You know the scene. 80 degrees outside. Park is packed. Bikes, dogs, babies, ice cream, screaming, dirty children, pollen, moms, and…DADS. Everywhere all over the place. Don’t get scared – this is NOT a blog about trying to get a husband, or always needing a husband, or even wanting a husband. I am happy where I’m at in my life, but there are times when it would be, I dunno, kinda groovy and useful to have a mister tag along. Mostly, when I’m at the park. Where I’m from, I never felt out of place being a single mom. It was like a nose piercing – people notice it but it doesn’t inspire a reaction anymore. Where I am now…well, let’s just say that not less than two weeks ago a Southern, erm, “gentleman” remarked, “Girl it must be hard on you wid’ dim’ kids all to yaself, you need a husband, don’t you?” To which I graciously replied, “Well becau-, I did’n-, I had one but they- the people- too many folla- muhdda…bala… mobin.” Yes, I know that’s not English. It’s Surprisedanese. I frankly didn’t know what to say so I started mumbling like the incapable, husbandless nut I am. -_- But I digress. And I will do that often. See I’m digressing from the digression. Okay I’m going to stop now please save yourself and just go to the next paragraph.
Where I live now, not having a husband is like…like…not having eyebrows. It’s not a legal requirement, it’s not completely necessary for life, but people WILL wonder about you, and they maaay not be able to wait until you look away, before they make their “wondering” face. Especially if you have not just a child, but childREN. As in mo’ than one. I have two. And not a man in sight. I do date, but never with my children, and that’s a later post. So when we go out, it’s the three of us. And all the Dang Park Daddies (or the DPD as I call them when I talk to myself at the Dang Park). Seriously, there are times when seeing all the “whole” families tugs at my heartstrings. I love to see the girls being pushed on the swings by their fathers, and the idea of having someone ELSE pull my heavy toddler off the screaming, terrified, Asian baby…brings tears to my eyes. And, sometimes, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone there enjoying my children as much as I do. Someone I could share my experiences with. There’s my mom but she thinks I’m a crazy attachment parent, which I am, so there’s NOT my mom. I’m the eldest child and my sister closest to me in age lives 12 hours away by car. I don’t know many moms in my area who parent the way I do, and The Coach Bag Catties (what I call the playground cliques), well, IF they are still considering giving me a chance after they see me in my bare feet in the dirt with my toddler, they change their minds once she screams, “MOM I SO HOT I SO TIRED AND I NEED TO NURSE OKAAAAAAAAY?!” So. There’s kinda just me. And usually just when I get to that thought, my eldest, who is eight, runs over and says something like, “Mom, wanna have a swing race?” And I walk right past those Coach Bag Catties, barefoot, puffy-eyed (I have really bad allergies), and probably smelling like a little boy (a little wolf-boy) after soccer practice. My daughter yells for me to get ready and then starts early, trying to beat me. She won’t and we both know it. And I forget about the DPD until the next time.