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!!