Monday, August 29, 2011

Stare-itis Overload

For those of you that know me in the real, you know I have a little problem called stare-itis. When I see something interesting/strange/insanely horrific, I tend to stare. A lot. I am not staring out of disgust, but out of wonder. And appreciation. And interest.


I feel that it would be wrong to not share some of the amazing sights I saw this weekend at the music festival. My stare-itis was in super high gear. I think I saw maybe 1/10th of the actual performances, because I could not stop looking at everyone around me.


1. "What's that," you say? Why that, my friends is a pair of blue panties under a see through peach dress made of some sort of knit gauze. Who knew that was a fabric option? Not me. The amazing part of this dress (as if is this is not amazing enough) is that when she turned around there was FULL ON BOOB nudity. I like to think I am progressive and modern and hip. But this dress made me question all that. Am I a prude that I found this to be a bit, ahem, much? Hubs assures me this is way far past a bit much. What I wonder is, did she actually stop at a Starbucks in that outfit? Because this is a lot of look to take in before one has had their coffee, which is how I can only assume the people in line behind her felt. Or did her friend behind her in the ill fitting white strapless sun dress maybe bring Miss Nudie 2011 her latte that day. One can only hope she spared her barista an up close view of all of this. 

#2. The Macrame Coozie. I had to get a pic of this because only hippie nation could turn a tailgating staple into an art project with such flair. I look at this and wonder who was the super genius that decided the world needs to be able to carry our beers around our neck in a mini version of the plant hangers our grandma's had in the 80's. Ingenious. And weird. But the hippies find them useful because they can noodle around hands free.


#3. These two gems came into my field of vision as a pair. Let me rephrase...a striking and awe inpsiring pair. Tall dude has on what appears to be homemade flag inspired corduroys and some sweet Willie Nelson-esque braids topped off with a red plastic derby hat. His partner in crime, henceforth called Tom Wolfman Cruise, was rather unexciting except for the copious amount of facial hair. I have two scenarios in which this look is necessary: he is someone famous, obviously Tom Cruise from his height, wearing a crazy beard and large white sunglasses as well as a very dirty trucker hat so that he can enjoy life and be out among us plebes. The other possibility is that he is one of those Mexican Wolfmen I saw on the Discovery Channel and he is in the states to take in the sites and naturally he wanted to see American hippies in action. You decide.


#4. Ah, the leather kilt. So dashing, especially when paired with a tie dyed tee, pony tail, soccer sandals from '94, and all of one's oversized silver rings. He got thisclose to me when I was laying back relaxing and I became very worried that I may inadvertently see under the kilt. When I reopened my tightly squenched eyes he had moved on, but not before I could take this awesome pic. He is disguised in this pic just in case his peeps read The Lint Trap (highly likely). Let's face it, a leather kilt with a detachable man purse is embarrassing enough without everyone you know seeing it on the interwebs. 


 #5. These two are not scandalous or racy. They are just funny. Because they are sitting on folding chairs. Obviously, they just moved these from the section of the festival that had the folding chairs. Except there was no folding chair section. They brought these bad boys with them into the festival. I know this for a fact because they parked next to us and we watched them take them out of their car. And then made lots of fun of the fact that they robbed a church fellowship hall before they came. You can imagine my glee when they trucked in the second day and opened up their chairs right in front of us. What says comfortable more than metal folding chairs? Who brings camping chairs or a beach blanket when they can have a nice hard chair to sit on. I am sure their backs thank them, even if their asses didn't.


#6. This freak made her husband go get her lunch, whined about forgetting her jeans, and couldn't stop staring at the hula hoopers next to her...
wait a sec. That is me. 
Moving on...


#7. The tutu girl. (Please excuse the poor pic quality, I took this one with my phone). Not only did this enterprising chick make herself a fetching tutu from scratch out of scraps of fabric swept up off the floor of a prom dress factory, she was selling them. For money. Strangely, she did not stop and ask us if we were interested. I guess my target pants and black fleece didn't scream tutu-wearer. Hurt my feelings for a sec. But just a sec, becuase ha-ha I already have a tutu. I just accidentally left it at home this weekend.


#8. The witches entertainers. This group of very interesting ladies set up camp directly beside of us. They obviously wanted me to have a crick in my neck, because I literally could not stop watching them. They all wore strange layered outfits that resembled pirate gypsies in knit, and they could do things with a hula hoop I was unaware that people did. After watching for about 30 minutes we decided these women were not only accomplished noodle hoopers, but that they had to be a witch coven (and they could necromance the heck out of some vampires as well as hypnotize with their hips.) I am not sure who found this group more impressive- the drunk dudes or the little girls. They had a plethora of both surrounding them at all times. Once nightfall happened, they took it to the next level with light up hoops. That's right, LIGHT UP HULA HOOPS. Who knew? In other news, I am looking for hula hoop lessons in the Piedmont Triad.    



#9. Amazing. A beer hat, crazy glasses, rainbow arm and leg warmers, and mardi gra beads. I heard her say she was rushing around to pick out her outfit. As if she has a whole closet of these types of things to pick from. I can only imagine what she wears on Halloween. Or Tuesdays. I was able to take this picture without fear of her calling me out and body slamming me, because she was actually posing for pics with anyone who wanted one. She worked this like she was on Top Model. Which she obviously was not.


#10. When we got up to go to the lovely line of port-a-johns, we realized that all the normal people were sitting in the back, out of the fracas of strangeness. Thank god we didn't sit back there. Bo-ring. What would I have done all day if I wasn't taking sneaky pics of weirdos? Maybe I would have actually payed attention to the music. Yeah right...


In related news...the girl from the first night on the bus was spotted (If you have no idea what I am talking about  CLICK HERE). She was skipping through the crowd with no obvious effects of her previous night of liver damage and public humiliation. Ah to be young again...



Saturday, August 27, 2011

Old Lady T



Music on the Mountaintop
(hubs is not drunk, the flash makes him blink, wah-wah-wah)
Sometimes I feel like I am officially old. Last night I sat in the p-o-u-r-i-n-g rain, amongst a writhing mass of unwashed kids at an outdoor festival. (Kids = college age in this scenario, see I already sound old). I was cold, I was wet, I was not happy when I had to get up to pee. But I did it, with minimal complaining and a smile on my face. And it was really fun. The husband loves musical festivals, so sometimes we go get our inner granola on and listen to some music and do a little noodle dancing. Last night a girl on the bus on the way back to the parking lot was HAMMERED. Head in some dude's lap, screaming at the bus driver to stop at McDonalds, reminding her peeps they needed more beer, whining somewhat incoherently that she was freezing (side note, maybe more than a knit skirt and wife beater next time when there is 80% chance of rain, hmmm?). And her friends were not much better off. Anthony and I laughed and talked to them and they were having a great time. While I listened to them talk about cramming into hotel rooms and possibly breaking into the pool late night, I was so glad I had a nice condo to go back to with a dryer and warm shower. I was glad I wouldn't feel like tee-total ass tomorrow so I could enjoy the second day of the festival. I was thinking that I was so glad I didn't have to worry about sharing a tiny hotel room with drunk smelly dudes and people hooking up. Then I realized it. Damn, I am an old lady. All of those things? I have done them all in my youth. But the fact that they don't seem even remotely attractive after sitting in the rain listening to blue grass jam tells me that I have moved on to wanting the finer things in life. Like the sense to pack for rain and skipping the throwing up in the bushes while I wait for the shuttle. 


Jane's 21st B-day, rowdy if I remember correctly

I have been that girl, many times over. Wrong clothes for the weather, too much too drink, having a great time. Who's to say I will never do that again? Not me. The difference now that I am ancient is that it is no longer a sustainable way of life. In college, we would party, sleep until noon, eat greasy food, watch movies, pre-game and get ready, then go back out. Again, again, again, and again. Every weekend. Now if I drink two nights in a row I will pay for it for 3 days afterward. Minimum. These days my wild nights (too much beer at dinner with friends/company Christmas party/too much wine at girls night) are paid for heavily with Advil and promises to never do it again if the baby will just be good so I can be hungover in peace. Young people party with careless abandon and sure, maybe have a hangover, but nothing a chicken biscuit and Bojangles tea won't cure. Now I have to have an entire medicine cabinet to get through it and a full staff (aka. husband) to cater to my ever need. Not to mention that having a toddler really kills the desire to get sha-nay-nayed because the next day the child doesn't care how overserved I am, or the degree of my party flu. She will continue to bang on her toy drum directly beside the couch where I am dying resting. She will still demand to be fed at regular intervals throughout the day, even when the thought of cutting up a hot dog makes me throw up in my mouth. She still wants to play outside despite my concern that sunlight will make my eyeballs explode and my brain implode therefore causing my entire head to burst into flames. Because of this, I try my best to avoid hangovers unless I am alone. Which means I try to avoid hangovers at all costs. I still drink. I still let loose. I still have fun. But I am no longer the girl on the bus. I am old and hangover phobic.


Jenn and I at St Pattie's in Savannah 2001. First beer, 8.30 am. 
I suppose we all have to grow up sometime. I will try and accept my new status as a senior member of society with class and dignity. I will try to not weep at the though of my college self, young and full of energy, ready to party wherever the wind or the frat bus takes her. I will remember that I am someone's mommy and tomorrow is going to smack me in the face if I get too crazy tonight. I will remember that you are only allowed to take four Advil at a time and try to avoid things that cause me to want to take the whole bottle. I will remember that sweet tea vodka is amazingly easy going down, and quite rough coming up. I will remember that nice ladies don't get drinking tickets and don't pee in public just because the port-a-potty seems to far away. However, I cannot promise that I won't slip up and get rowdy upon occasion. I may have one too many Blue Moon's deckin' it with friends. I may forget my status as a matron and let loose on the dance floor at some future bachelorette party. I could possibly stay up past midnight and eat apple pie late night after a little too much fun. I may do all those things, but don't worry. I will pay for them later. Now that I am old the recovery doesn't come easy and it doesn't come quick. Don't be alarmed in the future if you see the hubs making a run to Biscuitville with his hair sticking up and pj pants on. That just means mama had too much fun the night before and needs a little Vitamin G. But not to worry, she is old and won't be doing it again for awhile

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Stuck on Mommy

If the separation anxiety that is going on at my house right now is any indication of future anxieties, I fear my daughter will have a standing appointment on some lucky therapist's schedule for eternity. My child is all eaten up with a serious case of The Mommy's right now and it is driving me crazy. I love her, I do. I wished for her and prayed for her. I did baby dances in the moonlight with a headdress made of rattles and booties (not really, but I would have if the doc told me it would work.) I dreamed of a little girl to call me mommy and love me more than life itself. I did not however have any notion of the intensity of THIS. THIS being crazy ass, I scream if I can't see you but know you are in the house separation anxiety. THIS being, I want to go back to the womb separation anxiety. THIS being please hold me until I don't want to be held then I will kick you and when you put me down I will cry again to be picked up separation anxiety. Anyone out there familiar? It is enough to drive a mama to drink. Or hit herself over the head with an anvil. Whichever is more readily available.


Let me reiterate. I love my Toodles. She is the light of my life. The reason I am alive. My sweet Lady Baby. But every once in while, I like to pee alone. Or check my email. Or fold laundry with two hands. I carried that child for 9 long months and I loved every minute of it. I did not realize that once she hit 18 months I would be carrying her again. This time on the outside and at her insistence, not because mother nature is forcing me to. Everyone knows how happy I was once Her Highness decided to ditch the crawling and become a toddler. I assumed (idiot) that she would now be walking most places. Joke's on me, per usual. That only meant she would walk when she wanted to. And not one step more. This means I get to carry her as she clings to me like a baby monkey. When I try to set her down upon reaching our destination, she holds her legs up instead of standing and hangs in the air, again baby monkey style. Frustrating at best, enraging at worst. Sometimes mama needs two arms. 


This may be common, I have no idea. This is my first child and therefore my first bout of separation anxiety. It is certainly something I did not plan on (I am sure you are familiar with the classic "not my baby, she's perfect, attitude"). I thought as she became more independent we would continue to move onward and upward. Er, wrong again, dummy. Instead it is two steps forward and then one step back, right into my lap. I assumed (idiot again) that as she got older she would get more self-sufficient. Are all you mommies out there laughing? It is okay, go ahead, I will allow it--BUT JUST THIS ONCE.  Instead, when she watches TV she wants me to sit beside her so she can lean on me. If I am anywhere near, she comes over and hangs on my legs. Her Majesty has become quite intense in her demands to be near me, close to me, on top of me, what-evs. As long as I am available to her at every moment. Groan. Lady Baby goes back to school next week, so I am hoping that will improve her need to be up my crawl 24/7. And it will allow me to get stuff done without my 28lb appendage. Yes, please. This summer has been great, but I think it coinciding with the normal time frame of toddler separation anxiety may have intensified things a lot slightly. Finger crossed for the easing of the MOMMY-I-WANT-TO-BE-YOUR-SIAMESE-TWIN thingy we gots going on over here.


I totally recognize the irony. When she is a teenager, bouncing out of the house with nary a look back at her old mom, I will long for the days of her hanging on me. Now she wants to be all up in my space. At some point, probably around age 13, I will want to be all up in her space. I will want to be her Siamese twin. I will want to be part of her every move. Someday I will long for the day she was a barnacle on my leg, riding along while I fix a snack or make the bed. I am trying to appreciate these moments of passionate mommy-devotion, because I know they are fleeting.  Hang on to that thought, I tell myself, when she is making me crazy town. Its just so hard to remember when she is on me like white on rice and I want to wear earplugs to stop the screaming. 


I may need constant reminders, and I apologize now if I slap you when you say it.


Thursday, August 18, 2011

Mommy's Wish List

Things I wish I had to make my life easier...

1. An au pair, as needed. For times when I want to nap and Lady Baby hits me with a spoon because I fell asleep on the couch. Or when I want to get me toes done. Or spend five minutes without hearing the word mmmooommmmyyy screamed 752 times in a row. You know, just the basics. But not the skinny pretty Swedish type. More like the large hulking German type. With a mustache. No need for the nanny to make me feel bad myself when she is there to help. Also, I need her to disappear when I am done with her help. I don't want to to have to cook and clean for her. German food seems hard to cook, frying up all that schnitzel and potatoes. So I guess a robot au pair with a German accent and a 5 o'clock shadow who loves screaming toddlers would be perfect.


2. A "No Whining Button." Not one I would wear on my jean jacket 80's style. I could totally make that, no problem. I mean one that I push to cut out all whining. Please see #1 and the over use of the word mommy happening in my house RIGHT NOW. It would also cut out all pants tugging for attention and fake crying. It would eliminate the whining that comes from squabbles over toys, the impromptu sob session when I remove a permanent marker from my child's hand just as she is attempting to "colors" and the angry screaming when I wrestle a nickel or paper clip out of her clenched teeth. Any time she even looked like she was going to whine, I could push the button and Her Highness would be all happiness and light.

3. A Baby Washer Extraordinaire. Imagine a chamber that I could put a very dirty child in that would scrub her and buff her and dry her, all without removal of clothes, diaper, and hair bow. If you have ever traveled abroad you may have seen those public port-a-loos on the street that lock down after someone uses them and sanitize themselves. I am dreaming of something similar that I would sit Lady Baby in and close door. When the I reopen it after 45 seconds she would be sitting there all clean and smiling, with no effort on my part. I feel like that would be useful when she eats spaghetti for dinner, after her bath. It is not easy to scrub tomato stained skin with a paper towel. Their is screaming and tears and that is just coming from me. She turns into a wild animal. So if I had the Baby Washer Extraordinaire, it would be a no hassle, no fuss, child cleansing. It would also have a Post-Diaper blowout setting, that would only scrub the business end, and then apply some butt paste, and rediaper. You're welcome.


4. Child-Noise canceling earphones. You know the noise that comes out of your child's mouth as they screech to the beat of the Wiggles? The one that makes it basically impossible to think about anything but rupturing your own eardrums on purpose? Or the sounds that two little girls make while they are fighting over who gets to push the stroller? These earphones would cancel those noises out. However, they would allow you to hear real calls of distress, like "I fell off the couch and broke my arm" or necessary statements like "I pooped." (Of course they are customized by the user, so maybe some moms only really care if the statement is "I pooped on the coffee table" or "I pooped in your favorite pair of flats." You see where I am going. We all have different levels of what's important enough to move on immediately and what can wait). I can only imagine how much calmer cooking dinner would be if I didn't have to listen to the sounds of a gorilla little girl as she stands on the gate into the kitchen, shaking the bars with every ounce of her being, screaming. Bye-bye noise, hello frozen pizza preparation in peace.


5. The You-are-Forgetting-Something Alarm. This goes off as you are leaving the house if you don't have everything you need. Like a paci. Or a diaper. Or a snack. Or your keys. Or your purse. Or your child. You know, whatever that key thing is you have forgotten. I often leave the house with 95% of what I need, but 5% left behind. And that 5% is always something important. Like the dog who is supposed to be dropped off at the kennel. Or the grocery list. Once, it was my wallet. This alarm would not just buzz, but also let me know what I was forgetting. It would also save me a lot of breath spent cussing and a lot of time spent having to turn around and go back in for that forgotten item. Not to mention cut down on the public embarressment.


So there you go. Inventors of the world unite, you have some work to do. Mobilize and get to it, mama needs some help, pronto.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Nighttime Screamfest 2011

It is 8:56am and all is quiet. Her Highness is sleeping, Hubs is at work, I am slurping coffee, even the dog and one of the cats are asleep on the floor. Ahhhhhhhhhh. I am coming off of a stint of long nights. Lady Baby is qoing through her quarterly I-hate-my-crib-my-room-and-anywhere-you-are-not phase. It involves shrieking like a wild animal anytime she is put in her crib. It started Sunday night with an epic scream-fest with the added bonus of projectile milk barf (extra points for style). Every night she loses her schmidt whenever I put her down and will scream until one of two things happen 1) I can't take it and go get her or 2) she passes out from sheer exhaustion. These "episodes" also include her throwing absolutely everything out of crib including her paci. Once we reach that stage of protest, she then adds howls for "paci" in with "mama" to complement her cacophony of animals-going-to-slaughter nosies. 
Last night she went to sleep after about 30 min of screaming at 7.30, only to wake up at midnight. At the exact moment I was taking off my shorts to get into bed. It is like she knew I was on the edge of sleep and that must be prevented for obvious reasons (because she hates me). Cue the "mmmmoooommmmeeee wah wah wah mmmmaaaaammmmaaa wah wah wah mamamameeee." SO, I drag my exhausted self down the hall, trip over all the crap she threw on the floor a few hours earlier, and get her out of her jail crib. I will say, the moment I pick her up is so sweet. She clings to me like I am a piece of board floating in the water and she is a titanic passenger (imagine she is Rose and I am the plank). She snuggles as deep into my arms as physically possible and hangs on tight, and I do love that. Then she starts up her demands (last night it was milk) and the sweet moment is gone and Her Majesty has arrived. 
This child, when she is of a normal sane mind, is the easiest to put down ever. We literally carry her into her room, lay her down and she says "night night" and that is it. When her alternate personality, Hellraiser, is in the house, bedtime is painful for both the ears and the soul, and all night is spent on pins and needles. I will be the first to tell you, when I don't sleep I am subpar on all fronts. I love sleep. When I get up in the morning I am looking forward to crawling back into bed that night. If I have my drothers, I go to bed early and sleep late (pretty much never now that child is on the earth). So you can see how this sleep interruptus causes me distress, both mentally and physically. Last night I was forced to watch a Toddlers and Tiaras marathon while the child played on the floor from 12am to 2am. (Okay, I watched it becuase it is a train wreck and makes me feel like a great parent, but you know what I mean.) 
I know what you are thinking...tough love, cry it out...blah blah blah. We will occasionally let her cry it out at bedtime (despite her X-Man ability to hurl under distress), but in the middle of the night it doesn't work. The crying escalates into a wall of noise that you have to hear to believe. Also, it goes against my motherly instinct becuase she is normally an amazing sleeper and my gut tells me there is something going on keeping her from sleeping. (I usually blame it on teeth, but sometimes constipation, hungry, growth spurt, the tilt of the planet). So I get her up, give her advil (just in case), milk, and let her play until she is ready to go back down, which inevitably happens. Sheplays until she passes out. Sometimes we just let her sleep on the floor like a puppy. It is scary to move her once she is asleep because you might wake the beast and the process starts all over again.
I know this cycle of phases won't happen forever, one day in like 30 years, I may be able to get a night's sleep with no worry about a child waking up and needing me. Until then, coffee and my superhuman ability to both sleep and watch my child play at the same time in the middle of the night will have to get me through.

Monday, August 8, 2011

You Never Really Know Someone Until Their Funeral

This past weekend were the memorial services for my grandfather that recently passed away. No one really loves a funeral, but I believe in their importance for closure. Humans need to say goodbye physcially and emotionally, and this is the system we have set up to meet that need. We come together as a collective people to send a person's spirit on to the great beyond. 


As I sat listening to the wonderful things people were saying about my Pawpaw, I had a realization (imagine me sitting in the rec room of a retirement village with a light bulb over my head). Each person that spoke told a little story or talked about how Red touched their lives. One man told about how proud they both were to serve in the Navy. Another man talked about his sense of humor and his generosity. Another about their shared love of sailboats. Each anecdote was like a single brush stroke and when the weekend was over, I had a whole new painting in my head of my grandfather.  There was something about hearing what he meant to each person that showed his complexity and that he was so much more than the way I remember him. When I think of him, I think of my no-nonsense Pawpaw who called me 'Pal' and said what he thought to anyone and everyone. I loved him, but I can honestly say there was so much I never knew about him. I am happy to say that now I know a great deal more. 


We can never really know a person in every facet of their life, no matter how close we are to them. We are different things for different people. A son, a father, a grandfather, a coworker, a parishoner, a friend, a soldier, a husband, a sailor. Pawpaw was all of these things. Because I only ever saw him as my grandfather, I never put any thought into what he was to others. People wrote beautiful poems about him. For most that knew him, poetry would not be your first thought. Jokes or funny stories maybe, but poetry? For two people who met him, he inspired just that. They wrote tributes that were personal and beautiful. They spoke to his true self and what he meant to others around him. When my Dad and his siblings spoke about their father, they talked about a father who ruled with an iron fist but loved them enough to teach them wonderful life lessons. A man who taught them the value of hard work, love of family, and the importance of laughter. 


I just came away from what could have been a terribly sad weekend. While I certainly shed my fair share of tears over the last 48 hours, it was a really beautiful time of family and friends bonding over our shared love of a special guy. It was a chance for all of us to share what we loved, and learn a little more about him. I thank each person who participated in completing my mental portrait of my grandfather. (I didn't share for fear of public squawling.) Do the people in your life a favor and talk about those who have passed away. Tell stories and share memories. Let each other see the picture you have so everyone can have a more complete understanding of who their loved one was. It may help make saying goodbye a little easier. I know it has for me. 

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Friends. Glad to have you back.

Before Lady Baby I had some friends, but not many. And the ones I did have I never really hung out with. I was not putting myself out there and in return, I was lonely. Fast forward  9 mos and I was a new mom who was staying at home. All day. Alone. New plan time. Meet some other people and make some friends. Put myself out there on the friend market and hope someone, somewhere, wants to hang out.


I have always had a lot of friends. I went to a small high school with people I had literally known since preschool. We were friends because we always had been. I attended an all women's college and if you can't make a friend in that situation, well I really can't help you. Everywhere you turn is another young girl in the same situation you are in. So college friends, check. Then I traveled after college with my four best friends and we met a million new and exotic friends along the way. You can see the trend here. I have made lots of friends in my life. Then I got married and came to Greensboro. Crickets in the friend department. I knew lots of people, but only had a few friends, none that I felt like I could call up to shop or go to a movie. They were the type who I would go to dinner with every few months, normally with husbands too. No girls nights, no mani/pedi afternoons, no quick coffees. And I missed that. Why didn't I have any friends? Had I all of the sudden become unlovable and boring? No, the problem was I have never had to work to make friends and I didn't know how. I am used to other females being everywhere I turned, but that was not the case in a new town where all I did was work and go home to the hubs. People were not seeking me out to be their new bestie. Weird, right? 


Once Miss Priss was born I realized I had to get it together. I needed some girl support, stat. It didn't happen all of the sudden though. I had to do some work (gasp). I became better friends with a girl in my 'hood and she extended an invite to run in the mornings with some other ladies. Y'all know if I have to run to make some friends, I must be hard up. However, it was just what I needed. Not only did I lose some baby lb's, I met some other moms in the neighborhood who I really liked and had a lot in common with. Hmmm, I think that is what we call friends. Holy crap, I finally made some friends. After that ball got rolling (incidentally that is my description of me running) I started to realize that if I put myself out there, outside of the comfort zone of my living room, I will meet people. And meet people I did. I enrolled Her Highness in a music class and I have met some awesome people. I reconnected with other girls that I had known in my prebaby life and we bonded over motherhood. And now, I am no longer lonely. It worked and was virtually painless. Humph, I hate when the hubs is right. (That is giving credit where credit is due. Enjoy that my love. Doesn't happen often.)


I am happy to say that today I have a great group of friends. I have found them here, there and yon, and they have all welcomed me with open arms into their lives. What was I afraid of? I was afraid that no one wanted to be my friend. Also I was lazy, because I had never had to really try to find friends. They were always served up to me on a silver platter of circumstance. I had to get out there and hustle, as well as recognize my own worth as a friend. I am funny, so there is that, but I am also helpful, spontaneous, and a good listener (I know that one is a shock). All things others like in a friend.  


So, I apologize to anyone who attempted to befriend me during those dark days and I thank you for trying.  I also thank the few who stuck with it and stayed my friend, despite minimal effort on my part. Girls, I am trying now, I promise. Thanks also to all who I am friends with now. I appreciate the invites to do things, the introductions to your friends so that we can all be friends, and for those who want to be my friend, well, I have plenty room for more!!!

LinkWithin

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...