My Hell Defined

I've been home with the boys for nearly 4 months now, and honestly, I'm still digging it. Especially to be home with them in the summer where we spend most of our time in the pool. I'm in better shape from my daily gym visits. Harrison's speech has improved greatly and although I wouldn't say the house has benefited much from my increased time at home, Jason doesn't gripe at me when things aren't perfect or he's run out of underwear. We're having fun and I'm looking forward to Jake's first day of school in less than three weeks.

What I have noticed the past 4 months is how everytime I take the boys somewhere where there are other kids playing, its obviously like a huge "Mommy and Me" hang out. Some moms alone watching their kids. Some moms in groups gossiping or comparing notes about who's kid did blah blah blah. Inevitably a mom will try to strike up conversation with me, which almost always starts out with, "which one is yours?" Ten minutes later I'm itching for a graceful exit, like, "oh, I think Harrison has shit his pants again, so I gotta run." I don't dig the mommy and me thing. I'm not there to build my mommy network and although I'm sure they are very very nice ladies and their kids perfect angels, I actually almost prefer to hang out with adults who don't have kids. Because, get this, I don't like to talk about my kids all day long. I love them and I think that's what I have my own Mother for. She's supposed to hear about the kids and act like she cares how many times Harrison pooped in the potty today. I have no interest boring my friends with that stuff and for the most part I don't want to pretend I care about a stranger's kids and their personality quirks or how old they are or trying to organize a play date.

Who came up with the term "play date?" Two completely fun words put together are now ruined with images of diapered toddlers with cracker crumbs on their face screaming for the toy they weren't playing with, but were looking at and someone else grabbed, while mommies are gabbing and mentally comparing how fantastic their own kid looks, smells, behaves, whatever next to all of the other kids in the group.

Mommy and Me. Play dates. That is my hell.

This staying home thing is a temporary pit stop on my way to the next stage in my career. At the latest when Harrison starts school, I will be suiting it back up and out the door with the other commuters, their coffee mugs and bluetooth conference calls at 8am.

I am lucky to have this option available to me, however temporary it might be.