Real Life Mom Friends. Or lack thereof.

The other day #3 and I, in an attempt to stop being the sad sack of lonely pathetics we’ve become, decided to head out to have a play at the park.

We went to the “old” park, you know the one, with all the impractical metal slides and the super dangerous play ground equipment that has been banned in most states.

It’s my favorite because he likes to jump off the teeter-totter (seesaw for those of you that aren’t cool like me) when other kids aren’t suspecting it and I think that’s hilarious it’s usually empty.*

He ran around a bit, burned the shiz outta his hand on the metal slide, got his buns pinched on the swing, and fell offa the spider jungle gym.

So I put him on the merry-go-round so I could have a think (he can’t get off that thing no matter how hard he tries; it scrambles his brain) about why I was at the park all by my lonesome while all of the other moms were at other parks with their mom friends.

And guess what, I figured it out…

Top 10 Reasons I Don’t Have Any Mom Friends**

1.  I’m not a runner.  And, due to an unfortunate game of gene pool roulette, I can’t even pretend to be.  The only time I even look remotely like a runner is when I’m actively running.  I haven’t actively ran since Spring 2009.  So, I’m on the outs around here because these moms where I live are all over it.  It’s like a club.  The running-with-jogging-strollers-and-ridiculously-large-finger-bling club.  I don’t own a jogging stroller and, as my cupcakes-for-dinner regimen is in full swing, my finger bling doesn’t like to fit everyday.  Some days, but not everyday.  It’s not that they’re not nice, it’s that they’re not nice to me I’m not a good candidate for the club.

2.  I’m not crafty enough.  The anti-running-with-jogging-strollers-and-ridiculously-large-finger-bling club won’t have me either.  The chubby-crafting-know-it-all-moms don’t want to hang out with me because I can’t craft to save my life.  I mean, I send party evites.  Or party texts even, for crying out loud.  When I want fancy, hand crafted shiz I call BFF and get her to hook it up.  And, as for being a know it all, I just play one online.  I pretty much kick rocks and sweat myself silly in person, you know, as a way to demonstrate I know absolutely nothing.

3.  I drive a foreign car that’s NOT a minivan.  It’s an SUV but, from what I can tell, it’s not the right kind.

4.  I don’t use a baby voice or add a y to the end of words unnecessarily, as in, “Hey Buddy, did you see that car-y?!” when I talk to my Dude.

5.  I don’t intervene immediately when my kid sweeps another kids’ leg.  I like to watch him own other people’s kids let them work it out.

6.  I don’t smile enough.  I mean I smile a lot, but not like constantly.  I also have a bad habit of smiling inappropriately.  For example, you tell me your cat died and I just stand there, at a loss for words, cheesing away.  I know I shouldn’t be smiling, and I don’t think it’s funny per se, and I’m actively trying to stop, but the stupid cheesy-face-cheese-grin will not allow itself to be wiped from my face.  And, the more I try, the bigger it gets.  I don’t think people really like that.

7.  I don’t gossip good.  Not because I feel bad about it or whatever, I mean I enjoy a good gossip as next as the next gossip girl.  It’s just that, because no one ever tells me anything, I never have anything juicy to share back.  Gossiping is a two way street.  It’s way less fun when only one person is doing it, because then you just sorta feel like a biotch.  Moms don’t like to be made to feel like biotches.

8.  My kid is dirty.  Sometimes he’s downright filthy.  His hands are sticky (from eating donuts) and his feet stink (from wearing his cute rubber rain boots sans socks).  Sometimes, when I feel bad about his dirty-snot nose (which is pretty much never), I like to lick my finger and wipe his face with it.  Other moms carry wipes and they like pull them out and use them for stuff.  My wipes are all dried out in a holey Ziploc bag in the back of my foreign made SUV, because I’m a mom-gangster.  Mom-gangsters get a bad rep, that’s what I think anyway. 

9.  My kid is a genius.  And, he’s abnormally big.  From what I can tell, the fact that he’s physically and mentally advanced (seriously, it’s been confirmed by a medical professional) pisses other moms off.  They actually get mad because #3 can steal the ball from their kid on the field (he’s not enrolled in soccer, he’s just there a lot)and count to 20 (in two languages) and go commando like a 4 year old.  Also, due to his oversizedness and his man-like facial hair, I’m starting thing he’s actually going through puberty at the age of 2.  The other day, someone even asked me to prove that he was 2.  I mean, she acted like she was joking, but I could tell she meant it.  Her inappropriate smile gave her away.  It was twitching.

10.  I don’t give a f^@k.  I mean I do, but I sorta don’t.  I wear scrunchies in public (although I am trying to stop thanks to an intervention by BFF), I let The Dudes eat Pop Tarts (they have 25% less sugar though, so that’s gotta count for something), and I don’t always answer the phone when the teacher calls (only because I know she just wants me to volunteer and I can’t, and I always email her later).  So I may be lonely and dirty and lazy and slightly overweight with the drawing skills of a 15 month old, but at least my kid is super smart with a grown-man-stache.  And, I’m smiling like a mofo.

Parks with merry-go-rounds may be few and far between these days, but they are PERFECT for social, outcast blogging moms of baby geniuses with snotty noses and a pair of wicked-funky rain boots.  And, Mama Kat sorta has a thing for them.***

*I don’t actually let him dumbo drop other kids offa the teeter-totter, it’s just happened, like four times once.  Don’t judge me, I don’t laugh out loud, well I don’t anymore:).

**Don’t get me wrong, I have friends. It’s just that some of them aren’t moms and the ones that are, aren’t cool around a lot.

***This post has been an integral part of Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop.  She needs me, she really, truly does.

Tagged as: do you even like you, how to make people like you, make new friends, why no one likes you