Something weird has happened in the space between my eldest and youngest babes. Once upon a time I was one of “The Moms”. The Moms are the group of pajama clad ladies who rush their children to school without so much as getting dressed. There were a few bathrobes, a few hubby t-shirts with leggings and a few scantily clad hotties, (the single moms.) amongst my tribe. We would rush them to school with shouts of “We have to leave RIGHT NOW!” and “Don’t forget your homework!” along with a half dozen “Where the hell is your coat?” We were a tired but grateful bunch. Those beautiful people behind those doors took our babies and made them nicer, smarter and … well… nonexistent until 2:40. Getting them there was insanely difficult, but always worth the grind. We’d chat for a half hour after the bell rang over a variety of coffee mugs and home life stories. I loved being a stay at home mom. Those were the good old days.
Fast forward 15 years…….
Now it’s a group of dads. A lot of them. I counted 6 this morning but I see them every day. They’re the type that park and walk their babies to the playground, then stand around with coffee, shooting the dad shit. Wedding rings aplenty, these guys are in stay-at-home dad gear. Basketball shorts, hoodies and flip flops. Their uniform may differ, but I know jammies when I see them. They linger after the bell rings and I can’t help but stare. It’s like a pack of Unicorns, in the wild. I would give a kidney for a stay-at-home man.
I had questions and needed answers. As a flirtatious single mother, I know I can get them from these paternal superheros.
J- Do you have to be a dad to join your gang?
J- I’m not flirting with you. (unless you’re single…)
D2- Oh then you’re definitely out. What good is a dad that can’t flirt?
He looks vaguely familiar and I can’t put my finger on where I’ve seen him before.
D3- Yeah my wife better not hear you say that or this will be my last cup of coffee.
Dad2 takes a sharp bow and holds his hand out to me as he laughs and stuns me silent.
D2- Pleased to meet you, milady… My name is Dallas and you’re on my Tinder. Any plans this weekend?
It takes a lot to make me blush and I turned a deep crimson with each word he said after Tinder. The other dads were too mortified to make a peep until I burst out laughing and fished a business card out of my purse.
J- You win the day, sir. Do you have a pen?
He digs a purple crayon out of the backpack at his feet and I write my number on the back of it. The dad’s have begun to complain about the fairness of it all and I’m clearly not joining their gang.
but I AM having dinner with a very sweet Daddy this Saturday…