The relief (and joy) of ending things

Endings aren't nearly as exciting as beginnings.

But they are immensely freeing. 

I started to think about the "relief of the end" today after taking M to his 6th-grade orientation. His entry into middle school means our family has said "So long" to the elementary school we'd been a part of for something like 12 years. 

It did not make me sad for him to move on. 

Perhaps some of this lack of sadness was because we didn't have the "traditional" promotion ceremony or any of the before-times banquets and things, although I generally dislike that kind of stuff so I don't think I felt anything besides relief that we didn't have to do it (one of the rare positives of COVID). 

Last weekend when I saw local church members doing a service project at schools to spruce them up in anticipation of school starting, I didn't feel sad that I wasn't pulling weeds at the elementary school with these volunteers as I had in years past because I was the school's "Beautification Chair."

This lack of sadness made me think, too, about the freedom of releasing myself from connections with people I didn't really know or like or have any real reason to be connected to. 

Yes, I know this has been something I have mulled over here before. 

It is my blog....so I chew on what I want. 

Let's blame it on the obsessive part of my OCD. 

I think what can and does happen to moms who spend years not working outside the home is that they sometimes confuse their own needs with their children's needs. As my children made friends, I became friendly with many of my children's friends' parents. Some of them I truly became friends with, but the vast majority were never my friends. We didn't socialize outside of our children. We don't really know anything about each other. I would never dream of calling them if I were in a bind. 

But sometimes I have mistaken them for more than acquaintances.

Even though I am well beyond the angst of teenager and young adult life, adult friendships or acquaintanceships or connections can still be a little confusing, especially in our social media world. 

It occurred to me that one of the most wonderful things about my children moving on is that I can give myself permission to move on as well. 

I do not have to stay connected (however loosely) to people I truly don't know or admire or like or care about. 

In many cases I no longer remember why we were connected, to begin with. 

(That doesn't mean I wish them ill, but I want to be connected to people I admire or find funny or who make me think. I want to be connected to people who don't say or do or post stupid things unless they are being sarcastic or ironic in which case I probably like them. I want to be connected to people who I feel are kindred spirits.)

And there is a special category for people whom I don't see often but who make me feel happy when I am around them or when we do speak. I won't pull my mask up and put my sunglasses on and turn the other way down the grocery store aisle if I see them. These are the people who I think would probably come to my parent's funeral or at least send me a card in the mail to let me know they were thinking of me. 

Something remarkable I also consider is how much I have changed from the time N started at the elementary school to the time M left. 

I went from "friending" everyone and wanting to know everyone and be involved to being extremely selective about who I friend (and downright delighting in unfriending people). Maybe it is because when N started elementary school I was a stay-at-home mom of three children under 5 who had absolutely zero time for myself or life beyond my children. Whatever friends I had were going to come through my kids or I simply wasn't going to have friends. 

The ending of things in terms of M's schooling has provided me some happiness I didn't expect to find there. 

We don't know people

I am not a sentimental person at all, but I have realized today that I think I have allowed some form of sentimentality to dupe me. 

I'm sure I'm not the only person who has done this. I think it is probably a human trait that many people share, and it is the idea that if you once knew someone, you know them still. 

The truth is that I don't know anyone completely, not even myself. 

Even though I think I know my husband (whom I've known for 25 years), I don't. Not completely. I make an assumption that I know what he would do and how he would act based on my experience with him and how he has acted in the past. 

But people change, don't they?

And often people do not change. 

It dawned on me today that someone I have known for many years in a cursory way but who I used to be good friends with three decades ago is both very different from what I remember and also not different at all. 

With social media and our insistence on calling people "friends" who really aren't friends, I forget that very few people I'm "friends" with are deep friends. They may be people I know or have worked with. They may even be people I really, really like. They are friends "lite." 

[I'm having a mother memory here whereby I recall my mother lecturing me on the difference between acquaintances and friends, and I think I rolled my eyes a lot, and yet...here I am.]

And having these friends "lite" is not a bad thing. These people make up a community, and there can be fun and support there.  These people can be a network of advice, connections, business opportunities, education. I am in no way suggesting the camaraderie isn't real or important. 

But the downside is that we can feel betrayed or angered or astounded when friends "lite" seem different from how we knew them or what our perception of them was because they are part of our community. 

Social media makes us feel compelled to sound our barbaric yawps (present company included). And when someone yawps in a way we didn't expect, we feel confused at best. Betrayed at worst. 

My memory had sentimentalized my friendship with this person and smoothed its edges with nostalgia.

But what I remembered today is that my friendship with this person ended because of a poor judgment this person made that could have put my life in danger (drunk driving in high school). 

And then I remembered that this person recently made another judgment that ended up in a very public and embarrassing loss of her career. 

And now this person is trafficking in conspiracy theories. 

I say now, but maybe I should not be surprised. Maybe this is a pattern of poor judgment that has only now become apparent to me. 

Maybe this person has changed?

Or maybe this person hasn't?

Maybe I have defined this person based on simply having "known" her (or maybe more correctly, known of her) since I was a young teenager. A long lens facing backward is sometimes fuzzy. 

I generally try not to hold people's stupid teenage decisions against them as adults because I made MANY stupid teenage decisions. I did many things that were idiotic or cruel, and it saddens me sometimes to think that somewhere people may have an idea of me as being idiotic or cruel because I try very hard not to be either now. 

But even if I were to eliminate the teenage poor judgment event, I still have two poor judgment events in the past six months that make me realize I don't know this person and shouldn't be surprised by anything simply because she is part of my social media community. 

Perhaps the only thing we share is that we are each people on the periphery of each other's social media community. 

And momma, I'm sorry for rolling my eyes. You were right. You were right. 

I'm raising Eric Cartman

Sometimes, in the midst of having one child come crying over suckers, you get a chuckle out of another child.

It's not a "legitimately funny haha" chuckle.
More of a "Jesus....(insert eye roll)" chuckle that comes from knowing your child's personality quirks and finding something funny to make these quirks tolerable.

G and M went to a neighbor friend's house with another boy, and they all (evidently) decided to play basketball.

Now, my boys are not athletic in the least, although M could be athletic.
G is an amalgam of all the two-left-footed people in our genealogical history combined into one human.

So when the four boys agreed to play basketball (inside), G thought it was supreme unfairness for him to have to play against either of the other boys who aren't his brother because he knows he sucks. He also knows his brother has a malleable personality. G could tell M, "Let me make this shot," and M would stand back and let him have the shot.

I texted the boys to come home for dinner and M texted back,
"G is coming home because X and Y don't agree with him on basketball."

And the first thing that popped into my head was this:

I shared a shorter version with the boys.

M replied, "Well, yeah."

We love our G, but we also know what we're dealing with.

The kids are alright (or massive f**k-ups).

Whether my children are alright or massive f**k-ups really just depends on the day of the week.

There has been a slow-build to a situation involving G that came to a head yesterday morning. Technically, it came to a head on Friday afternoon when I was conveniently at the grocery store, so I wasn't aware of it until yesterday morning.

It doesn't take much for G to become confused in relationships with others. In his mind, he thinks if you like someone, you like them forever with the same amount of enthusiasm and gusto.

(This kid is not meant to have a long-term marriage, I think).

In third grade, he had a falling-out with a boy with whom he had been friends since kindergarten.  The friend stopped talking to him and didn't explain what was going on. He felt uncomfortable with G's hugging but wouldn't ever tell him, and G just didn't get it. He wrote the friend a note and said, "Why didn't you just tell me?"

Now, I know that there have been many, many times when I have told G something, and he just doesn't listen. It's not what he wants to hear so he doesn't hear it. However he thinks something should be is the way it should be, regardless of reality. So it is entirely possible that his friend DID tell him.

Whenever I worry that I am siding too much with my own child, I usually respond to myself with, "Bitch, PUHLEASE. You know your kids and every downfall they have."

A similar situation has occurred again with a different child.

Last week, he wrote a sweet note and gave the child a flower. I read that note, and it said something like, "I want to be friends. Why did you say I was rude and mean?"

(My response to his was, "Because you are rude and mean.")
Helpful, I know.

This time, G drew a picture of the child stabbing him in the heart and calling him a loser. He then  wrote something on the order of, "This is me in the future. I thought you would like it because you f**king hate me."

The person he wrote it to is a 6-year-old girl.

G has been playing with her older brother. It bothers G that she avoids him now, so he questions the brother who gives his spin on the situation.

Sigh.

My feelings are all over the map on this one.

On the one hand, I'm glad G is drawing/writing his feelings, but I feel angry at him for writing it and leaving it for the girl to read.
(And when I say leaving it, I mean taping it to her front door. Way to be a stalker, son.)

On the one hand, I feel sympathetic to G because it is maddening to have someone like you and then decide they don't like you without explanation.
(Hello, my dating life from ages 13-22.)
And he internalizes it. He is a loser rather than the other person just doesn't realize how good of a friend he can be. (It takes a whole lot of time and wisdom to get to a point where you realize that if someone doesn't like you, it is their problem. Not yours.)

On the one hand, I feel Mama Bear because my kid has been hurt and is confused, but I feel like murdering my own kid because YOU DON'T WRITE SHIT LIKE THIS AND GIVE IT TO PEOPLE, ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY ARE 6.

So, we had a talk in which I told him it is a good idea to draw and express his feelings, but when he does it he needs to share it with me or D so we can help him. Giving it to the person who upset you does not help the relationship.

And we talked about how you should be friendly to everyone, but that doesn't mean you are friends with everyone.

And we talked about how even if one person doesn't like him, think about all the people he knows who DO like him and think he is special.

And I saved the drawing/note, and we'll be discussing it with his psychiatrist and possibly increasing his medication dose if his obsessing continues.

I saw a college friend yesterday who commended me on "living out loud," which I took to mean sharing my life....good and especially bad....in this blog and on Facebook. Sharing my mental health demons, and now my son's mental health demons.

Sometimes I am really proud of this because I do think it helps people, and I know talking about it helps me.

But sometimes, especially for G, I worry that he gets labeled as "troubled" because of his medication and OCD.

All kids, in their own ways, are troubled.

I have tried to deal with G's issues head-on and proactively, just as I do my own issues because time often doesn't make them less problematic. You try to cope as best you can and sometimes develop some rather unhealthy coping mechanisms because you don't know what the f*ck you're doing.

G's issues are made public by me, but I know that the other kids whom he has had relationship problems with have their own issues. Divorced parents, living in grandparents' basements for a time due to financial issues, new siblings, deaths of grandparents.....

G is not the only kid who is struggling with growing up, and I try to remember that.

Unfortunately, as a parent, you not only get through your own childhood crap but then you have to wade through the muck and stink of your children's childhood crap.

After 20 years, I can say he's my best friend

D and I returned the other day from our 20th anniversary trip to Quebec.

Our wedding date is in November, but with N's field hockey schedule and the busyness of activities in the fall AND the fact that Quebec weather gets cold that time of year, we opted for a May trip.

We had a lovely, lovely time.
It was nice to have uninterrupted conversations with each other.
It was nice to sit and walk in silence with each other.
It was nice to enjoy each other's sense of humor.

On the Plains of Abraham in Quebec City.

We have decided to stay married until November, and then we will reevaluate every year as per our normal.

I have said this before, and I will say it again, but I take great pride in being married for this long.

It is a testament to working through the regular, mundane shit of life, as well as the bigger unfortunate things, like parents dying and illness and unexpected expenses.  All the sickness and health and richer and poorer business.

For many years, I fought against being married.
That sounds funny, especially since I did want to be married.

I fought against the ridiculous societal idea of couplehood in a marriage. I kept my name. I strove to have my own identity separate from D. I resented the notion that as soon as we married we were no longer him and her but a big nebulous mass of "we."

We haven't ever subscribed to that whole "togetherness" idea of doing things we each hate just to make the other person happy. Sometimes I see couples and it seems to me that one of them is just there in misery to keep the other person from lording it over that "you never want to do what I want to do."

D and I have never really done that. In our early days, I never played video games with him just to make him happy. I hate video games.

One time in our very young marriage, we went grocery shopping together, and it was miserable. He hated it, and I hated him being there because he hated being there and drudged along, six feet behind me. That concluded our days of shopping together.

The things we both enjoy we do together. The things the other person doesn't enjoy, we don't ask them to do. It works for us.

I fought against the idea that D was supposed to be my best friend, but I think I can say after 20 years and 3 kids and 2 houses and yadda-yadda that he is my best friend. He has been through everything with me these two decades.

Being my best friend doesn't mean he fulfills every need I have. There is a reason I have my girlfriends, my mentors, my mother.
But he is a very good complement to my personality.
I think that is what a best friend is supposed to be.

On the AML Louis Jolliet, St. Lawrence River

So far....boys are harder than girls

I often hear it said that girls are more difficult to raise to adulthood than boys, but my experience so far doesn't coincide with this sentiment.

G takes after his momma in being a highly sensitive person. He struggles with his feelings and his anxiety.  He has a difficult time adjusting to any changes that he doesn't implement himself.

G is also an exuberant child who loves to learn---this morning he asked me what "formidable" means.  What 9-year-old boy regularly asks his mother the meanings of words like "formidable?"  He is a  happy boy who smiles and laughs easily.  My mom says he is the most affectionate of all her grandchildren.

He and a little friend of his have been having some troubles lately mostly because G hugs his friend too much.

We are a huggy family.  Although I am not huggy with anyone else on the planet, I am very huggy and snuggly with my children.  My mouth is often very bad about being sarcastic or not saying things like, "I love you to the moon and back," but I touch my children often so that at least they know in some way that I adore them.

Anyway, G's little friend feels uncomfortable by G's hugginess.  Like a lot of boys his age, he is figuring out what men are, and for many boys, real men don't hug their friends because that might make them gay.

In the past 4 days, I have had talks with G that went something like this:

We are a hugging family, but not every family is.  You have to pay attention if people stiffen up or pull away as you hug them because that means they aren't comfortable.

Your dad is a sensitive man, but some men like to feel more macho and don't like to hug.  They think if they hug other men it makes them look less manly.

Your dad and I don't care if you grow up and love a woman or if you grow up and love a man, but some families do.  And boys hugging each other makes them uncomfortable because they think if they hug boys their son might grow up to love boys.

At first, I think G thought I was just being weird and giving him "mom lectures," but then I finally had to tell him that his friend didn't want to go to school because he was so upset.  G cried and wrote this note, which breaks my heart a little:

When I asked him what he meant by "mean things" and he said, "Hugging him."

This is just such a sad little note, but I am trying to think of it as a good lesson for G in understanding nonverbal communication and other people's boundaries.  It is also a good lesson for his friend in learning to speak up if something bothers him and not just pull away, which confused G.

It gave me an opportunity to encourage G to write this note and to talk to him about meeting with the school counselor, which he didn't want to do because he felt like he was getting in trouble.  When I informed him that his daddy and I had gone for talks with a counselor when we weren't getting along very well and how it helped our relationship it seemed to make the idea more palatable to him.

It is also a good lesson for me that having a sensitive, huggy little boy is a very special gift, and I'm glad he has us to help him navigate through a world that sometimes doesn't know what to do with sensitive, huggy people.  

To have to bury a child

My thoughts today are with one of my best high school friends, who will bury her youngest child, a 12-year-old son, this morning.

There were 6 of us in this particular nerd herd.  We had pretty much all our classes together for four years, although a couple of us took Spanish instead of French.  In a graduating class of only 69 girls, it wasn't strange to be with the same group of people constantly.

If memory serves, three of us went to the same college in town, two went to the state university, and another went out of state.  Two live out of state and have for years.  The remaining four still live in the same city, although in different areas of town.  All but one have married.  Four have children.

Yesterday, I went to the visitation to pay my respects, to attempt to offer in presence the words that I cannot sufficiently express verbally.  We hugged so, so tightly, in an embrace that makes me hope that my friend knows just how much I ache for her.  I like to think her hug of me suggests how much she appreciated having someone from her younger life be there.

One of the things we discussed, in the brief way you do at wakes, is whether we ever would have dreamed we would 1. be middle-aged mothers with kids and 2. be in a position where one of us would be dealt the greatest of parenting blows.

As teenage girls in our uniforms, traipsing through the halls, we never, ever would have dreamed it.  It doesn't feel real now, and I am not even in the midst of great suffering.
It is difficult for me to try to understand the pain she is experiencing.

I have found myself thinking the thought, "No one should have to bury their child, " and while I do think that, I also know that many, many parents, both now and in ages past, have had to suffer that fate.  For all I know, I may one day suffer that fate.

As much as modern American life has removed us from the commonality of child loss, with surgeries and antibiotics and accessible health care, I have been thinking about the people I know who have watched their children die.

Mr. B, whose three-year-old son died from cancer.
EV, whose 4-month-old son died from a virus.
M and T, who endured the loss of two children--both sons--one to stillbirth and another at 9 hours of age as a result of Trisomy 18.
And now SB.

And these are the deaths of children, but even if a person watches an adult child die, that adult child was their child.  The child they birthed and adored and watched grow.  My aunt has lost two children in the past few years---one to suicide and another to cancer.  She is old and tired and has experienced much in her life, but I do not think she will ever get over these losses.

It is a loss that you somehow move on from and yet never move on from, or at least this is how I perceive it.

I am not a prayerful person.  I do not go to God to ask for pain to be removed or a miracle to be performed.  I do not give God all the credit and say "God is good" when things go the way I like,   nor do I say "God sucks" when things do not go my way.  I do not understand God or the ways of life in its great big wideness.

What I do understand and believe in is that powerful interconnectedness of people, which may be the hand of God that we all expect to be bigger and greater and more awe-inspiring.

Maybe God is in the tighness of a hug, when one friend from long ago is holding another friend from long ago and wishing there was something she could do to reduce her friend's sadness, give her comfort, offer her peace, in the face of her worst nightmare.  

Being a mom of a girl means reliving all your sh*tty preteen friendship crap

I try to ixnay my commentary as it concerns N's friendships, but sometimes it takes every ounce of my strength to not throw a complete duck fit.

Like when a very good friend of N's texted her today to say she had too much to do and couldn't make it to N's party today.  This is such a good friend that I would expect her to come unless she was dead or bleeding out the eyes.....so it seems a little fishy.

It could be that she really did have too much to do, although I wish she could have told N that long before an hour before the party.  Like on Monday.

This is N's business, but I did say that I thought a very good friend who said she would come to your party should come to your party unless she is very sick or very dead.  I left it at that.

But inside, I'm roiling.  It has churned up the waters of my own childhood friendships.  My own girlfriend drama.

The occasions when a very good friend of mine would put me on hold when I asked her to come over and do something with me.  When it seemed like she was waiting for something better to come along.  I remember my mother feeling rather aggravated with this friend of mine because I would be upset when she turned me down or didn't follow through.

As a kid I couldn't understand my mother.  Now, I wish I didn't understand my mother.  I wish I didn't understand that anger that comes when my own child is confused by, disappointed in, hurt by or frustrated with a friendship.

If your child is a weirdo, he/she will find a weirdo to love

I don't believe in soulmates or any of that junk, but I do think that many of the weirdest people end up finding an equally weird person with whom to live and love.  They have equally weird friends who they hook up with for dinner or discussion.

Many of these people are related to me.  (Heck, I might be one of them for all I know.)

You know, those weird family members who, when they walk up and start talking, make everyone who has been sitting there contently for 3 hours decide they have to immediately go to the bathroom or refresh their drinks or check on the kids.  (Typically, there is one "nice" relative who gets stuck listening to the weirdo and waits for someone to "save" him/her.)

And I've thought to myself, "How in the world did that person ever find that other person to marry?"  And they are fortunate they did find that person because who else would put up with their crazy sh*t?

I find myself thinking about these weird relatives of mine whenever I think of G.  Maybe it is because we are halfway through summer break?  Maybe it is because I've been spending WAY too much time with him, especially in the car when there is no distraction for either of us?

The other day, I told him, "I don't think you will ever find someone to marry if you talk to them about their poochy bellies the way you talk to me."  He criticized my do-rag, and I responded with something like, "Good luck getting dates with people when you get older if you are going to share your opinion about everything and criticize everything about them."

I realize he is 7, but he needs to learn to put a dang filter on it.

I worry that he will live in a bare apartment playing video games when he is 40.  I know that isn't the worst that can happen to him.  I suspect my MIL had similar worries about her own son, and he ended up with awesome ole me.

So I try to remind myself that the most unbearable cads I know have managed to fall in love, have families and, even if not forever, have some type of relationship fulfillment in their lives.  They have friends, who may also be unbearable cads, but they are unbearable cads together.

You take solace where you can get it.

Going out as a 19-year-old versus going out as a 41-year-old

Last night I conducted a sociological study of sorts that was immensely interesting.  I conducted many of these in my late teens and early twenties.  Although I am a vastly different person than I was 20-odd years ago, I am a thinker, a reflector, and so I am pondering last night's events with as great of zeal as I did in the "good ole days."

The content of the reflections is markedly different.

When I was young, I went out partying to meet someone, with the hopes that I'd find some good-looking, smart, trustworthy, great-dancer of a guy who would fall in love with me and be with me forever.  The thought in my head was always, "What do these guys think of me?  Does anyone find me attractive?  Am I good enough?"

As a 41-year-old, married for 17 years with 3 kids gal, I went in looking to have fun with my mom-friends, with the intention of dancing.  A lot.  The thought in my head was, "I am so awesome and so much better looking than so many of these people.  For a mom of 3 kids, I am smokin' hot."

The reality is....I'm not smokin' hot.  I don't wear make-up.  I have short hair, which most men find a turn-off.  I wear glasses and look like a nerd.  But what I have now that I didn't have at 19 is a deep appreciation for myself as.I.am.  I'm sure of myself much of the time, and when I'm unsure I'm ok with admitting that.  If you don't like me....well, I really don't care.

I looked at the crowd differently, too.

My first impression was, "Dang, these guys here are old."  Lots of gray hair and facial wrinkles.  And then I remembered that my own face has lines that weren't in existence twenty years ago.  Oh, yeah.  I'm an old(er) fart as well.

The women in the crowd weren't competition as they would have been when I was younger.  I looked at them with less critical eyes.  Feeling sure of myself make me appreciate that I have nothing to fear from them.

It still had the feel of a meat market a bit and made me glad that I'm not 41-years-old and active in the dating scene.  Even though I feel more secure in myself, I'm sure a chunk of that comes from knowing I have someone at home who loves me, whom I don't think is going anywhere (mostly because he disliked dating even more than I did when he was younger).

There were a couple occasions when some dudes tried to start conversations or dance nearer to one of us than we'd like.  These gentlemen were probably very nice, but as I told my friends, "If anyone is gonna make me momentarily forget my wedding vows he is going to have to be  hunky as heck and a GREAT dancer."  And these guys were neither.

That sort of made me feel badly, made me feel as if I were back in middle school or something.  Using body language to let them know, "Um, guy, you should step off or back or something."

I danced and moved parts that haven't been sufficiently exercised in far too long, causing me to wake up this morning with a kink in my hips and a dire need for ibuprofen.  As a younger person, I seem to recall taking medication the morning after for a hangover, but that wasn't the case now.  Muscle atrophy is a bigger problem in mid-life, although I'm sure some of the people there tied one on pretty well.

I arrived home at 1:00 am and was woken up by both boys during the night and for the day at 6:15(ish).  At 8:00 am, I returned to my bed and slept until 11:15, causing me to be almost an hour late to pick N up from her sleepover.   The managing of children certainly wasn't an issue long ago.

My goal was to work on painting the basement today, but that plan has been revised.  My duff is sitting, drinking hot tea and trying to recover from a night of long-overdue fun with friends.

Periphery player

I took the kids to church last Sunday, and when I, perhaps, should have been focusing on it being Palm Sunday and all, I went where my mind meandered which was to the periphery.

I've written about feeling like I'm on the periphery before.  But it has been seven years since I wrote about it, so I thought I would revisit the idea.

Maybe it was the Palm Sunday "drama" that led me down the periphery pathway of thought.  Jesus was sorta a periphery guy.  He had his disciples, but he wasn't totally "with them" if we go by the whole Son of God thing.  And he certainly wasn't with the bigwig Jews or the Romans.  He kinda did his own thing.

Anyway, after many years, I finally realized that while I might have temporary yearnings for a very tight, text & call each other friendship, the truth is that kind of friendship would feel stifling.  I think I would quickly become annoyed and resent that my "friend" kept calling & texting me.  The yearnings only come when I hear someone else refer to their friendship that is "tight" in this way.  I'm not far enough removed from middle school (are we ever, fully?) to not think, "Well, something must be wrong with me if I don't have this."

I forget that I could probably have this, but I don't seek it out, which must mean I don't want it.

This is not to say I don't have friends with whom I really and truly enjoy spending time.  There are a number of women I try to get together with as time allows; we take walks or have breakfast or chat as our kids play, and I really get a lot out of those friendships and conversations.

But I don't feel the need to talk to any of them multiple times a day.
I don't feel the need to talk to my husband multiple times a day and am always amazed when I am with someone whose husband calls at all (but especially more than once).

I am definitely on the periphery at church, which is really ok until I see other people who seem far more involved.  (I have to remind myself, when I see these "tight" friends and committed church-goers, that I am seeing .05% of the picture, and my perception may be completely off the mark.)  Sometimes I think, "Maybe I should officially join this church," but that whole idea triggers a surge of uncomfortable feelings in me.  I like this church, and I like the people I've met who go to this church, but I don't feel comfortable committing that much.

It occurred to me yesterday that this inability to "commit" in a very complete way goes back even to my marriage.  I never took D's last name.  After three children and almost 17 years, I sometimes think maybe I should just take his name.  But I can't.  Again, the whole idea triggers all sorts of anxious feelings.

Basically, whenever I think to myself "Maybe I should have a "tight" friendship or officially join the church or change my name" or anything else that I consider that would lock me in (like going back to work full-time), the thought pops into my head, "I DON'T WANT TO."

I'm enough of a worrier to wonder if there is a problem with my feelings of "I DON'T WANT TO," and the older I get the more I feel like I can stew over this all I like, but ultimately if I wanted to change anything I would.  I am certainly not the kind of person who sits back and lets things happen around her.  I am all about projects and trying new things and exploring and doing something proactive if the urge fits.

Perhaps I have commitment issues, but so what?  Maybe the commitment of staying married and being a mom is all that I can manage?

Or maybe somewhere inside me, the smart part of me that doesn't allow middle school feelings of awkwardness to slip in, I realize that what is important is finding women I like and giving them my stories, my concern, and my time when I feel like it.  What is important is when I feel like it I make a point to go to church.  All the time, I give myself, my time, my love to my husband and family, even when I don't feel like it.

But I don't and can't give them everything.  The name has to stay mine.  I can't put on paper or in words that I am officially committed to the church because I don't want to back out and then feel guilt.  I don't want to make promises to people, give them expectations of friendship, that I can't meet.

Maybe this necessary feeling of holding something back is the correlate for me being so open in so many other respects. People tell me all the time, even those I really don't know very well, that I am so real.  I don't mask my feelings.  I don't try to ensure that my life looks polished and wonderful.  If anything, I feel a strong need to tell it like it is because I hate feeling like everyone else around me (that danged perception thing mentioned above) has a handle on things.

I have spent much time feeling like my openness is a flaw.  That I am too real, too honest, that people get annoyed with me for letting it all hang out.  And perhaps they do, but that is their problem and not mine.

As time goes on, I begin to feel that perhaps this realness is my god-given gift.  This thing that puts other people at ease, makes them feel that they are not alone in their flaws...that is a gift, and I have only been able to understand this as people have thanked me for it.  For making them feel not so alone when they have unpleasant feelings.

Maybe the periphery, where I feel I am (whether I am actually there or not), is just the way it has to be in order for my gift to work.

I'm ok with that.

On a friend's wedding

I am thinking today about a woman who has been my friend since we were 14-year-old freshmen in high school.  When I am feeling particularly down on myself, I have to remember that there must be something redeemable in me because she wouldn't have stuck around so long if I was a complete shit.

She is getting married this weekend, and so she is on my mind.

There is a part of me that wonders if I have anything to offer her in the way of marital advice.  Since D and I are in our fourteenth year of marriage, one would think I might have some sage wisdom to offer, a nugget of brilliance that has served me well.

But there isn't.  I got nothin'.

Because as I've mentioned on this blog, I don't know how I got lucky enough to have a pretty good marriage that has survived as long as it has.

My friend is far more mature than I was when I married (as a wee helpless babe of 24).  She has lived on her own for many years.  She knows she can take care of herself without any man's help.  She has never confused being alone with loneliness (at least to the point where she thinks she needs a man and therefore has chosen just any man for his presence).  

If anything, I think I need her advice on how to be a successfully independent woman.
Because I think if our circumstances were switched, I feel fairly confident I wouldn't have chosen my company as well.
(Of course, when I think about the 4-5 guys I dated with any touch of seriousness prior to marriage, they were all good and decent men who probably would have made good husbands for me, so maybe I don't give myself enough credit.)

Anyway.........

Since I have no advice for her, I am sending her lots of wishes.....
For mostly happy times in her marriage.
For fortitude and closeness during the difficult or sad times.
For laughter and travels together.
For, perhaps if they deem it desirable, a little one that I can visit in the hospital the day after his/her birth.
And for her continued friendship in my life.

Love you KL. 

Highlights (and lowlights) of the week

ONW (Operation Night Weaning) UPDATE:
It has been about a week since ONW began.  The first two nights M fussed a bit, but he quickly realized that 1.) Momma was not going to pick him up and nurse him, and 2.) he could survive Momma not picking him up and nursing him.  Last night he slept from 7:00(ish) until 7:30 this morning....without once needing me to help him settle.  And his daytime nap has gotten longer too.  I felt so well-rested today after last night's solid chunk of sleep I even hopped on the treadmill and took a mile in the afternoon.

BUT
that mile is not going to help when I have a super-fantabulous neighbor who 1.) offered to have N help her make cookies this afternoon while the boys napped so I could have some downtime and then 2.) sent N back some 3 hours later with 3 bags of cookies in hand.  What a Christmas gift!!!!!  HAC knows the upcoming 2 weeks of family togetherness may kill me, so having N home sick from school Monday and Tuesday, and then school being canceled today and tomorrow due to ice....well, that was just someone shitting on my cake as opposed to putting icing on it.  One day when my kids are older, I fully intend to do some kind of niceness for a mom with young kids like HAC does for me on a regular basis.  I told her she and her husband must live next door until M is 10.

THIS EFFIN ICE....
has ruined the psyching myself out that I had intended for today and tomorrow in preparation for the next two weeks.  And N was so bummed because with school canceled tomorrow so to is her class party.  Not a good way to start a vacation.
Mother Nature is kinda being a bitch right now.

BABIES...
the documentary was simply wonderful.  I watched it on Netflix and found myself appreciating M so very much.  Offering him extra kisses and snuggles in a vain attempt to slow down the process of him turning into a little boy.  It is truly amazing how a baby changes in a little over a year.

Entering a new parenting phase

Tonight N asked me to play Polly Pockets with her after I put M to bed (D and G were playing in the sandbox).

Within about 4 seconds of me sitting on the floor, N started talking about how a girl she was in class with last year (and who she just adored and considered her "best friend") is now in a different class and has been playing with another girl instead of N during recess.  And that she feels sad and angry about it.

It was a rare occasion that I didn't know what to say.
But I've never parented a child through elementary school friendship weirdness.
I lived it, to be sure.
So I flubbered along and shared how I had a friend who often left me hanging in order to play with another girl, and how that made me feel sad too.  (Of course I was considerably older than N but the feeling of being abandoned, disliked and like shit are still the same.)

And so I'm out of my element here.
I know what to do with a toddler and a preschooler and a kindergartener.
But I'm a little dumbstruck by a 1st grader who opens up about feeling sad and angry with a friend.
And I want to fix it, but there is only so much a mama can do.
So I'll just listen and hug and hope.

Angels among us

I have some really, really good friends. A whole slew of them fixed meals for our family after M was born, and by that, I mean friends brought meals over for almost an entire month. I didn't have to worry about cooking until November rolled around, which was very much appreciated especially given all the sickness in my house and my infected incision.

Two friends have been especially wonderful to me, and I think of them as my angels.

My neighbor H is a stay-at-home mom of a high schooler and a son who just started college. One day we ran out of orange cheese (cheddar), so I called to ask her if she was gonna go out during the day if she would pick up some orange cheese for us. She brought over a chunk of orange cheese that she had at home and still fetched us some sliced stuff later in the day.

The other day, after having read about being stuck in the house again with sickos, she called and said she was going to the grocery and what did I need. I told her a gallon of organic skim milk and a fifth of vodka. She brought the milk and by declining to buy the booze prevented me from getting totally wasted and having my children taken away by CPS. She is always looking out for me.

And then there is KB, whom I have known since I was 14. Her sister, KL, and I have been dear friends since freshmen year, but KB and I have become more friendly since our oldest daughters are a couple of months apart in age.

KB, in addition to bringing us a meal after M was born, emailed me and asked if she could bring over some library books and dvds to help us weather the housebound crazies. And then she let me vent for a few minutes on the front porch when she dropped everything off. She also gives me all her old magazines so that I have something to do with my brain while nursing or watching the kids play. Ya know, for when seeing Thomas the Train go around the track for the 11 millionth time doesn't thrill my intellectual mind.

I always knew female friends were important, but since having my kids, my mom friends have been my salvation. I have my husband and mom to listen to me, but my husband has never been a mom, and my mom hasn't been in the "trenches" for a long time (long enough to forget a whole bunch of shit). But my mom friends live it everyday.

Their support has meant, and continues to mean, so, so much to me.

A treatise on friendship

Motherhood and friendship make for weird bed partners.

I have friendships that predate my children with a group of women whom I meet for brunch about every 6 weeks or so. My dear K has been in my life since we were 14. I have a special friendship with the woman who was my 8th grade teacher.

And then there are lots of women I know as a result of being a mom....since our kids play together or have played together in the past. And I call them friends.

But deep down inside, I tend to be a real stickler with regard to the word friend.

I wish there was a word somewhere between friend and acquaintance. Maybe there is?

N's friendships change as often as her underwear because of preschool schedules or kids growing up or interests changing. And as a result, my "friendships" change too because I don't see these moms as often or at all. Of course, there are the handful of these "friendships" that I have inadvertently destroyed as a result of issues between the children or political/religious emails.

And whenever one of N's friendships (or my pseudo-friendships) goes sour, I feel sad but then I have to ask myself how real of friendships were they? Not that I don't really like these other moms or want to be their friend. Sometimes I really and truly wish we could become better friends beyond the confines of our children. And sometimes I realize how different we are and that we only were friendly because our kids played together. Once our kids no longer play together, we will not talk or see each other, and it really won't bother us. Heck, we may actually be glad.

I think this is one of the harder parts of motherhood. It is challenging enough to watch your child navigate the waters of true friendship and help guide him/her, but it is nearly impossible to navigate 2 ships at once. And so my friendships, or pseudo-friendships, or temporary friendships sink. Either because of the nature of being a mom or because I torpedo them myself or because they were never meant to be in the first place.

Periphery

I feel like I stand on the periphery, typically in conversations, but also more important things too, like friendships and religion. I have likened my state to that of the Fonz on Happy Days. Arthur Fonzarelli was liked by Richie, Ralph, and Potsie, but he was kind of a stand-alone dude, not really a tight part of their circle. Lately I have been thinking about my Fonz status as it concerns friendships and religion.

Even before N came along, I was like this concerning friends or colleagues or acquaintances. I would be in my classroom working and my team members would be sitting across the hall chatting it up and socializing. Occasionally I would join them, but more often than not they would come and interrupt my work, which bothered the heck out of me. When I wanted companionship, I usually found myself seeking out 1 other teacher with whom to converse.

Once N came along and I joined the mom club, I really struggled and still sometimes do with the whole friendship dynamic. It often seems like other moms have much tighter connections that what I have with anyone in particular. And it's not that there aren't lots of gals I think are super; there are almost too many I would love to be more friendly with, but circumstances (as in a small kid, a husband, a house, a busy life) preclude closer friendships. And so I feel on the periphery but I am probably not alone in feeling like this. I simply don't know other women's thoughts.

Maybe I didn't get it out of my system at 11, but a part of me really yearns for a close female attachment, like chit-chatting on the phone or knowing someone else's business like a girlfriend. But the reality is that I don't like talking on the phone all that much, and I rarely have anything of interest to say (and especially if I have to talk to someone multiple times a day). D and I rarely ever talk on the phone. I am always amazed by women who talk to their husbands 2-3 times a day. I guess D and I are totally content with the vacuum of silence that exists between us.

So the weird thing is that lately alot of my mom friends have been "church shopping" and discussing what they've experienced. There is nowhere I feel more on the periphery than with religion. I don't attend services and haven't for many years now, but sometimes I have a strong yearning to just be in a pew in a church. I was brought up Catholic so I was at mass at least 2 times a week for years and years all through elementary/middle school. I don't know that I particularly want the church or just the feeling of home or comfort or routine that it represents. I guess it is kinda like the 11-year-old "I wanna best friend foreva" thing.

After D and I married I attended the most liberal church in our area, and I still left more times than I can count pissed off about some doctrine or another. And despite my issues, I just can't see myself going to a non-Catholic church. Plus, there is D, who made a great sacrifice by agreeing to marry me in a Catholic church, and who would rather have his fingernails pulled out than attend services of any shape, form or fashion. I often "blame" my reluctance to attend services on D, but he is just an easy scapegoat. It's like as a child when a friend called and asked me to do something I didn't want to do. I'd say, "Mom, can I do '"xyz?'" while I spastically nodded my head back and forth so that I wouldn't have to be the "bad guy" to my friends.

So anyway, I'm finding it stranger than fiction to be experiencing the periphery of friendship in combination with the periphery of religion.

I guess that is really life though. I guess it is the human condition to feel like people don't really know you or understand you or that you don't understand your feelings or that you don't understand life and the world and the hereafter. Hence, this is why we seek out friendships and religion. So I seek out those things that should make me feel less alone only to find that in seeking them out they remind me of how alone I am.

Ahhhh, fuck it.