Sometimes the best friends sneak up on you

This is a bit of a complimentary post to two previous posts about making friends with other moms. Back track if you'd like, or just start here.

And then there are those wonderful women I have become friends with since I've had kids.

A few I have met because our kids were in the same preschool class. And the kids became buddies. And so we moms hung out after school while they played. And we clicked. And not only that, we actually liked each other. And each other's kids. And, could it be?, each other's spouses!

Or the friend I met through a mutual friend, even though neither of us sees much of that mutual friend any more. Our kids aren't the best of friends, but they'll be headed to the same school soon. And we're both real enough to talk about both the hardships of life as a parent (of three) and the joys. And talking always makes me feel like there are more good things than bad, even at the most difficult of times.

Or my wonderful neighbor, who I don' t see enough, and who I have to stop describing as my neighbor. I hope we can become better friends, even though my kids outnumber yours three to one, and even though I know you can hear me bark at them from over the fence and you must wonder what in the world is happening over here and why I sound so mean all the time...

There are even a few others. I hope you all know who you are, ladies. I am so grateful for your friendships.

In many cases, these days, I feel like I am the one taking from you, my mommy friends. I find myself hungry for an understanding voice. I know that as my kids grow my friendships will change. My hope is that I can maintain the friendships that can stand separate from their mommy roots. Because I am more than a mother, even if it's what defines me most. And it is through these friendships that I have found calm, gratitude and humility and great respect for all mothers. Even the ones who talk window treatments at the park.

My take on making new friends with other moms

Sarah, I totally hear you. It is HARD to make friends with other moms. And the park scene can be tough. And the women you were friends with before you had kids? Yeah, that's tough, too. Because, let's face it, motherhood is, arguably, the most life-changing transformation for a woman. And if your pre-kid friends haven't had kids yet or if one of you has, oh, say one kid and the other of you has, oh, say THREE, you probably haven't kept up with those girlfriends. Life has just changed too much to be chatting about office gossip or current movies or whatever else we moms used to talk about before kids became our primary topic of conversation.

And what about the women you met in birth class or in a baby group shortly before or after you had your first and were all aglow with eating, sleeping, breathing, talking everything baby? Do you still hang out, now that there's no sore nipples to empathize about? Or poop consistency to compare. Or birth stories to tell. Have your mommy-class friends had their second babies yet? Did they have their second babies at the same time as you did? Doubtful. Did any of them have, gasp, a THIRD.

When you don't have kids you can make friends with people because they like John Cusack and Barbara Kingsolver and Dirty Dancing. (For instance.) You can make friends with people because they like to work out at the same time as you do and you both run at the same pace and like to talk about what happened on ER last week. (Oh, ER how I miss you.) You can make friends and then unmake friends, and it may not be easy, but it's simple. When you have kids, making friends is complicated. Sarah gets it right: "There are too many factors. I have to like you. I have to like your kids. My kids have to like your kids. I have to like the way you parent your kids. You have to like the way I parent my kids."

And that's why it's so hard. Yes, we mothers at the park have that in common. We are all mothers. We all have one child. Many of us have two. A few have three. Fewer still have more. But the roads we have taken to get to where we are now are different. The timing is different. The reasons are different. And now here we are, mothers. And yet that may very well be the only thing we have in common. Even if our kids have the same name and are both entering kindergarten in the fall. That just may not be enough.

Making new friends with other moms

Oh it is So not the first time this has subject has been pondered. And it So won't be the last: The well-documented problem of moms seeking out other moms for friendship. And why is it always moms seeking out other moms? Why aren't moms seeking out dads, or single gals, or newlyweds too? Um, do I have to go there? I think we are all aware of that crazy brain thing that happens after you've given birth, and often times long before: There's a life inside of me. Wait, it's going to come out. Thank Gooooodness, it's out. Damn, it's beautiful. Let's call him Jamis. Let's love him forever. Let's vow to never ever talk about the person I was before I had him, because Sayonara Baby! She's a goner.

There I am, sitting on the playground. (Wait, ok, our premise is total honesty on this blog, let me rephrase myself there.) There I am at the playground, wishing I was sitting, wondering what it'd be like to happily push my first child on the swing again and breathe in all the newness that was our day to day relationship - the good and the bad. I am, however, just wishing I could sit and instead finding myself at the swing, at the bottom of the slide, at the edge of the sandbox. Things are quiet a moment and I realize I'm that woman, looking at all the other women, and I've totally lost track of my kids. One, Two, Three...where's three? Hey One, Where's Three?

Okay, kids accounted for. Let me hear a little more about this conversation over here. Let me figure out what kind of mom we got over there. I'm not judging; it's like research. Research for all that I am and all that I am not. You see, I find myself - I listen in on these conversations and I figure out who I am: part memory, part re-invention. I realize that the woman to the right of me might look all put together but she's sitting there talking about when her window treatments are going to be installed and I think to myself, Seriously? Window Treatments? (No really, this is what I was thinking today) ...what are window treatments? You mean curtains, or shades or something? And why is someone coming to install them? I don't get it. Can't you just hang them up? Get a damn drill or a rock or something and nail the bitches up there. And by the way, what are they treating? Stains, depression or some kind of rash?

Then there are the women on either side of me at the baby swing. Both are older than me and nursing every joyful push with their one year olds as if they've waited their whole lives for this moment and they are going to enjoy it DAMMIT. And maybe they have waited a long time. And it probably wasn't an outright accident like Jamis was. And it looks like they truly are enjoying it. The nice woman to the right of me looked downright confused when I walked away from the swing, left Ethan dangling with a grin, and marched to the big kid playground to look for my little middle kid who, in the nick of time, I stopped from falling head first off the twisty slide. He was climbing up. When Jamis was smaller, climbing UP the slide was reason to LEAVE the playground. And now? Now I just don't have the energy. And I don't have the energy to walk back to the swing and make some small comment to this woman-on-right about what it's like to have more than one, "Someone's always getting in trouble," or "Can't stay still for a minute when you've got three." Barf! A comment that would only be meant to excuse my behavior that shouldn't really need excusing. She doesn't know; this is how it is with three, with more than one; I used to be her.

I find out who I am when I look around the playground at the other kids and the so other-than-me moms. I am a woman who's let go. I am a woman who strongly believes that my kids should play happily without me. I am woman who knows I should protect them from falling, and protect them from themselves, but that falls are a part of understanding their limits. Their little bodies can do so much and they have no idea how much trouble that can get them into when they're too young to know the sometimes consequences of high-climbing, fast-sliding bliss. Wipe-outs are inevitable, and necessary.

I am the mom who has found it's easier and somehow more fulfilling to blog than to start a conversation with window treatment lady, or even cool tattoo lady, at the park. I get something back from my blog. Tattoo lady probably wouldn't call even if I offered my phone number. Just as I'd have a hard time calling if she offered up her own. There are too many factors. I have to like you. I have to like your kids. My kids have to like your kids. I have to like the way you parent your kids. You have to like the way I parent my kids. And other variations of the same.

I'm not looking for someone who does it like I do, who's the same mom with the same kids. That's boring. That's impossible. I just want someone with an open mind, and an open heart, to walk into my house and look around and say, "Yeah, I get it." I want someone to sit down next to me on the turtle sculpture at the playground and say, "You seem cool and I could use a new friend. Let's do coffee on Thursday." Because anyone that would walk up to me and say that is someone that DOES get it.

It saddens me not that it's easier to blog and to tweet, because I understand we can look grimy and smell funky and nobody knows, but because I have more fun doing it. I'm not anti-social, I'm just anti-facade. You want to talk to me, bring your real self, the one that you are when nobody's looking. I like that person so much more even before I've ever met her.



I think this is the first in a series I'll have to start on Making New Friends. This post could go on and on...

Reach the Beach Relay

I'm stuffing my face with a favorite concoction stolen from my sistah: Pita smothered with hummus, packed with pear, muenster and tabouli. Thanks, sis! I'm rehashing my week thus far - pretending that it's farther along than it is, I suppose. And now I'm harping on my coffee with Kim on Monday. We've barely been in touch since I got pregnant with my second baby - when my attendance at the gym faded to once a month, once every other and then none. We managed to talk enough to maintain contact, but since I've had my THIRD I'm barely able to maintain contact with some members of my family, let alone my workout buddies. Difficult to chat it up during a run or after a spin when you aren't doing any of EITHER. For a while I missed it, and then I grew resentful, I think, that other mothers could somehow maintain the same social lifestyle they had before kids, or when they had just one kid. Yeah, well, all those conflicted feelings were during my second pregnancy and for the short time I had but two boys - aka, Before there were Three. Honestly, I just don't have room in my brain to be worried about the thoughts of others, or preoccupied with HOW they do it, WHY they do it, and why I CAN'T. We all have a different life story going on. For instance, Kim has two kids, no job, available childcare, and financial freedom. We just don't have the same stressors. Uh, yeah... I have THREE kids (obviously), a part-time job that gives me a full-time headache, childcare that allows me to work said job and totally takes away from all that financial freedom we Wouldn't have anyway. Okay, so I'm not saying she doesn't have any worries or challenges, of course she does. Of COURSE she does. But because they aren't apparent, or don't stack up to mine, or something, I'm like "Why would I even worry or dwell on HOW she does what she does?" I can't even get my ass to the gym if I have a day by myself, let alone with kids in tow, errands to run, everyone with runny noses.

So, a little detail is in order, I think. Kim is a major athlete. Work-out fiend is more like it, I suppose. Anyway, she is training for an Ironman right now, briefly mentioned that here. You know, swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles, run a marathon. She's estimating it takes her somewhere between 13 and 15 hours. Grrrrreat! Three years ago I ran the 26.2 miles of a marathon with my sister-in-law - noted by Jen here - without ever having run any more than 200m in track during high school. I mean, I'd run more than that, but never entered any kind of other race. I figured, why start with a 5k? The marathon sounds like fun. I'm adventurous, in pretty good shape (one baby!) and so I trained, I ran, I won. Won some pride, that is, and a golden finisher's medal that became my son's toy on the flight home. I did it in four hours and felt pretty good about it. Would love to do it again. Probably will someday.

During this time of training I was a regular at the gym, as you can imagine, gearing up for the marathon, making sure I was prepared. I formed a great bond with Kim during our spins, swims and runs. We scheduled our meeting times for the next day and the next week, made plans for races and event, bonded over sweat, got giddy when we were most out of breath. About a week after we pledged to train together for a Half-Ironman, I found out I was pregnant with Max. Anything's possible, I thought. No, not that anything. Sick as a dog I did finish a sprint triathlon during my first trimester - dragged my ass to the finish line and then slept it off like a bad hangover. After that I wandered in and out of my workout clothes, never really pulling them on with the same conviction I had before.

After Max was born I didn't even have enough time to flex my abs again before I found out I was pregnant with Ethan. Problem was, I had committed to this crazy Reach the Beach run with Kim and 10 others. A team of 12 run 200 miles in 24 hours. I had one of the shortest legs of the trip at 15 miles. That's broken into 3 separate runs which totally seems doable, HOWEVER you are stuck in a van with 5 other people, driving to the next checkpoint, cramped and sweaty. You run in the afternoon, the dead black of night (in the rain, as it were), and next morning. There is little time or comfort for sleep, ergo you are a running zombie by the time you reach your third run. Plus, I was newly pregnant, which is a state of mind and body that doesn't totally agree with me, and being shoved between stinky sneakers and a giant Ziploc bag of super salty roasted red potatoes (aka "running fuel") wasn't calming my queasy stomach.

But I finished it.
Slow, but I did.

So fast-forward two years. Now three kids. And I'm doing it all over again. Except for the newly pregnant part. All in all it was a blast. Lots of laughs, wicked sarcasm and dirty jokes. And, more importantly, a perfectly wholesome excuse to skip town for a day or two. Who can blame me for leaving my kids with the neighbors I hardly know if I'm out there running 20 miles? And yes, it's 20 miles this year, as I'm no longer a newbie and a preggo. And no, not the neighbors; I'm pretty sure it will be my mother-in-law watching the kids this year. If not, I'll be dumping them on you, Jen. :)

So here's the thing. Dan and I are doing it together. Have I run much in the past year? Nah. Do I wish that I did? Yup, yes sirree. But let's not harp on the past, I have over 4 months to prepare myself for this event, which is pleeeeeenty of time to get my ass, I mean my act, together. Plenty. More than enough. Problem is...time! With work and kids and dishes I am a little short on time. But I can no longer make these excuses so...instead of locking the kids in the basement when I need some time to breathe in peace (well, muffled peace), I will have to start locking myself in the basement to run on the open treadmill (wish I could put ROAD there, but then I'd have to lock my kids in the house and that's just too much disaster to have to clean up when I get back). Or maybe since it's Spring, by gosh by golly, I can lock them outside instead. Oh yes, outside. Otherwise I have to run at 5 am or 8 pm, just not ideal. My body doesn't particularly like to move at those times of day. Hmmm. Whatever course of action I take I'm sure it will be considered endangering the welfare of a minor somehow. Even if I were to ditch work and run at 11 am so I didn't have to lock anyone in or out of my life, I'm still in the novice stage of exercise where one's legs turn to jelly while the brain is happily hyped up on endorphins before it takes a serious nose dive into "what did you do to me?!" By the time I pick the kids up again I'm not sure what state of mind I'll be in - at least until I adjust to this whole exercise thing again, if that's possible.

Stay tuned, oh 4 readers of the Momalom blog. Wait, one of them is me, I guess that makes it three. I am hoping that publishin this to the almighty and totally anonymous Internet I will be encouraged to get and keep my ass moving long enough to even sustain the thought of running 20 miles again.

OH! And the reason I even mentioned Ironman Kim? Well, it's hard to sit and have coffee and chat about the logistics of Reach the Beach when you damn well know you've barely moved more than is absolutely required to take care of your kids and your house. I looked at her and told her the whole "time" spiel - the "I have to wake at 5 to run or else do it after bedtime, you know..." Except, she DOESN'T know, and I just ended up feeling like an ass. So then I tried to justify it with: "I can't even describe to you what happens when you go from two to three kids, Kim, I just can't even describe, I... I....I... It's crazy." How profound, "crazy"? Ooooh, great description. But really. It IS crazy. And I guess I felt as if I needed to validate myself somehow. Validate my flab. Part of me thinks that being a dress size or two bigger is totally acceptable given the demands of my life and my job. And part of me thinks that if I want anything badly enough I will make time for it. Find a way. Live the way.

And then reality hits when the baby wakes in the middle of the night AGAIN. Which wakes the toddler because he's sick AGAIN. Which leaves me laying in bed listening to Al Rescate and Say Click, Take a Pic over and over again, taking kicks in the small of my back. When we finally get back to sleep at 3 am I am not about to wake up in 2 hours for a grueling 3 miles on the treadmill even if I get to watch In Treatment on the new tv. The 2 hours between Max closing and opening his eyes again could barely be considered sleep (to me) anyway. Every 1o minutes I am kicked again, punched again, as Max twirls around the king-sized bed like a little curly helicopter.

There is no profound ending here, nor realization. It's hard to make choices, to be decisive, to set goals, have plans, stick to them. And even though I know that there is a deadline for this Reach the Beach relay, and that it isn't until September, my life is so hectic that I can make no guarantees I will be as ready as I ought to be. All I know is that I will show up. Happy to be free from wakeup duties, breakfast duties, and changing doodies.

A letter to a friend

Meg,

I am absolutely thrilled in every way to find out that you are, by golly, finally pregnant!!! Yay! Wahoo! Skideedle Dat! (that sounded cool in my head)

I have to say that I was kind of stunned and amazed to hear the news last night. I certainly wasn't expecting it. It was so nonchalant how you offered up the information. We'd been talking about my three boys and the craziness here, about work and schedules and springtime and then you just quietly dropped it in. Even now, I'm making my "long face" with my jaw dropped, my eyes first closed shut and then WIDE OPEN, like WHAAAT? REEEALLY?

I don't want you to waste any time feeling bad or guilty about the fact that you kept it to yourself for so long. You'll have plenty of time to perfect guilt once you become a parent. Was I sad to find out that I missed your first trimester? Yes. Am I sad that you didn't have a great urge to share the news with an old friend? Of course. But do I understand? Yes, Margie, I totally understand. This is you and who you are. You have very clear ideas, goals, concerns and an amazing sense of REASON and PATIENCE.

I have known you for 18 years. 17? 19? A lifetime. In that time I have not always been the best friend that a best friend is supposed to be. Money Laundering and Lying - Cheating, Stealing and Vegas have brought out the worst of me. No, really, all kidding aside, I've been crazy. It's been a long road we've traveled together. Through break-ups and make-ups, addiction and drama, dishonesty and brutal honesty. At times I'm a clam shell that won't break open for anybody, and then I'm blabbing all those things you wish I wouldn't, about me AND about you. (i'm working on that, i swear)

What I'm getting at here is that I hope more than anything that the birth of a child will only give us more cause to stay close and get closer. For nearly 7 years now I have played this role of motherhood without you, and often times it's been quite difficult. I feel badly that every chance we have to get together you've been surrounded by one, then two, now three boys! My boys are great, I know that, and I don't feel bad because of them. I feel bad because we've rarely had the opportunity to just BE, as friends, as GREAT, old friends. And connecting has been hard. Through every phone call I'm shouting directions at someone, breaking up fights, giving baths, comforting falls. When it's actually calm in my house and we can hear each other clearly, it's still hard to relate to one another sometimes because our lives are just so different. Sometimes it makes me sad. But then I remember that that is truly the way it has always been. We've always been so different, and yet we've maintained an amazing relationship through all our differences and our unique challenges.

I am so thrilled for you - in every way - ecstatic and joyous and thrilled!

(jen, can you believe this, she's pregnant!)

I can hardly remember now the thoughts, the voices in my head, the dreams, the urges and the questions I had throughout my first pregnancy. What I can remember is the overwhelming anticipation.

First baby -
an awesome idea, grand in every way.

Talking to you last night about the physical and emotional changes that you have been going through brought me back to the nine months I carried Jamis. I was an eating, farting, baby-making machine. It was absolute BLISS! (well, until the last month, but who's counting that?)

I know you are scared - I know you'll always worry - I know you want everything to be perfect - I know you think I think you want it to be too perfect (but remember that I know you better than that, and please understand that when I say you want it to be perfect, it's no different from admitting that I wanted it to be perfect too.)

A perfect baby. Perfect feet, perfect toes, perfect cries. A perfect impression of YOU (and your handsome man, of course)!

I'm scrambling here and just really want to say that I am here.

I AM HERE.

To listen.
To talk.

To shut up and hug you
...and watch you get bigger
...and scoop you some ice cream
...and take you through baby stores, oohing and aahing, at all that is cute.

I want you to know that I want to hear all about it and you and the baby. I may have been through this before but you haven't! It's important to me that you know you can always call me - the kids can wait, the laundry, the groceries, the job, it all can wait. Any question or worry or little excitement. I am here if you want to share it, and I hope you'll share it all!

Congratulations isn't quite the right word.

Rock on? Go baby? Go mama?

None of them work.

So how about just

I love you

and

I love that little baby too!

Sarah