Yay for the Encino Farmers Market. It is a perfect distance from my house for a Sunday morning stroll with our little red wagon. There is always a nice selection of local organics and also decent tacos. Plus MyKid gets to practice his extreme jumping skillz.
Okay this is embarassing but the truth about single motherhood must be told. It can be a solitary and um . . . lonely life. One wants some companionship and some adult human contact but you know, with MyKid and everything, achieving satisfaction can be delicate and rare.
Lately, however it would appear not totally impossible.
So this morning I found myself in one of those conversations with another mom that, while friendly, seemed fraught with underlying competitiveness. I often find myself buying into this and playing the game as enthusiastically as anyone. How do I fall into this so often? What about me needs to be the alpha mom? You should know, I am reluctant to blog this because it paints me in a very unflattering light. It is on my mind though.
I will try to set the scene.
Maybe this morning, it was because . . . there I was, already behind the game in that I am naturally dumpy, (oh okay, fat), frumpy and over forty and to top it off today, I have been under the weather. Frankly, I called in sick to work but had roused myself long enough to throw on some sweats and rubber clogs to run MyKid over to preschool where I could abandoned him for the day while I tried to sleep (hey, it was that or a day of Noggin) No make-up, teeth unbrushed. Hair not only unbrushed but snarled and greasy.
MyKid was wearing a too big tshirt from Walmart and stained chinos with his own head of messy hair. He is having a hard time with separation anxiety this week so school drop off has been challenging. MyKid is not really a social lion at his school. Other kids find him a little aloof and quiet, I think. He is the youngest in his class. He whispers a lot. He has one other friend. A quiet tiny Asian girl as reserved as he is. They cling to each other like shipwreck survivors all day long.
And there she was. The mom I have noticed since the first day. Young, supermodel beautiful, looking fit, fabulous and impeccable in her casual jeans and hip sweater. A classic MILF. I know she is the mom of two of the most popular kids in the whole preschool. I have seen her husband too. Handsome, older but still hip-looking, an air of wealth, appears to dote on her and their children. She drives one of those big fancy SUV that I eschew on ethical grounds but maybe secretly covet. I bet their home is unbelievable.
I've seen her a million times. She has smiled at me and I have tentatively smiled back. She seems nice, actually. We have never spoken. Why today?
She is sitting with her older son helping him with his morning snack she packed from home. Cut up fruit (undoubtedly organic), wheat toast, yogurt, and to top it off, a thermos full of herbal tea.
I had not had the energy to mix up MyKid’s usual Instant Breakfast Yogurt Drink which takes all of about 2 minutes. He is complaining and requesting juice and crackers and yogurt. I got nothing. I am trying to pacify him with offers of tap water and promises of the preschool-served morning snack, still a half hour away.
Her: (smiling brightly) Excuse me. I have seen you around a lot but we have never been introduced. I am Regina.
Me: Honey, hold on, Mama is talking. Oh hi, Regina, it is nice to meet you. I am Encinomom, MyKid’s mom. Hey, I noticed you seem to be in charge of the teacher appreciation breakfast next week. I have a question . . .
Her: Oh yes. Well, (she laughs here) I am not in charge. It is a joint project with [insert name of another preschool MILF]. We believe it is important to show the teachers our appreciation for all they do for the kids. Our committee is part of the parents group which has three components, teacher appreciation, fundraising, and parent advocacy. It was started 2 years ago by some of the Dinosaur parents. The teacher appreciation committee tries to hold 4 events a year. . . [blah blah blah] . . .
Then she stops and smiles brightly again. Now here is where I could be kind and sincerely thank her and, because I have truly been considering getting involved in the parent committee, ask when the next meeting is. But I am not kind. Instead . . .
Me: Oh. I am supposed to bring a fruit platter and all I wanted to know was how much to bring. (Burn!!! shouts the Kelso in my head.)
Her: (clearly feeling like an idiot and her smile less bright and more sheepish.) Oh God, I always say too much. I just went on and on, didn’t I?
Me: now that I have scored a point I can afford to be kind, to a point. Oh no that is okay. I do it all the time too. Then to soften it a bit. It was actually good information. I really like the teachers here. We moved here not long ago and this school has been one of the best things about being here.
Her: (raising an eyebrow) Really? We came from [insert name of movie studio subsidized well respected hard to get into preschool]. They had a 3 to one ratio all the way up to age 3. Paramount grants a million dollar subsidy each year so it is really nice.
Now to the uninitiated (or perhaps less cynical) she has successfully let me know both that her kids are from a prestigious preschool AND that she or her husband are ‘in the business.” How freaking glamorous, thinks messy-haired, frumpy, dumpy me.
At this point, her son hands her a pink block. She smiles indulgently and says: At my house I get to be the pink power ranger.
Me: The pink power ranger? Isn't that sweet? But seriously, she left herself wide open here. Has she never played before or what? Oh, that’s so cute. We have not really reached the Power Ranger Stage yet. We don’t watch a lot of TV. I lie. I confess we do enjoy the occasionally episode of [insert name of somewhat obscure, smart funny hip kid’s cartoon here], though. Take that, Pinkie.
Her: Oh yes, the production value on [hip kidster show] is fabulous. A friend does the animation and it really wonderful. Translation: not only am I hip enough to know about the show, I actually am friends with its creator and probably have advance DVDs of episodes your sorry kid has not even seen. That is how we roll. (Then lowering her voice and returning to the topic of her former glorious preschool days . . .) Frankly, it really took some getting used to coming here. We were used to so much more. It was really nice having that individual attention. They are great here but . . . well, you know, we are used to providing something a little more enhanced.
Me: Before I can shut up. Oh I totally feel you on that. I used to have a nanny. We really miss her. It cost a little more than regular daycare but worth the sacrifice for those important early years, you know. One-ups with the nanny card. Woohoo.
Final Score: Encinomom – 3. ReginatheMILF - 3, which sounds like a tie but the truth is I am still a frumpy, dumpy, 40 year old reluctantly single mom with a strange little kid and she is still . . . well a MILF. and a nice one at that. She wins.
My Rant: I have noticed since moving to Encino that sometimes when I tell people where I live they get this kinda impressed look on their face, like “ooohhh FAN cee.” That is probably because there are some really good parts of Encino, just ask Moon Unit and MJ- - they’ll tell ya.
I, however, do not live in one of the really good parts of Encino. In fact I might as well be living in Van Nuys. Apparently in my corner of Encino, it is acceptable to drag race down a quiet suburban street at 3:30 am, just ask my neighbors - - they’ll tell ya.
I have been down for the count with the flu for the past few days. Last night I was finally getting a decent night’s sleep until I heard the sound of a jet engine landing in my front yard. I peaked out the window and saw the newest car in my neighbor’s ever growing collection being parked in front of my house. The parking space was not to neighbor’s liking however, because he found it necessary to circle the block at a rather high rate of speed no less than three more times before finally parking in front of his own house and letting the jet engine idle for another 15 minutes. At this point, I sadly abandoned my hopes of sleep and got up to finish my book.
This morning I took a closer look. I think the transmission is gone but check out those bitchen rims.
My Rave: Although I live decidedly north of the Blvd, I also live very close to one of the largest urban parks in Los Angeles. Tonight was unseasonably warm. After I picked up MyKid, we decided to stop by the lake on the way home from preschool for an hour or so before going home to the grind of dinner, whining, bath, argument, story, tantrum, bed.
It ended up to be one of those really nice low-key special moments. The sunset was beautiful. Lots of people were out and about and in good moods. Other moms smiled at us and we smiled back. It felt a bit like summer in February. And best of all, MyKid went to bed relatively easily tonight. Sigh . . . 
