdom of whoever dreamed THAT up, because unless you are a supermodel, or a gorgeous actress, most women do NOT love their cheeks.

Thanks, VS.
 
~J

The single mom "split mom personality" disorder

Single moms who are fortunate enough to have a father figure who regularly take our kids for periods of time suffer from what I call "split mom personality" disorder.  This disorder is characterized by being forced to live a dual life of Mom and Single Woman...

Mom:  We spend our days (and nights) caring for our kids, shuttling to and from school/daycare and all activities, prepare healthy(ish) meals and snacks, kiss all boo-boos, do bathtime, read stories, locate and kill all monsters in closets/under beds/in the shadows, listen to copious amounts of "sing a long" songs in the car, watch too many hours of SpongeBob, superhero or Dora, clean up piles of legos and barbie dolls, say the word "no" approximately 100 times per hour, get up at 6am and spend tons of time at parks and playgrounds in comfortable pants and sneakers.

Single Woman:  Sleep until 7am (amazing), watch adult tv with no cartoon characters/superheroes/singing animals, clean up mess left from kid's previous stay at home.

So here is the dilemma - when our kids are here, we are frazzled and exhausted from doing it all ourselves.   We look at the calender and count the hours until we have some free time...we love our kids more than life, but we relish the day that we just get to be alone...Yet when that day comes, we have nothing to do.  We clean up in 15 minutes.  We sit on the sofa and look at the stack of magazines on the coffee table that looked so good just the day before and realize they are boring and not applicable to our lives anymore.  I have no need for 4 inch sexy heels.  I have no reason to buy a $2,000 designer purse.  I do not care about what is going on with Kim Kardashian or Jennifer Aniston.  

Pre-kid I used to have tons of ways to fill my free, single girl life.  I'd shop.  Buy copious amounts of impractical and overpriced clothes, shoes and makeup.  I'd meet friends for happy hours that would turn into nights out until 3am.  I'd go dancing, make out with hot foreign guys at clubs with thumping house music.  I rarely called my mom and had no real reason to go home unless it was for a holiday meal of some sort.   I got regular mani/pedis and my hair always had wonderful, blonde, spindly highlights.  My clothes didn't have stains or ripped hems.  I was put together, vain, shallow and selfish.

Now, my single woman time is different.  I walk into my kids room and clean up his stuff.  I smell his pillow.  I hug his stuffed animals.  I can hear his giggles as I make his stuffed animals come to life and dance for him as he drifts off to sleep.  I forget all the "no's" I had to yell just the day before.  I forget the messes he made, all the frustration and anger and exhaustion.  I miss him.  I get teary eyed.  I walk over to my calendar and count the hours until he comes back.  Because without him, I am just a mom without a kid.  I dont know how to be a single woman anymore.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

The "hidden" single mom...

Walking the mall lately is becoming tedious...especially when my kid isn't with me.  I see these cute little families, moms and dads with their babies in strollers....and I look at their kid and I smile.  Because I love kids.  I love babies.  I see a cute baby and I smile...but sometimes I get a glare from the mom.  Especially if I am dressed up and show no signs of being a mom myself. 

So I feel the urge to scream "I am a mom too..."  It's like without the kid with me, the frazzled hair, the "suburban mom" outfit of jeans and sneakers and a zip up sweatshirt, I look like some creepy woman smiling at your kid.   The worst is when I am dressed nice - heels, tight jeans, etc and the dad checks me out and the mom is in the "suburban mom" outfit...and I can tell that she just wants to smack me. 

I find myself trying to find a way to sneak in a comment, like "aw, he is so cute...my son was never that quiet when he was that age...." just to ease the tension.  Especally if we are in an elevator or other confined space.  Eh...maybe it's all in my head.  But when my kid isn't with me, I feel like a fake mom.  I feel like I need to TELL people that I have a kid. 

Welcome!

My first little blog post ever...WELCOME!!