The Curious Case of the Mom who Didn't Like Me
Does she not know who I was???
I’m not saying I was a hot shit parent in elementary school, but I did start the first ever Dungeons & Dragons club so...
The friendships of children can often be credited to the social psychology concept of physical proximity, meaning they’ll bond with just about anyone who is within throwing distance of a magna tile. I found the same was true with my fellow elementary school parents. Our school was small and our neighborhood tight and you get really used to seeing the same faces in the same places at the same time five days a week. I saw friendships blossom under the basketball net, along the retaining wall, and against the fence that separated the playground from a bank of townhouses. I found my people along the north edge of the blacktop, flanked between the play structure and the blackberry bushes.
There we would gather, killing time with idle chitchat and gossip until the bell rang and our kids made their ways to us. Each classroom was like its own little community, joined together by a shared desire to fund Valentine’s Day craft projects and stock the cabinets with tissues.
There were never enough tissues.
But middle school. Wow. Whole different world. Except for the tissues. Seems to be a dearth here too.
Parents don’t gather for pre-bell small talk. Most of them don’t even get out of their cars. And the ones that do sure as hell aren’t talking to each other. That’s so 5th grade! I found this out the hard way.
I meet my kid every day in the same spot. And 99% of the time he hands me his backpack, tells me he’s walking, and asks for Starbucks money. It’s our little routine.
There’s another mom who shares our meeting spot and I see her everyday. She seemed nice enough despite the fact she tied ribbons around her ponytail and never tried talking to me.
After the first week of us standing in physical proximity and stone cold silence, I was ready to take things to the next level. So I said, Hi! as I walked up to the designated meeting spot.
She looked at me like I ripped a big, juicy fart, which I totally did, but there’s no way she heard that.
Here is how she responded:
Just kidding! She was wearing pants. But I was definitely getting this energy. Guess it’s not cool to try making new friends in middle school. Sorrrrrrrrrrryyyyyy. But maybe we’ll give this mom the benefit of the doubt. She’s shy? She didn’t hear me? She was on a work call and her AirPods were hidden? Or maybe she just didn’t like other parents?
Negative. A few day later I saw her chatting it up with a dad. She was animated and smiling and as I approached, her head flung back in laughter. When we made eye contact she clamped her maw shut and turned away. I actually looked behind me thinking something very unfunny was happening there. But nope. Just me— the dorky mom of a 6th grader trying to make friends. I’m 99% sure she whispered something to the dad and when he looked my way she slapped his shoulder and said shhhhh.
Okay, 85% sure.
Maybe 60%.
One day I saw a mom friend from elementary school and about split my leggings trying to get her attention. I waved her over and enveloped her in a big hug right in front of the mean mom which I couldn’t help but feel smug about. See that, Mean Mom? I’m not a total loser! I am a middle-aged mom who wears shoddy leggings and performatively hugs other middle-aged moms to make other middle-aged moms jealous! Who wouldn’t want in on that?
Speaking of performative, I found her a little showy and obnoxious when she greeted her son.
“Hiiiiiiiiiiiii, buddy!” she always screeched as soon as she had eyes on him. Even I knew you didn’t acknowledge your middle-schooler!
And if I’m being very honest, I didn’t like this woman. She had a nasally twang and a little rat face. I knew in my very essence she was the personification of pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose and saying “Actually…” And yet the worst thing about her was her complete lack of interest in my potential friendship!
Why couldn’t I just let it go? I’ll tell you why. Because I suffer from a condition called, “I can’t believe you don’t fucking like me.” My dad has it too.
When someone isn’t utterly charmed by us, we will do everything in our power to make them like us or make them miserable while we obsess about it. It’s incomprehensible. Game on, Mean Mom.
The Way to a Mom’s Heart is Through a Random Dad
I saw the mean mom chatting it up with that dad a few times so I thought maybe my way in would be through him. They were always talking about club soccer and carpools and tech jobs and things I knew nothing about, but one day I overheard them talking about breakfast recommendations for a large crowd and Honey! This was my time to shine!
I sidled right on over and proclaimed, “The Pioneer Woman has a great recipe for a French toast casserole. It’s delicious and you can make it ahead of time!”
Maybe I winked? Finger guns perhaps?
“Oh,” the dad guy said. “Thank you…for that?”
The mean mom fart-smell frowned at me. I think I heard her whisper, Told ya so to the dad.
“I’m sorry,” I said, backing away. “I thought you were talking about breakfast ideas so…”
The dad guy shuffled his feet, clearly in the throes of second-hand embarrassment. “Uh, I think we were talking about Breckenridge. In Colorado?”
Oh.
Imagine this: You and your grating-voiced, rat-faced friend chitchatting about a fancy ski vacation in Colorado when some weirdo on the sidewalk shouts, “THE PIONEER WOMAN MAKES GREAT FRENCH TOAST! Hear ye, hear ye, bitches!”
I guess out of context that’s a little weird.
But it’s Not Even the Weirdest Thing!
One afternoon I was at my perch ready to collect my son’s backpack, when this gaggle of eighth-grade girls came walking towards me with big, beautiful smiles on faces dewy from thirty-seven-step skin care routines. They were waving. At me. Did I know them? Were they D&D club alumni? Did they know I was the mom who donated two cases of tissues— the kind with comforting lotion!? When I tell you, I waved at them with all of the glory and fervor of a middle-aged woman in front of a middle school I would be lying. It was more than that. I was goddamn Julie McCoy on the Lido Deck welcoming 3,000 passengers to the Love Boat. Finally, my rank was on the rise! Restored to my elementary school glory!
But then I saw their faces fall and their shoulders hunch and they turned to look at each other and giggled. I looked behind me and there was the mean mom, so refined in her hospitality, waving like a delicate, ribbon-wearing flower. They were waving to her. Of course they were. The mean mom was so grossed out by my desperate pick me salutation. I was a little grossed out too.
It’s not me, it’s her.
Definitely her.
It’s okay if someone doesn’t like me.
And it’s totally fine if the mean mom doesn’t think I’m cool because get this— in the most plot twisty, unexpected, redemption story character arc, retributive justice was served.
Her son thinks I’m cool.
“HI BUDDY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” the jackal screeched one unseasonably warm afternoon. But her buddy didn’t acknowledge her with his usual no eye contact grunt because he was so distracted by the super cool middle-aged lady mom wearing the giant rainbow dragon t-shirt.
“I like your shirt,” he said to me. TO ME.
“Thank you,” I said. “You play D&D?”
“Gnome artificer.”
“Tabaxi sorcerer. Sometimes Dungeon Master.”
“Nice,” he said. “I’d like to try DMing.”
“Cool. You should.”
The mean mom stood in horror. She didn’t know what an artificer even was! Or why an adult lady was enticing her son into the art of mastering dungeons. She mumbled something about soccer, put a protective arm around her son, and carted him away.
But the damage was done. The mean mom’s sidewalk nemesis had a cachet she would never match.
That day I stood a little taller, smiled a little brighter, and handed my son $7 with a little extra swagger. Like at least thirteen kids before me, Dungeons & Dragons made me cool in middle school.
XO,
Shelly
More Bang for Your Bucks
Finally, jeez, Paid Subscribers are going to get a little something something for their hard-earned dollars thrown in the MALM coffer! Well, something more than my undying love and affection and really, can you put a price on that?
You can, actually. Let me work on a pricing plan and get back to.
Middle-Aged Lady Mom HOT FLASHES is a new bonus bi-weekly(ish) email curated especially for your sweet little inboxes. Could it be a short story I wrote in 7th grade? A rant about finding La Croix cans all over my house? A book rec? A Q&A with some of my favorite authors? Nobody knows. But my goodness you people deserve something nice so let this be the start of something wonderful.
About That French Toast
Here’s a riddle for you:
Q: What kind of French toast would the Mean Mom bake?
A: A French toast ASSerole! Bahahhahahhahhahhaha! GET IT? Come on! You laughed!
Because you are not ASSeroles, here is the Pioneer Woman’s recipe. It really is delicious.
As a dad who is in charge of much of this type of stuff for our household, I gotta say, approaching a mom with ribbons in her ponytail is an absolutely rookie move 🤣. Those ladies need a wide berth.
OMG, I have BIG FEELINGS about a couple of moms who seem to not like me. I should get over it? Probably? But instead I will lie awake thinking WHY DONT THEY LIKE MEEEEE until my dying day instead