Mr. Rogers must have skipped some steps.

The neighbors.

The neighbors are all nice enough people, for sure.  We wave and say hello and there are the occassional BBQs or football game viewing incidents and everyone is friendly enough, you betcha.

But there seem to be two distinct groups that get a lot of social action in the subdivisions, and anything in between gets – well – not-so-much.

Group 1 is the stay-at-home moms.  These women stay safely tucked away inside their little homes in the mornings,  attending to morning rituals for their families behind closed blinds and plantation shutters, prepping for activities later in the day.  The only interaction you may have with one of them alone and before 2:30 pm is a quick wave if you happen to be passing by as they back the mini-van out of the garage and speed away to swimming lessons or music class.

It is in the afternoon and evening that they emerge, in pairings or threes, to stand on lawns sipping Starbucks (I feel like someone must have one built into her basement around here – they always have S-bux, but no actual S-bux run seems to have been made,) and laughing as they supervise their combined broods at play on various bikes, trikes, scooters, etc…

In the suburbs you can spot them by looking for one of these:

Image from Amazon - click if you need to identify your own group of S-bux sipping mommies in the yard.

Image from Amazon – click if you need to identify your own group of S-bux sipping mommies in the yard.

Now I am all for safety.  Oh, and kiddos.  I love me some kiddos – I believe that children are our future, teach them well and let them lead the way.  Fo’ Sho’.

However,  with the amount of play equipment strewn all over in between the houses where these various mommies live, there is little doubt, even without the glowing plastic child waving a flag and staring at me from under his ball cap, that there are wee ones at work in the area.  I digress.

So there are the Moms and the Starbucks cups and their neon plastic watchman all hanging out in front of where a group of variously aged offspring are cavorting – this SEEMS like a great time to grab Jr and go make nice.

Except as you rattle your little red wagon full of kid and ball and bubbles and other fun-time peace offerings toward the group the laughter stops.  The moms stop chatting.  The kids stop playing.  Birds stop flapping their wings and fall smack out of the clear blue sky, (ok, that isn’t true, but still,)  the air almost seems to stop moving.  They all stare at you, pulling the bundle of cutie kiddo who wants to play up to them.  Moms stare.  Kids stare. Neon plastic guy stares (one eye at a time.)

Oh they wave and say hi, and the kiddos do too, but the wagon keeps rolling because there is clearly no room at the inn,  and as you walk away you hear snippets of “oh, SHE works outside the home, he’s in daycare somewhere.”   😦

They are thick as thieves and the door is NOT open to moms who might be closing down a conference call to cul-de-sac it for a bit.  Working moms need not apply for membership into that crew.

Group 2 is The Husbands.

Sigh.  Sad but true, this group cares not about employment or anything else – you just straight up have to have a wang to get in.    It actually includes guys in their teens all the way up through the silver fox set, and everyone in between who can pee standing up.   The Mr. was welcomed right into the fold, drinking beers on the driveway and bonding in that special way that dudes do:

(thanks, King of the Hill)

Yep.

Attempts to elbow in on this behavior have not gone well.   A largeish group of bros yucking it up over beers on the curb will scatter quickly if say, a super awesome, (and pretty,  and funny, and cool,) wife comes sniffing around, even if she holds up her beer and says “yep” and attempts to siddle up next to them without making waves.

Also – cue the side-eye from my own husband, who seems to think I am jeopardizing his status in the pack.

Giant super pouty sigh.

It’s cool.  I have my kid, we have our wagon. We both like to roll with roadies when we take it for a spin; and I usually go in for something stronger than S-bux on those occasions, although this is interesting:

Thank you, Cheezburger.com

Thank you, Cheezburger.com

Plus we usually have a few Sesame Street characters along too, so we roll mad deep, yo.

Oh Mr. Rogers – you always made it look so easy.

(PS – is it because I say things like “we roll mad deep, yo”?  Oh well – can’t change the spots on this leopard.)

4 Comments

Filed under musing

4 responses to “Mr. Rogers must have skipped some steps.

  1. Sara

    I love your writing and appreciate you putting this into words. I recently took M to an outing that we were invited to by his preschool buds. Only, I was completely ignored while we were there by the other moms. Like I had some horrible contagious disease. I heard mumblings of “oh she works and he’s in before care:…” They all sat on a bench with no room for me. Some women never grow up from their high school selves.

    I will say this, once J hit elementary school, I really connected with a group of women that are in my hood (just not on my street) and find myself running into them all over the place (library,pool, grocery store, liquor store) and we’ll chat for a few brief moments and it’s nice.
    Hang in there- they’ll figure out you are C are the cool ones!

  2. Girl, I think I’ve used the exact words “roll mad deep, yo” both on my own blog AND in person referring to my kiddos. Have no fear. I’m with you, girl.

  3. Pingback: Time flies? | Reluctantly Suburban

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