the ladies of rockridge

Rockridge is probably Oakland's best-kept secret. If you only knew of this city from what you heard on the news or read in Newsweek, you would not believe you were in Oakland if I took you there.

The houses start in the half a million range, and quickly go up from there - very quickly. They look like something out of Once & Again. Tree lined streets and blooming gardens in the front yards. Parking is by permit, but you can walk to BART, not to mention a long line of cute as a button shops and restaurants if you don't want to move the Rover.

It's families with small children and pets. Okay Yuppie families with small children and pets that probably recycle so they feel like they live in Berkeley instead of Oakland - please call it Rockridge. You get the picture.

That said, we ventured over there Friday evening before the sun set to enjoy the springishness of the day to take a romp in my new sandals. Since the Red Tractor was gone, we decided to grab dinner at Cactus, a fresh mex eatery, where the crispy shrimp tacos are my favorite. This was our first time to eat at this location, as we usually go to the one on Solano. The differences were subtle, but noticeable, all the same.

For starters, the menu offered more choices. I can never finish my third taco (B gladly helps me), and so was happy to see that I could order two and save two bucks to boot. They also had a whole section of offerings for smaller appetites. As I scanned to find a table, I realized why - children were everywhere. I missed the fountain!

What was more interesting, I realized upon closer inspection, was that it was not just children, but also more importantly, mothers and their children. Dad was clearly absent from the table. It was about 6:30pm. Still a tad early for dinner for some, but we were surrounded by table after table of women with children all under ten, and most still under five, eating dinner together.

We snagged a round table meant for a party slightly larger than two. Across from us was a little red-haired girl, with peaches and cream skin, and large emerald green eyes. Oh, she was going to be trouble when she got older. Already she was standing on her chair, demanding to be the center of attention as her mother looked out for the others in her party.

Two more moms and at least three more children, plus one dad (the only one in our section, and the only person at his table having a beer and not sitting next to a child) joined her shortly. I was mesmerized by how stunning this little girl was - red hair and matching red pants (Pantone 710 CVP). She looked like she would fit perfectly in Martha Stewart Baby. And from the looks of her mom, also in red pants, which were no way near as flattering, I bet she would sign her up in a heart beat - be the envy of all her friends - the talk of the neighborhood.

But still I wondered where all the dads were. Is this what it meant to be a mom these days? You wanted the baby. Then you worried about having a spoiled lonely only child, so we had another. You couldn't find someone suitable to care for it. We crunched the numbers. We couldn't afford this life (this house in this neighborhood, Baby Gap, the trendy stroller, your shopping habit, getting together with the other mothers for pedicures) and a nanny if you worked - so this is how it is. A Friday night of fun means taking the kids out for dinner and waiting up past midnight for your husband to come home from a job that protects him from this life that he never bargained for, but for some reason he supports financially.

The mothers looked frazzled. The children clearly had the upper hand. You could almost see the thoughts flash across their heads saying that this is not how I had imagined motherhood. No one told me this is what it was all about. Wiping beans off my sleeve, out alone with the kids on a Friday night as my husband slaved at his job. This isn't what I signed up for.