Now this is the story, all about how my life got flipped turned upside down and I'd like to take a minute, just sit right there, I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air.

Yea, that was from memory.

I used to love that show!

Back when Will Smith wasn't thinking about running for president and The Carlton was a dance move I could actually pull off.

Oh those were the days.

I think the show is on like Nick at Night now. Wow, that makes me feel old.

Anyways. To the point!

Ok, that was kind of a joke because I think we all know I rarely have an actual point....

But on to today's topic.

This morning, after this blog actually, I'm taking the girls out for donuts. I know, I spoil them. But Stella has been asking for a "Rainbow" Donut since Saturday morning. No, I don't know what a Rainbow Donut is either, but I promised her if she would eat all of her fruits that she could have one.

They probably counter-act each other so that the fruit actually means nothing after the donut, but the point is she is eating them!

Plus I kind of want to pacify them too, because then we are off to sign Stella up for Soccer and I'm not sure how long that will take.

Wow. I just sounded like the best mom right now. First, I bribe my children and then I pacify them with junk food..... Yikes. And in all honesty, a huge pile of sugar right before they have to stand around and be quiet is probably going to have the opposite effect of pacifying anyone.

Despite that very sound argument I just gave myself by they way, I think it's still the game plan. I'm awesome.

Soccer. That's right Soccer and she will be 3, when the league actually starts. We wanted to start when she was 2, but Zach was against the YMCA at the time. He still kind of is, but all club teams make you wait until you're 4. So, since she has been begging(Yes, Stella has been asking to play. What kind of crazy stage parents do you think we are?) to play, we are willing to start with Y ball. And then a year from now when she's old enough we will begin select soccer.

And then, it will last forever. And ever.

It kind of already does.

Stella is not even three.. yet... and she is going to be in Dance(2 Classes), Competitive Dance(starting in the summer), Soccer, Wednesday night church and Sunday School. I mean that's a lot for a little kid.

Disclaimer: We are not doing Preschool next year. Because look at that! That is Preschool or the concept of it anyways!

And do you know what I'm most worried about? Not Stella. Stella will be fine! Stella will love every minute of it!!

I'm most worried about interacting with all the other moms out there. They're crazy. Fine, fine. I am totally just as crazy. I mean obviously. But this is like a whole new adventure, I didn't realize came along with having kids.

And each activity is like an entirely different culture of moms. Each group is an entirely different experience I have to infiltrate and try to understand. And then relate to. What? I mean, it's not easy.

And I'm a people person! What if I wasn't?

Dance moms are the only moms I've been around so far. And(I've talked about it before) but I could not stand out more from them. Not only our economical status, our transportation, our skin color(Because I don't tan, not racially!) and our meticulously manicured nails(Mine are just filed opposed to Acrylics or French Tip) there's the issue of the wedding ring. They have these gorgeous, ginormous, gazillion carat diamond rings and I have? I have costume jewelry that I change every week(Because I'm allergic to my real wedding ring. I know, it sucks.) But even if I wasn't allergic, I still wouldn't wear diamonds. It's a principal thing. All those children in Africa, kidnapped from their homes, forced to do drugs and become addicted and then enslaved to work in diamond fields, tortured and beaten all so one American woman can have a pretty finger and a good engagement story? I don't think so. But don't get me wrong, I don't ever, ever judge people who wear diamonds! Seriously, it's a personal choice and the diamond trade and all it's evils is not necessarily evening news.

Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.

Totally went off on a tangent there. Sorry.

Ok, so needless to say, I stand out. The women are super nice, don't get me wrong. But it feels more like they are indulging me more than anything. The talkative young mom who used to be and still is sometimes our nanny. I'm not a real mom. I'm just pretending, starting with the wedding ring.(Ask me how many times I mention my "husband" at dance, just so they don't think the bling on the ring finger is because I'm insanely insecure. Border line ridiculous.)

What about soccer moms though? We all know about their crazy reputation! Am I going to be running up and down the field with Stella yelling things like, "Now dribble! Now pass! Pass Stella the ball!! Now shoot! Stella Shoot!!" Please say no.

I can already tell that I'm not going to fit in there. I mean, I hate to clap(That's a serious thing, I really do hate to clap or do anything clapping involved such as high-fiving. And I'm not being snotty about it, it's just most of the time I miss the other hand.) So if I'm not yelling, or clapping, what kind of mom am I? Or at least what kind of mom are they going to assume I am?

And then there's church. Oh boy. I mean, for real, outside of "church" in a lot of circles I probably appear to be like weirdly religious. BUT. What about in the context of church? Ok, one of Stella's first words(This is not a joke, don't judge me or her father who taught it to her.) was beer. And we're not terrible parents, or white trash, because that does sound really white trash doesn't it? When Stella was little, she couldn't tell the difference from Beer and Apple Juice and so we taught her "Daddy's Beer" so that she wouldn't ever try to drink it. Ok?

This whole mom thing is like high school on steroids. All of the different groups, and cliques. Don't let them tell you cliques end after high school, because they don't. And it's not just one group of women, by my count we're up to four or five!

I'm not saying it's all whispering in the corner and snubbing each other. No, I am saying that it is that. At least some of the time. I just want to be nice. I just want to like everybody. Is that so much to ask?

And what if Stella makes friends with these kids whose parents I don't even know?

What if she wants to have a play date(Exactly when did we start calling having a friend over a play date? I mean really, everything is a play date. Zach's little brother is 9 and he asked yesterday if he could have a play date with Zach..... his brother. That's today's culture!)

Seriously though, what if she wants a play date over here or over there? What is the protocol with families you have just met? Decline completely? Or how long do you need to know them first? Do you figure a way to view the house prior to the play date to make sure the accommodations are acceptable? Do you drive behind the other parent, gauging their defensive driving? Or do you rifle through their male, looking for, I don't know, ingredients to bombs or weird pornography? Really. I need to know these things! Is there a manual?

I get social anxiety just thinking about this. A panic attack is threatening to over take my consciousness.

Ok, tone done the drama.

I guess the best course of action here is to dive in head first and hope these other women, these other moms, these other potentially the guardians of all of Stella's new friends are just as crazy normal as me. So, here I go.

Wish me luck.