She is the Mercedes Mom. That is what I call her. I guess she could call me the Honda Mom. How sad that I am identifying her by the car she drives. You see, I don’t know her name.
She and I spend an hour together each week. We both walk into the gymnasium. We glance at each other and say hi as we find our separate seats on the metal bleachers.
She pulls out her Kindle. I pull out my magazine or my blackberry.
My young son asks her young son to play.
She and I exchange smiles.
We continue reading in our own worlds.
My older son and her older son follow the instructions for their p.e.-type class.
The little girls who think they “own the place” cause a bit of trouble in the bleacher area. Mercedes Mom and I glance at each other. We each shake our heads and roll our eyes.
Our boys get a little loud. We both tell them to make sure to quiet down. They start running on the bleachers. “Stop and find a place to sit,” we both caution.
Mercedes Mom and I seem to be very similar except for the one comment she made a few weeks ago.
“I detest this hour,” she said in her frazzled voice.
I cringed. I know frazzled. I often feel frazzled, but I actually enjoy this hour. I enjoy watching my son thrive in his class. I enjoy watching for his thumbs up signal. I enjoy watching my younger son as he meets new friends and makes sure he brings enough “good guys and bad guys” action figures for his friends waiting on the bleachers. I enjoy sitting with a magazine or my phone and just being in the moment.
Detest is not the word I would have chosen. Maybe we aren’t that similar. Maybe she has a much deeper story behind her word choice.
Maybe this week I will ask her name.