Maybe moms aren't for everyone...

I'm beginning to think that maybe I'm not cut out for this whole "making mom friends" gig. Lately, every time I attempt to talk to another mom I suddenly get the taste of rubber and dirt in my mouth and it's then that I realize it's because MY SHOE IS IN IT. Examples:

I was at Gymboree again on Thursday and there was a great group of moms there with their kids so I vowed to try to talk to some of them before we all left instead of doing what I normally do- which is smiling at their children and exchanging 'oh he/she is sooo cute' looks with them, but never actually speaking to them. I usually take this approach because then all the moms think I'm nice (she gave me the 'your child is sooo cute look!') and I spare myself the eminent embarrassment I am sure to cause myself by trying to construct sentences.

So, we were all playing and smiling and having a good ole' time when I decided to talk to another hip young mom that was standing next to me.

"What's your son's name?" I asked.

"Emerson.", she replied.

Me: "Oh! That's like MY name. MY name is Emery. Did you know Emerson means 'the son of Emery?' ohhhh wow. I should have named MY son that. tee hee snort snort!" *blush*

Her: "Ahem. Oh, uh-huh. It's funny... I've been meeting a lot of little girls named Emerson lately."

Me: "Oh, well that's just silly now isn't it? Everyone knows that a name ending in -son means the SON of... you, know?" *awkward smile*.

Her: My daughter's name is AddiSON.

Me: *dies*

Right then was a convenient time for me to run and chase Ezra who was all the way across the room and CLEARLY outside of the boundaries of the 'Keep your child within hugs-reach AT ALL TIMES' rule- a rule that was taped up on the walls and mirrors and ceilings and floors every three inches or so in case you didn't see it posted eye-level on the front door when you came in.

Later, I attempted to enter conversation with this really beautiful younger mom who brought her two kids to the class. I think her and her children were speaking Russian to eachother and I was like 'Woah! Cool exotic mom!" So, when we were all seated doing the group activities, I watched her trying to coax her kids over to the mat. They were refusing to participate and she was getting frustrated.

"It's OK," I said. "My son didn't like the group stuff at first, either."

Gorgeous Russian Mom: "Oh, really? How long did it take to get him to start participating?", she asked desperately.

Me: *blush* "Uhh.. Three or four weeks?", I lied through my teeth. In all actuality, it was only about HALF A CLASS. I hadn't even been to three or four classes yet.

Her: "Yeah but we've been coming to Gymboree for MONTHS!"

Me: "Oh. Um. I'm sorry...?" *dies AGAIN*

You'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now. The lesson being: Never open mouth. EVER. But, I apparently haven't learned a thing, because today, I tried to take Ezra to the storytime at our local bookstore. (which we promptly had to leave because the teacher had the AUDACITY to COVER UP THE TRAIN SET so she could read her story and Ezra had a screamy melt down while the teacher tried to sing her little song about her Indian Drum.)

Before the story started (and the conniption fit), I smiled at another girl standing there who was about my age. She had brought in a little boy about Ezra's age with her.

"How old is your son?" I asked sweetly.

She glared at me and said shortly: "Nephew."

Me: *Gulp* "Ahh. Nephew.."

Her: "Two."

Me: *smiles weakly and backs away slowly into a corner. Then, dies.*

I think I'll go back to the "smile but don't speak" approach. It will be my little way of making this world a better place to live in.