My Saturday Night

I've made a new friend. Which, ya know, is kind of a big thing for me. This woman has seamlessly incorporated me, my whole family, into her life.

Even more, she's  extended party invitations. "You should come!" she insisted, "Its a Girl's Night Out. You'll love it!" And has hence incorporated me into her friends lives.

Which is surreal.

It takes a lot for me to talk to people. I need a plan, mental index cards with conversation topics, most of which usually revolve kids and the weather. I know, it's bad. Which is why I avoid social situations. But I walked into our friendship blind, and it has flourished; so I walked into her circle of friends blind too.

While it is to early to declare myself a success with the circle, I can say that night one was good. I was quiet, but I was myself. I made an ass of myself, and it was embraced, heralded even.

"You are one of us now!" they exclaimed in triumph, smoothing over actions that would have crushed me in any other group.

 And so, in a group of strangers that I have little in common with in the day to day, I now possess what seems like a teflon bond of foolishness.


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This post was inspired by Saturday Night Widows by Becky Aikman. After being kicked out of her widow support group for being too young, Becky creates her own support group with an unusual twist. Join From Left to Write on February 14 as we discuss Saturday Night Widows. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

Summer Thrills

Our town has a carnival that comes this time every year.

It is a week long extravaganza hosted by the fire department, with a firework conclusion. And really, how do you refuse that? Knowing that some portion of the vast amount of money you just bled into the summer night goes to help support the neighbors that protect you. How do you not to drop an extra $5 into the boot at the hot dog stand?
(I may or may not be a little biased on this one.)

So we marched into the sweltering heat to meet with the family of one of Gracie's besties, and bought the all-you-can-ride wrist band. Grace rode with abandon: carousel, train, dragon roller coaster, tilt-a-whirl.

Clare watched with eager eyes, but didn't get to join in on the fun. Until we got to the ferris wheel.
Me go? Mine Mama? Mine, me?

And we went. She and I tucked neatly into a capsule.
It was the beginning of the end.
Now she knew she was allowed to go to, and so she went on her first carnival  ride with Grace.

Quickly followed by a ride all by herself.

I don't think I've seen her that happy in quite awhile.
Well, except for when I make popcorn.

On the Other Side

So this weekend was SO. MUCH. BETTER. than last weekend.

Writing the last post made me feel lighter. At Blogher, one of the sessions I actually attended railed against the idea of just manically typing and hitting publish. I think that is bullshit, because it works. It did what I intended it to do, make me feel better.

I think Gracie could see the crazy in my eye. On the way home Friday afternoon, we had a long conversation about how she would loose a lot of privileges this weekend if she didn't act appropriately. Toys would be confiscated, televisions would be unplugged, timeouts would be administered. There were a lot of  "Yes, Mama's" uttered, but I was not a believer.

That night at dinner was the first time in weeks that Clare didn't throw her food on the ground in protest and try to stand on my plate. When Clare started to give us the "How dare you feed me!" stink eye, Gracie broke out in song and they were both laughing within seconds. The rest of the dinner was spent singing The Wheels on the Bus, with occasional Olivia interludes. It was bliss.

New Years Eve was filled with a trip to the zoo for the girls, much needed alone time for me and one of the best 9pm sans-children at home dinners we've ever experienced. It is amazing what a bottle and a half of champagne and two hours of uninterrupted conversation can do for the psyche.

Most of all, thank you for the comments and support. Knowing that I am not alone (or crazy) is the perfect catharsis to heal the wounds of last weekend.

Family Circles

It’s funny how you can love babies before they are even born. How you know you will protect and love them in every way you can before you even see eyes fluttering to look at you. How it doesn’t even matter that they are not part of your flesh and a product of your womb.

I have added another boy to my ranks of children today.

I raced to claim the status of the first outside of the family to caress him. I rocked my swaddled bundle for an hour before I relinquished my hold on his warm little body. I can still smell the sweet, blessed odor of newborn on my skin.



R.K.M.

Welcome to this world little man. You come into with so much more love waiting for you than you can possibly realize.

Come Talk to Me @ BlogHer

So I’m about to go on an adventure.

All by myself.

Well, not really all by myself. Robin and Denise are coming with me.

But right now, I feel all by myself.

I tried packing my bag all weekend long. I put things in, I took things out. Grace put things in and took things out. I’ve analyzed if I have enough room to bring my own pillow like a child because I just don’t sleep right without it.

And now? My stomach is churning. The calendar has flipped and it is officially August and I am officially leaving in 2 days for San Diego.

Posts like this have really been helping, but still…. I get it is OK to be awkward. In my mind though, it is fine for other people to be awkward, but aren’t I supposed to have my shit together and fully embrace the idea of freedom and adventure for five very long days. Part of me relishes the idea of seeing this computer based life in person, but another part of me feels like such a fraud.

You know, you read me. You’ve noticed that my posts have dropped off significantly in the last year or so. Am I a blogger, just because I have a url? Well, I guess I did have business cards made to that effect.

Once I get on the plane I know I will be fine. We have invites to parties galore, and lot of free booze will make all my worries go away, right?

So really, come talk to me. Because I think I will really need it.

Have I mentioned that my stomach is churning?

First of the Lasts

Yesterday, for the first time, the realization that she is leaving friends that she has known since infancy behind for new adventure. With reassurances that since their mama’s were friends, they would of course still see each other, her panic was short lived.

For me, it was one long, ongoing battle. There was lots of tears.

Today is the first of the lasts.

I have drove to work with two children in my car for the last time.

*****

I entered with her for the last time.

I unpacked her for the last time.

I signed her in for the last time.

I asked for my push out the door for the last time.

*****

I packed her up for the last time.

I collected her things for the last time.

I signed her out for the last time.

I exited with her for the last time.

*****

I left work with two children in my car for the last time.

Upon her departure there were heartfelt hugs and gifts. A box covered with glitter and filled with love. Drawings, messages, feelings. When we got home, she carefully went through the box picture by picture, giving each a hug and declarations of friendship.

The countdown calendar still says three days until her starts her new school. I think we planned it wrong. I think today should have said zero yesterday. To me, that was the benchmark. The Last.

The last picture of Grace with her class

StoryTellers

It’s funny how we, as adults, get to move in and out of the realms of childhood imagination.

Over the last few months, Grace’s ability to pretend and imagine has blossomed. We have a play routine now on our drives home. First we talk about birds, which usually involves us shouting ‘WOODPECKER!’ at each other for 10 minutes and then delves into a conversation where I am expected to name every kind of bird I can think of and she decides who gets what bird.

Blue Jay- Daddy’s bird
Chickadee- Clare’s bird
Sparrow- Ricky’s bird
Cardinal- My bird
Pigeon- Her bird
Penguin- Daddy’s bird
Flamingo- Her bird
Eagle- My bird
Hawk- Clare’s bird
Raven- Her bird
Oriole- Daddy’s bird
Robin- Her bird
Seagull- Clare’s bird
WOODPECKER! – Her bird

And then she takes it all back.
‘Mama, I don’t want to share. All the birds in the world are mine, ok?’

Next we move onto monsters.
They are pink and purple and yellow and blue and every imaginable shade of the rainbow with polka-dots and glitter sparkles. They seem to live in the trees of the wooded roadside we pass driving home. They are easily deterred from coming into the car by singing The Monster Boogie and if they do penetrate the force field of our voices, they are plucked out the air and eaten. I tend to think Grace leaves holes in her force field to allow for the monster snacks, as they apparently taste like taffy and cotton candy.

There are dozens of other games, but these are the top two lately and occupy us for the majority of our 45 minute drive home. Yesterday, I was unknowingly pulled into another imagination.

I go to the daycare to see Clare during my lunch break, sneaking in and out without notice most days. This time I was pummeled with questions from the older children in the center.

‘Gracie’s mommy! Gracie’s mommy! You’re Clare’s mommy too, right?’
Ummm…. Yeah….?
‘S says that Clare is a boy’s name! Tell him it ISN’T a boys’ name because it is Gracie’s sisters name and Gracie’s sister is a GIRL!’
Ummm…. Yeah….?
Of course it is a girls name! S, you are full of hooey!
**To which S grinned, bashfully looked down at the ground digging his Crocs into the dirt.**

I had no idea what on Earth they were talking about and why Clare was involved, but forgot all about the conversation moments later.

I love moving in and out of the realms of childhood imagination…. And sometimes, unbeknownst to at the time, become part of the story.

My Script

Over a month ago, NES called me out. Not in a mean, ‘you suck’, kind of way. It was a heartfelt ‘you are my friend so lets see your response’, kind of call out. Plus, I am sure she noticed I hadn’t been posting and meme’s are easy blog fodder. And she is right in the absurd notion that I’ve privy to so many peoples personal thought through their words and have never seen their signature.

Well, 34 days later I am answering the call. Here is the exercise:

Write down the following, snap a picture (or scan the document) & post it. (Sorry, I’m skipping the tag others bit)
1. Name/Blog Name

2. Right handed, left handed or both

3. Favorite letters to write

4. Least favorite letters to write

5. Write: The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

6. Write in caps:

CRAB

HUMOR

KALEIDOSCOPE

PAJAMAS

GAZILLION

7. Favorite song lyrics

8. Any special note or drawing

Just in case you couldn't read my handwriting, my answer to #7 was:

There's more than one answer to these questions; pointing me in crooked line; The less I seek my source for some definitive; The closer I am to fine.

Thanks for the love NES!

Making A Difference, One Cube at a Time

I don't have many hits to this blog. I am OK with that. I am amazed by the fact that ANYONE reads this dribble about our lives and Gracie's shoes, and am blown away that readers from NES's blog have wandered over to read mine.

Sometimes readers come from unlikely sources though... like Matt's 20-something coworkers. Yeah Jasson, I'm talking about you. He was apparently enthralled by this post. Maybe it is because I didn't write anything else for over a week, so he had plenty of time to stare at the sad clown. Maybe he gets some sort of perverse pleasure from the forlorn.

Either way, he made a request for the clown and it now has a new home in a non-descript beige government cubicle.

And I'm glad to be of service to the select few who spend their time reading these pages, and I like to think that we are making a difference. Let me know if anyone else needs some 2 year old art to adorn their walls.

Welcome

Friendships are funny. I’ve never been very good at them.

I’ve never really had more than a few at one time and something always seems to smash them apart. Especially girl-friends.

To those I call my friend I am fiercely loyal. I cower when personally challenged, but only a fool would dare to say a word against someone I love. To that end, their experiences become mine. Their joy and tribulation become part of my soul and life story too. Their love is my love. Someone I put soundly in this category spent the night in the hospital bringing new life into this world.

I sit here feeling a little life stir stir in my own belly, still needing her attachment to me, and I weep tears of joy for my friend and my unborn child’s new cohort. This morning, my heart beat anxiously to meet the little man whose anticipated presence in this world has been part of my daily life for the last 8 months. Holding him in my arms was like holding my own child.

Welcome to the world baby NES. You rushed into it with more love and family then you could ever want for, for you are forever part of my family and my heart.

Ties That Bond (Shoelaces That Is)

Two weeks ago, NES emailed me this story. I almost stole it and posted it up here right then and there. But then I started to get a little pang of guilt with the idea of blatant thievery - and you know - a little lazy too.

Today she has done the work for me! Sweet. Being lazy does pay off.

I present: A day in the lives of two-year-old best friends.

It makes you wonder how much we don't see, huh?

New Beginnings

Today, my brother signed the paperwork to purchase his first home.

Tonight, Gracie and I have been invited to celebrate Rosh Hashanah with friends.

I love the idea of mid-year new beginnings. Sweet beginnings. Fall is always a breath of fresh air to me, as the best things in my life have always come this time of year.

So to all my friends and family, may today bring you wonderful new beginnings.

Battle Royale

Gracie has been in daycare with the same three little girls since her enrollment. She and her best friend have had lunch dates since they were weeks old. All three girls have traveled together from classroom to classroom. They are sisters. They fight.

Oh, do they fight.

Now that they are all rounding the ripe old age of two, there is more consequence to their battles. More aftermath and carnage.

I arrived to pick Gracie up moments after this happened. There were no remaining tears and I’m sure the pains were quelled with hugs, from both her teacher and her offending sister.

Wonderful Reptition

How can you tell who your best friends are?

When pictures of your children together repeat themselves.

December 2008

July 2009

I hope we add to this series every 6 months.

Lovelies

This post is many weeks overdue.

It has been a lot harder than I thought to write though, not because I don't follow a million blogs, but because I'm not sure I deserve the title of A Lovely Blog. I'm not eloquent or shocking. I'm not laugh out loud funny or heartbreakingly sad. It is just me writing my own little journal in the matter of fact way a child does. For myself and my family. And my family doesn't even read it.

Back in May, NES was presented with a ‘Lovely Blog Award’ from Stepford Dreams.

She then returned the favor, being the great friend she is, gave me a nice pat on the back with my own ‘Lovely Blog Award’.

Now I guess it is my turn to select my 15 favorite blogs (in no particular order).....

Funnies:
Hippo Brigade
Sick Days
The Bloggess
Barefoot Foodie
The Little Criminal

Foodies:
Capitol Spice
Lemmonex (formerly Culinary Couture)
Line Cook

Fashion:
Capitol Hill Style
The Sartorialist

Life:
The Restaurant Refugee
Diary of Why
Princess Nebraska
Du Wax Loolu

All of the Above:
Not-Ever-Still Life With Girls, (despite knowing selecting her again is against the rules) because without NES as my inspiration I don't think I would have ever typed a single word.

Open Book

A few months ago I had a background investigation review done for my job.

I’ve gone through these interview and reviews for years. They have never been more than a slight inconvenience. Until this last review.

I assume the investigator never found any issues with my past behavior as I still have my job, but she really did try to find something. She asked me the same questions over and over and over again, during interview after interview after interview. Finally I grew terse with her in a post 5 pm Friday phone call, which for me is as good as yelling.

I never did hear from her again after that call.

The one of questions she kept asking me was, “How come you don't have any friends that knew you before you moved to Maryland?”

This has stuck with me and keeps bouncing around in my head. (Obviously)

I see this as a (perceived) accusation that there is something wrong with me for not having 40 phone numbers programmed into my cell phone and a Facebook page full of people that I don’t know in real life. I kept wanting to defend myself with long explanations, but told myself that it was none of her business. Keep my answers short, she doesn’t need to know WHY I can count the people that I would call my friends on one hand.

Yet, I keep writing this post and then deleting it.

How much information is enough? How much is too much? Is it my right to air my memories of final acts in a forum that they would never be able to respond? Is it my right to air their hurt?

I don’t know. But I am writing this blog for Grace. For my family to know things about me that I might not be able to say to their face. So they can understand me better.

So here I go:

My friends, my true friends, know that I love them. I call them. I smile at them. I talk to them. I include them in my life. I have no secrets from them.

I decided long ago that this would be my mantra.

I believed that friends that drifted away weren’t really friends. I know that friends that would intentionally speak ill of me are not my friends. I have a one strike – maybe two – policy. Any hurt after that will be done to someone else.

- K was my best friend from infancy to grade school. She developed breasts early, which made her popular. I did not, which made me not cool enough for her and the other brassiere wearing legions to hang out with.
o Her final act was convincing me to talk to the most popular boy in school on the playground because he had a crush on me. She made sure everyone stopped to watch and orchestrated a wave of laughter.

- E was my best friend in junior high. She was a new girl from California and had no bias like the rest of the school that I had been with for the last 7 years. In the final weeks of 8th grade, the high school activities recruiters came around. We decided to be band geeks together and she wanted to talk to the cheer squads too. Once we were in high school the social cliques pulled us apart.
o Her final act was telling me that she had to go straight home after school on a half day instead of having lunch with me. So I went out with my dad. She was sitting in the restaurant with a group of girls who whispered when they say me. I knew E felt bad, but she said nothing. They laughed as I walked out.

- D was best friend for the next 3 years in high school. I spent the rest of my freshman year alone. I could never imagine my life without her in it. We did everything together. When I went to college we were still in contact and I gave her a list of friends for her to lean on at her University the following year. She took my advice and went on a date with B on my recommendation.
o My final act was doing nothing. She called me the next night in tears, because she needed someone to talk to. B had assaulted her. No, she didn’t want to call the police. She didn’t want anyone to know. She just needed to talk. So I talked, but I did nothing. She stopped calling me after that and part of me was grateful because I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t make it right. I had hurt her and she had every right to quit me.

- L was my best friend in college. We, again, did everything together. Maybe we did to much together because I never realized what she was doing. I knew she resented that two of her ex-boyfriends asked me on dates after breaking up with her. I always said no, and never told her. I tried to pretend like it never happened, but I knew on some level that she knew.
o Her final act was my realization of the rumors she spread about me. When Matt and I started dating seriously, I questioned him as to why he hadn’t asked me out earlier. He said L told everyone who listened that I was a slut that slept with anyone with a pulse. I asked every. single. mutual friend we had and they all told me the same story.

So that, dear investigator, is why I don’t have tons of friends.

I am cautious of who I let into my life and don’t feel the need to keep friends that don’t make me feel good about myself. I married the one person who has known me the longest and he has never let me down.

The glorious women I have in my life now are solid. You have their names and numbers. Talk to them, they know everything important that there is to know.

Friendship At Its Finest

When NES told me this story yesterday, I giggled and thought about creating a post surrounding it.

Now I don't have to. Click on over.

Super Sunday's

Gracie’s tendency towards vomit is a fascinating, disgusting thing.

She pukes a lot. You know this. I talk about it often because, at times, it feels like an all encompassing part of my dynamic with here. It’s a fear that lurks in the back of my head.

Her top three reasons for yacking are: illness, distress/crying and not chewing her food. The last one is the semi-preventable topic that I can’t seem to semi-prevent.

Now *fade into* Superbowl Sunday.

Mmmm … snacks galore. Meatballs, pizza bread, fruit, cheese … it was a baby bonanza fueled by the energy of being in the house of folks born, and somewhat raised, in Pittsburgh.

I guess I just didn’t realize how much Grace was eating. And just how big the pieces were that she was shoving into her mouth.

I kept giving them to her, so I guess I should have, but it was a party. I was talking. Kids were running around. Matt was off in the basement playing Wii, so the supervision consisted of my lax eye and a 10 year old.

About two hours into the party, I chased Grace into the kitchen. She’d reached the wall and could go no further. You could see the flint in her eye, she was not about to be caught. She was not having any diaper changes.

But then, the look changed. I saw the flash. I knew the flash well.

Oh no, Gracie don’t!

Too late. (Not that I really believed my plea would make any difference.)

Blaahh. Blaahh. Blaahh. (She is just like me. I think she is inheriting my OCD. She like things in three’s.)

Now there is all 2 hours worth of said snacks, along with 2 sippy cups of milk, all over their party-prepped kitchen floor and throw rug beneath the sink.

Ahhh…. Michelle? Ummm, I’m so sorry, but my daughter just threw up all over you floor. I think you’ll want to wash this rug.

She gets it. She totally understands. She’s got three kids.

But still. Please, please, PLEASE stop puking Gracie. You have molars! Use them!

Whee! Wii! Whew.

Matt and I have been so good about limiting our spending lately.

Well, good for us anyway.

Since we started our spending crack-down in November, I don’t think I have spent more than $50 on things that I don’t “need” (yeah, I know, totally in quotes.)

Now we are getting itchy.

On Sunday we went to NES’s house for a Wii play date. We keep hesitating on the purchase of this pricey gaming system, because let’s face it, we loose interest in things quickly. (Ahemm… can you say Elliptical Machine that is collecting cobwebs in our basement.)

We loved the Wii though. How often, as adults, do you get to hula hoop? How often do you get to hula hoop in your living room? How often do you get to hula hoop in your living room with full knowledge that you look like and idiot, but just don’t care??

NEVER.

That’s how often.

But we did. We hula hooped! We skied! We Yoga-ed! We battled with NES’s family. And it was GREAT. We, as adults, actually PLAYED.

It was so much fun and as a couch potato slug, I love the idea of another source of motivation right in front of me to get off that couch after Grace goes to sleep. Sure, it’s not the same as getting on that said Elliptical or doing crunches, but I wasn’t doing that anyway.

So now we are facing some spendy dilemmas. The suckers are $300. Plus $130 for the Fit. We’ve been SO good. Now we are falling into a big time hissyfit of WANT WANT WANT. ME ME ME. NEED NEED NEED.

We will see my little Wii, I’m sure we will figure something out. If nothing else, I know where one lives and there is a fat little character with my name all over it.

My Sister

A blast from the past called me last night. A girl that was my sidekick and partner in crime for two years. Even though we were well into adulthood when we met, we were like teenagers together. We referred to each other as "my sister."

Then she left.

I couldn’t blame her. She married and moved out of the country. There is a huge time difference between our Continets, not to mention a huge phone bill. I understood.

Over time though she stopped communicating all together.

More and more time would pass between email responses. Then they just stopped all together. After my last Christmas card went unacknowledged, I came to grips with it. OK, her life is too busy and she has moved on. I'm not exactly sitting on my hands waiting for the phone to ring either. I've got my own shit to do.

On a whim I sent her the link to this blog, figuring the emails never even get opened. Apparently she does open email because I got a phone call last night asking to meet for lunch next weekend to catch up.

I agreed, but that is where it is going to end. Sure, I will look for a place to meet to split the 3 hour drive between us in half, but nothing more than that.

Why? Because I fully expect her to get busy and not call. And it breaks my heart every time.