I‘m taking part in a 30-day writing experiment. The theme for me is “personal, not pretty.” See Kale & Cigarettes for details and the Facebook Group to read stories by other 500-words-ers.
I went to another ill-fated mommy group meeting yesterday. I heard about it from my neighbor, who is one of those awesome neighbors who always knows exactly what’s going on in the neighborhood without ever being gossipy. She told me about it weeks ago, in fact, but it meets at 10am on Thursdays, so it took me a few weeks to get here.
Mostly because I have a job. I work for myself, yes, but it’s not the kind of thing where I can just breeze out to a mommy group in the middle of my morning. I usually have meetings and deadlines and stuff, and limited nanny coverage during which I can get things done. In fact, yesterday morning, my nanny asked me if she could come in late, so I took advantage of that time to finally check out the mommy group.
I am always sheepish to admit I have a nanny to other moms in Utah. I rarely meet another mom who works—at least the moms of babies. Many of the moms I meet used to work, but they don’t seem to have to anymore. I can’t always figure out how they make ends meet, but I have a hunch it has to do with the fact that they shop at Costco and I am still clinging fiercely to my Whole Foods dependence and expensive grass-fed milk and butter.
So yesterday morning, I fed the girls farina and bananas, changed them, got them dressed in super cute but wicked complicated layered outfits with chic moccasins on top, got myself dressed by simply putting a cashmere sweater on over the sweats I wore to bed, brushed my hair with my fingers, made some hot tea to go, made them diluted juice bottles, brushed my teeth, broke up a few baby-biting fights, gave the cats treats so they would STFU, tripped on a few toys, found Phoebe’s binkie by moving the crib over a foot, took out the diaper pail bag, laced up my winter boots, found a scarf, found my puffy, found their wool stroller blankets, found my sunglasses, found my headphones, grappled with the garage door for a bit…
Wait, what was I even doing? Oh right. Trying to get to a mommy group.
So, we did make it. The ladies were all nice. My expensive double stroller (It was a gift!) could barely fit through the church door. Oh, it was at a church. There is a church on roughly every block in my neighborhood, and this mommy group meets at the closest one, which is convenient. It’s four houses down from where we live. I had never been in that church before, but Jon and I walk Rocky around it all the time because for some reason, the church grounds are his numero uno fave place to poop. Go figure.
I bet Mormon temples are really beautiful inside. I wouldn’t know, because I’m a heathen and not allowed. However, the few Mormon churches I’ve been in have the ambience of one of those temporary trailers they install next to schools when they need overflow space or there’s an asbestos scare: lots of puke-colored vinyl and prison interrogation lighting.
Maybe I’m a priss for thinking churches should be beautiful inside, but as a grandchild of Congregationalist Protestants who was always really excited to go to church that one time a year I was invited by my grandparents, I expect a certain austere elegance from churches. They should be white, and have wooden pews, and an enormous organ, and filtered light coming in through high, possibly stained-glass windows. They should feel 200 years old, and you should automatically start humming the Ava Maria when you enter.
Anyway, doesn’t matter. The church was just a receptacle for this mommy group, so probably best I didn’t start humming religious hymnals as I walked in.
Of all the mommy groups I’ve been to, this is the one I’m most likely to attend on a semi-regular basis. Even though it cuts into my work/nanny time, it could not be more convenient. Still, I miss my tribes in California and Western Mass so much. Oh the mommy groups we would have!
I sure wished you lived closer. Sounds like we would get along smashingly.