The Clash

Should I stay, or should I go?

Home or to back to work, that is.

It’s an age-old debate, or more like a 50 year-old debate.  You know, since the feminists took charge and made Jane Cleaver look like a total idiot.  But, I digress. . .I am not going to debate choices for moms in this blog, not today at least!

Today I'm discussing stay-at-home-moms, most commonly known as SAHMs. . .because we have really gotten that lazy and have to abbreviate EVERYTHING. . . Here’s the thing about SAHMs:  I’m not a fan of that moniker.  My name of choice?  Home Girls.  Because moms are girls, and well, they stay at home.  (And doesn’t it sound so much more hip and cool?) So from here on out, I will affectionately be referring to SAHMs as Home Girls.  Got it?  Good.

As luck would have it, I became a casualty of a pharmaceutical “reorganization” when Lake was 3 months old. AKA, I got laid off.  So overnight I went from a “Senior Therapeutic Sales Professional” to a “Home Girl.”  And while I have cherished all the moments I have been able to spend with my little guy (the first smile, first laugh and first steps to name a few) I have to say, my time as a Home Girl has been made exponentially more awesome because of other Home Girls.

{This is where I make a shout-out to my two favorite Home Girls Jen & Angela.  I miss our mid-week Polaris and Starbucks dates!!}

There is something about having Home Girls to meet-up with, swap baby horror stories and contemplate the meaning of life after work.  Makes a Home Girl feel normal, ya know?  Even with the conversations going something like this:

“So I’ve been looking for a new pair of white jeans – wait Lake, don’t throw that.”  I bend over to pick up a sippy cup. “And I just can’t – LAKE, momma said don’t throw that!  Have you seen – Uh, Lake NO! – Have you seen any around here?”

I miss those conversations.  I miss my Home Girls.

So I decided to hit-up the one place I was sure to meet some new Home Girls:  The Park.  So last week, I get dressed all cute, and put Lake in his new madras shorts and we strolled up two blocks to the neighborhood park.  As we come up over the hill, it’s like a mirage!  Little ones with Home Girls all over!!  On the swing, playing in the grass, going down the slides!  But as I get closer to the action, something is suspect.  All the Home Girls look a bit different from their kids.  And by a bit different, I mean they are, without a glimmer of a doubt, 2 totally different nationalities. . .

Uggh, not Home Girls, NANNIES!  Duh, Duh, Dummmmmm.  I know how this goes; I’ve read The Nanny Diaries.  I’m the foe here.  I’m the Home Girl that these Nannies congregate to bitch about.  It’s kind of like your manager at work – you can be cordial to one another, but your not gonna hobnob with the boss.  Then I see a nice young girl with a little boy (they DO look the same!) so by my power of deductive reasoning, I conclude that this is a Home Girl.  And her little guy looks just about Lake’s age.  Score!  So I head over to the empty swing next to her and strike up a conversation.  After introductions, she asks where I live.

I respond, “We just moved into Apartment X (sorry, this blog is a bit to public to be announcing exactly where I reside. . .) up the street.”

Home Girl says, “Oh really?!? “  Pointing to the little boy, “That’s where HE lives, too!” 

Ok, not a Home Girl.  Another nanny.

Awesome, I am officially the only Home Girl at the park.

But that’s ok.  Everyday is an adventure, and tomorrow’s another day to attack the mean streets of Texas and hunt down some other women who chose to stay.  At home, that is.

And you better believe I’ll keep you posted on those adventures, too :)