Mommy Dearest

I love my moms!  No, that's not a typo...I meant it to be plural.  Of course, I love my own mother, but I'm talking about my friends who are moms.  When I had my son, I began realizing that I didn't have a strong support system of other women in my shoes.  A lot of my friends either already had kids who were toddlers and beyond or hadn't yet settled down and had children.  They were all supportive and loving and helpful, but they weren't in the exact same place in time that I was.  Luckily, with a lot of searching, I found a wonderful group.  When my son was about 6 months old, we joined the group and went on our first outing with them:  a stroller walk on the local bike path.  I recall being completely exhausted from being up with him all night and being nervous that they would already know each other and we'd be the odd ones out.  It turned out that they were just like me!  Most of us had children in roughly the same age range, we were all tired, and they welcomed me with open arms.  In the year since then, my son and I have become an active part of the group.  We attend playgroups, parties, lunches, etc.  What started as something to get us out of the house has become a group of people that I find I cannot function without.  There are some people who drift in and out, but there is a core group of people that I have truly become friends with.  Just when I feel like there's no one else out there who understands what I'm going through, I'll go to lunch or a playdate and find out that someone else's little one is in a biting phase or not sleeping or one of the other myriad joys of parenting a toddler.  I don't feel the need to pretend with these women.  If I'm having an awful day and my son is behaving monstrously, they don't judge; they smile, they help, we laugh because we all know that next time, it might be one of them who's got two different socks on and has a screeching baby.

Happy Happy Joy Joy

My mother came up with an excellent idea many years ago.  I don't even remember exactly how it started.  I think I was in the depths of teenage despair and viewing the glass as permanently half empty when she suggested that I find a "joy for the day."  At the time, I'm sure I scoffed at it, but it's a practice that I've come back to over and over again in the ensuing years.  It's a pretty simple concept.  You simply find one thing each day that makes your heart sing.  It doesn't have to be anything major or miraculous.  It could be as simple as seeing a really great sunset or having a stranger hold a door for you. 

In times like these, it's important to find these joys each day.  Sometimes, it seems hard to find anything worthwhile in a day full of stress and strife.  There are days with obvious joys like wedding days, the time a baby takes his or her first steps, etc.  Then there are other days when not getting hit by a car or going to bed early can be joys!

What's amazing and wonderful about this practice is that it helps one to be mindful of the good in life.  Once you start finding joy in the little things, you really notice how fortunate you are.  If your joy for the day is something simple like a great cup of coffee, you start thinking about how lucky you are to have the $2 to buy the coffee and how great it is that you're strong and healthy enough to walk to the coffee shop, and it just goes on from there.

So in this time of doom and gloom, I encourage you to find a joy every day.  Think about it, meditate on it, write it down...whatever you need to remember that there is always something good in every day, even if you have to dig deep to find it.  I just ate a VitaBrownie.  Need I say more?

Soulmate

I haven't talked a lot on here about my husband.  That's a major oversight because he is, in a word...awesome.  We met when he was 17 and I was 18 (yes, I'm 11 months older than him and will never live it down).  It was during the first class on the first day of college.  I was looking around the room trying to figure out who the cutest guy was, and he fit the bill.  A few days later, we were both checking out the callboard (we were theatre majors) and he asked if I wanted to walk to our next class together.  As we walked down the hall, it felt to me like we had known each other forever.  I had this crazy flash in my head of us getting married.  I was totally embarassed because I'd known him less than a week and had no intention of marrying him.  Little did I know that less than 4 years later, I would!  We were best friends for about 6 months before we started dating, although at least 2 of those months were spent in miserable limbo while we danced around the fact that we were attracted to each other.  Neither of us wanted to risk the amazing friendship we had.  What if we started dating and it didn't work out?  I couldn't stand the thought that I might lose him in my life, but inevitably, we found that we couldn't keep the romantic feelings out of our relationship. 

We got married young by today's standards.  He was 21 and I was 22.  I suppose that lots of people assumed the marriage wouldn't last, though no one came right out and said it.  On the contrary, it has thrived.  My sister-in-law and brother-in-law also got married young, and she said something profound to me once about how there is something comforting and lovely about marrying someone that you also get to watch grow up.  I know that can turn into doom for some, but for us, it was the right thing.  I suppose we could have waited a few more years to tie the knot, but what was the point?  We would have ended up married no matter what. 

I know that some of our friends look at us and think our marriage is perfect, but it's not.  We've had our moments...lots of them just like everyone else.  I think what keeps us together is more than just love.  Of course, we have that in spades, but we also have trust and friendship, and we genuinely like each other.  At the end of the day, there is no one I would rather talk to or be with than him.  Except, of course, for the days when he has been a typical man and annoyed me to the point that I can't stand him!  Luckily, those days are few and far between.

My husband is one of those rare men who, miraculously, has eyes for only me and has since 1995.  He is almost completely incapable of admitting another woman is attractive, even when I'm giving him license to do so.  I sometimes feel almost guilty for the amount of love he has for me.  He holds my hand everywhere we go, he still writes me love letters and poetry, and he ends every single conversation on the phone with me by saying, "I love you," and meaning it.  He did this the other day when we were talking on his way home from work, and I realized he was actually in our driveway at the time that he said it!

People say that love fades with time, but my love for him has only grown.  There are days when his difficulty expressing his feelings, his dirty socks on the floor, his obsession with popcorn (the kernels of which he leaves all over the house), and his unwillingness to do certain chores makes me crazy...but then I watch him play with our son or listen to his voice on the phone, or read something brilliant that he's written, and I remember why I married him:  He is the kindest, funniest, smartest, and best man I've ever had the privilege of knowing, and no one on earth will ever love me the way he does.

You Say It's Your Birthday

Yesterday was my 33rd birthday, and I had decided to cancel it.  This came as a huge shock for those who know me.  Birthdays in my world are sacred events.  They are to be celebrated every year without fail to the point of being obnoxious.  My friend, Deirdre, and I are particularly ridiculous about the whole thing.  We try to be the first one to call each other on our birthdays, we sing, we buy each other mushy cards and just the right gifts (usually several of them with long stories about how and where we found them).  My husband was never big on birthdays until I came along.  I now spend weeks planning his special day, and I expect the same for myself.

I think birthdays are so wonderful because it's the only day that's your own holiday.  It's not commemorating any moment in history other than the one that brought you into the world.  It's a time for reflection and joy and taking stock of where you are in life and where you want to go.

I was discouraged this year.  My husband had to work, several of my friends were busy with other plans, and I had had to cancel a spa day the day before my birthday because my father had fallen and I'd spent 5 hours in the ER with him and my mother.  I decided to postpone my birthday.  I asked my mother not to make my favorite (German chocolate) cake, told my husband to cancel plans, and thought I'd spend the day in bed being grumpy instead.

What happened was one of those rare moments where everything aligned perfectly, and I had one of the loveliest days in recent memory.  My husband insisted that my mother make the cake anyway, he brought me breakfast in bed, I went on a shopping spree with my mom, I went to lunch with two of my dearest friends, I spent an hour in the park with my boys, and Deirdre and her daughter came over for cake in the evening.  Did I mention that the weather was perfect?

So, the beginning of my 33rd year was pretty nice.  I woke up today with a new lease on life.  I went back to the gym after taking a few weeks off, I resolved to eat right, I played with my son, and I decided to focus on what's good and lovely in the world instead of what's negative.  Here's to another year!

Don't Worry...Be Happy!

I have an almost 16-month old, and that means that my life is a roller coaster.  He's not the quiet, shrinking violet type; he's more of a force to be reckoned with.  I'm delighted that he has such a big personality, but some days it's exhausting.  Some days are joyful, while others are temper tantrum city.  Usually, however, it's a mixture.  He laughs one minute and then descends into the depths of despair the next.  Today was one of those rare days where he was simply filled with sweetness and light all day long.  I think he cried once, and it was because he had to stop playing and have a diaper change.  For the most part, he giggled, he played, he danced, and he ran around the house shouting, "HAPPY" at the top of his lungs.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.  In fact, I wish I could put it in a bottle and save it forever.  I am aware as the days slide by and I find myself consumed with the minutiae of life:  diapers, cleaning, laundry, work, work, work, that someday I will look back fondly on this time when he was just a toddler.  I will not remember the fits, the fights, the thrown food.  What I hope I'll remember is the precious times, like when I was putting him to bed a few minutes ago.  As I sang to him, he reached up, patted my face, and sighed, "happy."  I couldn't have said it better myself. 

Don't I Know You?

I am a little obsessed with Facebook.  I started off getting a Myspace account just to see what it was all about.  Then, I started hearing about Facebook.  I thought it was just for college kids, but I went on and discovered that, suddenly, everyone I had ever known had a profile.  In the few short months since I've been using it, I have discovered people I had completely forgotten about.  I have reconnected with:  my arch nemesis from high school, the first boy I went on a date with (who was also my first kiss), my first love/first big heartbreak, my senior prom date, and my first and third grade teachers just to name a few. 

I'm not going to lie...a lot of time spent on Facebook is wasted time.  I play Scramble, I take stupid quizzes, I watch videos of my friend's cats "dancing" along with music.  A lot of the time I spend on Facebook is quality time, though.  I chat on a regular basis with people I never thought I'd hear from again.  As I've mentioned before, I come from a very small, rural town in Maine.  I don't have much family left there, so I don't get back very often.  I have felt "out of the loop" for a long time.  I sometimes hear about important events months after they've happened, and only if I read them in the local paper.  Now, I hear about events immediately, for better or worse.

There is something surreal about getting electronic birthday cards from someone you were in a play with 20 years ago.  In many ways, the whole thing is quite odd.  On the other hand, I find it comforting to be able to keep in touch with many of the people I've considered friends (and enemies) over the years.  I get a good feeling from knowing that, even if I'll never see them again in person, in one little piece of cyberspace, so many of the people I love are still out there, and they're okay.

Now I have to go kick someone's ass in WordTwist.

Can't we all just get along?

I just got off the phone with a horrible person.  Let me first mention that I HATE the telephone.  I hate it when it rings, I hate talking on it, and I especially hate to make "those" calls.  You know the ones I'm talking about.  The calls about bills you've paid or haven't paid, the calls about products you ordered but never received, the calls about horrible customer service, etc.  This call was about a parking ticket I received in Providence back in August.  I paid the $25 ticket and thought nothing more about it...until yesterday when I received a collection notice in the mail for $50 for the "unpaid" ticket!  I called the collection agency and was told that because the payment was received 1 day late, I now owed double the amount.  You're kidding, right?  I then called Providence Municipal Court and spoke with the most horrendous type of person...the one who enjoys being rude to people on the phone.  My dream come true.  I tried to explain to this lovely young (like maybe 18) woman that I was not about to pay this amount considering that I have a small child and don't have $50 laying around.  I confess, I got a little emotional.  With a mounting stack of bills and the lack of antidepressants to help me stay controlled (see my earlier post!), I had little tolerance for being talked down to.  This woman went on a tirade about how it wasn't her fault that I was a poor single mother.  Huh?  Not sure where she got that from!  When I asked to speak with her supervisor, she flat out refused and told me not to cry in her ear.  She insisted that she speaks with people every day who have cancer and "real" problems, and that if I could afford a car that could sit at an expired meter, I could obviously afford the late fee.  Wow.  The resolution of the matter was that she waived the late fee, but not without giving me a long lecture about how I needed to be nicer to people if I expected them to help me and basically that I should get a job.

I have a few thoughts about this.  First of all...listening to the facts is a good idea instead of jumping to conclusions.  Secondly...if you're in a position to answer the phone, try to be compassionate.  I've worked in customer service and had to listen to many angry folks.  You know what I discovered?  Most of them had legitimate complaints and just wanted someone to be kind and hear them out.  Thirdly...is there a reason women can't be nice to each other?  Time and time again I have found that we are downright cruel to each other, and I'm not sure why.  I'm determined to spend a little more time figuring this out...but right now, I have to go call the credit card company!

Read any good books lately?

I am currently fully immersed in suburban life and have to say that I'm unapologetic about it.  One of my students recently wrote on her Facebook status that she would never be the girl in the suburbs with a kid on one hip and a dog running around the yard.  I had to laugh.  None of us think that will be us, but it inevitably happens...and that's ok.  I don't have a dog, and I've only had the kid for a little over a year, but I'm pretty happy with the whole situation, although at 18 I supposed it's not what I pictured either.

I've lived in one very rural place, two fairly large cities, and now a comfortable mid-sized suburb of Boston.  Along with the suburban mom thing come certain obligations like a minivan (I don't own my own but I drive my parents'), attendance at several jewelry and kitchen parties each year, and belonging to a book club.  I love to read, so book club was a no-brainer for me. 

Book club has been much more to me than a place to sit and drink wine while chatting about literature.  In fact, it is my safe haven, filled with people I love who get me through the best and worst times in life.  It consists of five of my very dearest friends, who probably wouldn't be my dearest friends otherwise. 

I think book club conjures up a particular image to outsiders.  They probably picture smartly dressed suburbanites sipping chablis and drawling on about the latest pop fiction.  Our book club would turn that picture on its head!  At least a few people are usually wearing pajamas, one of us (who will remain unnamed) drinks gin each month, and we swear like truck drivers.  One of our members sells sex toys for a living, one sells make-up, and two are in school.  We range in age from early 30's to late 40's, and between the six of us we have 11 children between the ages of 15 months and 18 years.  We read all sorts of books:  memoirs, chick lit, old classics, romances, mysteries...you name it.  We don't always agree on the books.  To be quite honest, at least one person per month generally hasn't quite finished the book.  Sometimes, they haven't even started it.

My husband suspects that we all gab about sex the whole night and do very little critical analysis, but he's wrong.  In fact, we do talk about sex a lot, but we also have lively, intelligent discussions about the books we read.  We also, however, talk about real life.  We talk about our marriages, our kids, our secrets, our hopes.  We laugh together about what's wonderful, and we cry together about what's wrong.  I didn't want to go last night.  I was tired, I'd had a fight with my husband, the list went on and on.  I dragged myself out to the car with my fruit salad in hand.  Did I mention that we have a potluck dinner each month based on food inspired by the book?  In any case, I left feeling miserable, and came home full of joy.  At one point while I described some difficulty, one of my friends grabbed my hands and said, "Me too!"  It was the best I have felt in a long time.

No matter what disagreements we have over the book or what we're each going through, at some point each month, at least one of us understands precisely what another is feeling.  That's why, no matter what's going on in our lives, we set aside the first Friday of each month to sit down together, have a meal, and speak the universal language of friendship..."Me too."

Monday, Monday

I did not have a good week last week.  The stomach bug hit my house like a tornado, and only my father and I were spared.  The rest of the family succumbed to its' wrath.  Being an emetophobe (yes, that means scared of vomit), it was not my finest hour.  I'm still laying awake at night wondering if every gas pain might be the dreaded illness snaking its way into my stomach.  Since we've been barf free since Thursday, I think I'm in the clear.  On top of that, there was a rather untimely death in the town I grew up in which has made me (and many other people) very sad.  I was hopeful that I would wake up today and revel in the fact that it's a new week full of new hope.  What I woke up to instead is a yard full of about a foot of new snow. 

I'm sort of a black or white person, and for me, Monday always brings new hope.  I think of Monday as a time for new diets, new exercise routines, and new attitudes.  This can be a problem, however.  If anything happens on Monday to upset my vision of fresh starts, I am immediately convinced that the entire week is ruined.  This happened this morning.  There's a snowstorm and I found out that I inadvertently did something that might have caused pain to someone that I love.  Not the best way to begin the week.  So...I have sat and cried for the past hour or so and am now ready to rejoin the world.

I'm trying to come to grips with the fact that everything is not black and white.  Just because Monday starts off rough doesn't mean all is lost.  I'll make cookies today and start my diet tomorrow.  And maybe instead of viewing the snowstorm as a crappy thing, I'll think of it as a way of wiping the landscape clean and starting fresh.

As seen on TV

I'm supposed to write about relationships, right?  Ok, I'm going to confess a dirty little secret.  I'm  having a torrid affair...with my television.  I love television and I don't care who knows it.  I think it might have something to do with growing up in a rural town in Maine and not getting cable TV as a child.  When I was a kid, I got 4 channels on my television, and we had rabbit ears (for those of you too young to know what that means...ask your parents).  Consequently, I spent every moment I could watching cable at other people's houses.  My best friend got cable, and I would plunk myself in front of MTV whenever possible.  My aunt in Boston got cable, and I would spend one week every summer with an unending supply of Klondike bars and every bad cable movie ever made. 

Since I had my son a little over a year ago, I have found television to be a necessity.  Since I don't always get out, the world has to come to me via that lovely flat screen in my living room.  When my husband suggests that we cut out our cable to save money, huge tears form in my eyes and he quickly changes his mind and decides that selling our one car or refrigerator is a much better idea.

I like to consider myself a reasonable human being.  I'm educated, savvy to world events, and in touch with modern technology.  Despite all of this, however, I am constantly seduced by products that can only be bought on television.  I've only ever ordered one or two things from TV commericals, and they've been every bit as disappointing as you might imagine.  The Tweeze?  Save your money.  It hurts like hell and leaves hair behind.  Green bags?  I see no difference in my produce.  Several years ago, when I was babysitting for my best friend's son, an ad came on for the self-draining pasta pot.  My eyes glazed over, and I shook his arm and said, "Aidan, I need that.  Tell your mom to buy me that for my birthday."  He looked up from his comic book and said (in his disdainful 9 year old's voice), "You don't need that.  Don't be gullible.  You have a strainer."  "This is better than I strainer," I shouted.  "It saves a whole step!  Besides...you get two for the price of one."  He snorted at me, shook his head, and went back to his cynical world of logic.

The one item I have not had a hankering for is the ever popular Snuggie.  My husband and I giggle uncontrollably at the commercial showing the family at the sporting event in their Snuggie, the family camping and roasting marshmallows in their Snuggie, and the mom and daughter snuggling in their Snuggie.  My husband calls it the cult of the Snugs.  Imagine my horror when I recently received an email from my mother-in-law saying that she had bought 4 Snuggies (well...bought 2 and got 2 free), and she was sending us one.  I hoped it was a joke, but a few days later, I received a UPS package in the mail containing a large fleecy blanket with arms. 

We laughed, we snorted, we snarked...and then we put it on.  My husband loves it.  He especially likes to open the door wearing it when friends come over and encourages them to "join us."  My son loves rolling around on the floor with it over him.  I think it's highly overrated.  What I really want is a Tiddy Bear...

Today's Sass...

The economy is terrible, I need to lose 15 pounds, my father has dementia, and my 15-month old son is going through a terribly naughty phase.  I know...I'll stop taking my antidepressant!! 

Perhaps it would be better to do this when the weather is nice and money is flowing freely, but I live in New England and have student loan debt, so forget it.  No, I've decided it's time to see the world without the sweet fogginess (and the extra 15 pounds) that my SSRI affords me. 

In many ways, I find comfort in the economy being so dreadful.  That makes me sound like a masochist, but let me explain.  For years now, my husband and I have stumbled paycheck to paycheck.  Don't get me wrong, we're not poor.  We're middle class like the rest of our social set.  The problem is our massive debt.  We used to scoff at our friends who got themselves in credit card hell and spent beyond their means.  Now, after buying a house, getting laid off and rehired, starting a business...we understand how easy it is to wrack up credit card bills.  We don't go on fancy vacations or buy boats.  Most of the credit card charges are for practical things like groceries.  

Now that we're in our early 30's and have our first child, we've decided that it's time to shape up.  We need to start being more responsible about our debt and clear it up.  This means that my college professor husband is getting a second job tutoring, and I'm blogging and taking on as much freelance "at home" work as I can.  It's ok...we're still young; we don't mind rolling up our shirtsleeves and working 50 hour weeks.  

What I find comforting is the fact that everyone is in the same boat for a change.  I feel like I've been complaining about money and barely squeaking by for quite some time now while my friends have clucked sympathetically and gone on their usual vacations, bought cars, and put in hot tubs.  Now, we all complain together and share coupons and chat about free events for our kids.  Of course, I'd rather we were all rolling in dough and having chats about the latest fashions over margaritas in the Bahamas.  Until that happens, it's nice to be able to support each other and work together to dig ourselves out of the trenches. 

Being able to have true understanding and camaraderie between my friends means that I don't need my antidepressant so much anymore, and that's a good thing because I really can't afford it!