Monday, December 12, 2011
So yesterday I was on cloud nine...well, maybe seven. I had made a sale on Craiglist. Got rid of 6 bags of my children's clothing and made a hundred bucks. The clothing went to a softspoken, interesting woman in Cambridge who was moving her little American family of four to Kenya in a few months. She definitely made out in the deal, and I was just happy that I made the 45 minute trek with two cranky-pants kids
People Talk
Propped up on my couch, I am definitely coming down with something. My body is sore all over and I haven't worked out in 3 days. I've got my husband's PJ pants on under a giant down blanket (I wish it was a Snuggie). I'm ready to sip on some boring, hot tea & devour my homemade granola bars with almonds (a rare treat in my house since both my babies are allergic to nuts, which, ironically, happens to be one of my favorite snacks) and some yummy strawberries & cream cheese fruit dip -- all without any dirty little, double-dipping fingers, which are probably the source of my impending, germy misery.
Despite the aches & pains, disappearing voice & annoying fatigue, I have been waiting for this moment all day. It's 6:55pm and both of my kids are asleep...approximately 3 hours ahead of schedule. No, I did not become Mother of the Year overnight; I can give credit where credit is due. As we all know, an early bedtime for two does not come without a price and today happened to be our 3rd or 4th Halloween festivity in the last week; and we still have 2 more to go, at least. I have endured triple the sugar-highs and tantrums, and continuous personal anxiety, especially when my 2 yr old decides to sprint ahead through crowds at record speeds, only to laugh at me when I catch him and threaten a big, bad time-out. Oooooh. Nevertheless, premature peace & quiet, if for just one night, makes all the chaos & candy worthwhile.
What lingers on my mind from today's madness, was how much I was looking forward to some adult conversation. You know, the kind that starts off as a great conversation with an old friend or new acquaintence, but quickly becomes interrupted 31 times in 15 minutes because either your kid, your friend's kid, or some other kid whose mother assumes is perfect has just thrown sand in a baby's eye or single-handedly collapsed the rented bouncy house where 3 overgrown teenagers are catapulting an 18-month old (the little brother of the perfect kid) into the air.
As incomplete and unsatisfying as a typical conversation between two mothers at a birthday party can be, I will never underestimate the theraputic value of such interaction. Even if we never finish a sentence, there is a certain understanding moms have that most of our husbands don't get. It may be the only verbal exchange you have that week that doesn't require you to speak in elevated decibals and end in one of your children telling you you are a bad driver -- his way of pushing your buttons...ok, my buttons, and yes, my 2 year old said this to me. Who cares if we are raving about the cheese pizza, bitching about our husbands, or laughing at something our genius child said or did. The important thing is that we are talking, and saving money on a psychiatrist (and the babysitter we 'd have to pay in order to go).
One of the topics that inevitably comes up in conversations all around the globe is people. People love to talk about people. It's human nature and that's just the way it is. Unfortunately, some people have an unwritten code that if you hear someone talking about another person, they must report back to that person at the earliest possible opportunity to do so. Some sort of "hero syndrome". I have seen this scenario happen numerous times in my life thus far, and I have been on both ends of such drama. However, this was during a brief historical period in time, which I like to refer to as "9th Grade". Now, at the ripe old age of 29, I can say that my experience has turned into wisdom. Yet, it seems that some people my age still have to know if, who, what, where, when and why someone is talking about them. I am sorry, but that is too much detective work for someone who has kids.
A few weeks ago, someone told my husband and a friend's husband that the friend and I were complaining about our husbands. Still not quite sure who was playing spy-tech on us, but my husband laughingly approached me about what he and the other husband "heard". After I stopped laughing, I explained to him that this small portion of our lengthy conversation was nothing my husband hasn't heard come out of my own mouth directly to him. Everything was blown over in a matter of seconds, no big deal. To be perfectly honest, the majority of this said conversation had to do with the similarities the girl and I shared in growing up with alcoholic fathers, yet, this eavesdropper who shall remain nameless (only because I don't have a name) took it upon his or herself to assume that our private, conversation that took place over a glass of wine in the corner of an outside deck at a friend's gathering was completely about our husbands, and worse, any of their business.
To that I say, who cares if it was entirely about the pope or my kid's poopy diaper? We are all entitled to vent. No one can possible be expected to internalize every thought and worry in order to avoid "talking smack". That is what friends are for. I should mention that she was somewhat of a new friend, previously an aquaintence. When my husband approached me about the drama, we quickly squashed it and chalked it up to immaturity. I hadn't even thought about it again until I saw my conversation buddy today. She immediately informed me that the husbands know we were talking about them. Duhhhh, I wanted to say... and so what. Our husbands talk about us too. Thats what people do. I then realized she was one of those people who talk about people and I was her newest enabler. I quickly reminded her that 80% of our conversation was about our fathers and family life. Then I realized that she must have had more wine than me that night because she seemed to have forgotten what I took as a meaningful conversation. She seemed more concerned with the fact that she was "caught" and she wanted to know who "ratted" her out. Ughh, I felt so dirty. I couldn't consume my thoughts with who was the mole in a group of people I only see 1 or 2 times a year, most of whom were acquaintences.
Despite the aches & pains, disappearing voice & annoying fatigue, I have been waiting for this moment all day. It's 6:55pm and both of my kids are asleep...approximately 3 hours ahead of schedule. No, I did not become Mother of the Year overnight; I can give credit where credit is due. As we all know, an early bedtime for two does not come without a price and today happened to be our 3rd or 4th Halloween festivity in the last week; and we still have 2 more to go, at least. I have endured triple the sugar-highs and tantrums, and continuous personal anxiety, especially when my 2 yr old decides to sprint ahead through crowds at record speeds, only to laugh at me when I catch him and threaten a big, bad time-out. Oooooh. Nevertheless, premature peace & quiet, if for just one night, makes all the chaos & candy worthwhile.
What lingers on my mind from today's madness, was how much I was looking forward to some adult conversation. You know, the kind that starts off as a great conversation with an old friend or new acquaintence, but quickly becomes interrupted 31 times in 15 minutes because either your kid, your friend's kid, or some other kid whose mother assumes is perfect has just thrown sand in a baby's eye or single-handedly collapsed the rented bouncy house where 3 overgrown teenagers are catapulting an 18-month old (the little brother of the perfect kid) into the air.
As incomplete and unsatisfying as a typical conversation between two mothers at a birthday party can be, I will never underestimate the theraputic value of such interaction. Even if we never finish a sentence, there is a certain understanding moms have that most of our husbands don't get. It may be the only verbal exchange you have that week that doesn't require you to speak in elevated decibals and end in one of your children telling you you are a bad driver -- his way of pushing your buttons...ok, my buttons, and yes, my 2 year old said this to me. Who cares if we are raving about the cheese pizza, bitching about our husbands, or laughing at something our genius child said or did. The important thing is that we are talking, and saving money on a psychiatrist (and the babysitter we 'd have to pay in order to go).
One of the topics that inevitably comes up in conversations all around the globe is people. People love to talk about people. It's human nature and that's just the way it is. Unfortunately, some people have an unwritten code that if you hear someone talking about another person, they must report back to that person at the earliest possible opportunity to do so. Some sort of "hero syndrome". I have seen this scenario happen numerous times in my life thus far, and I have been on both ends of such drama. However, this was during a brief historical period in time, which I like to refer to as "9th Grade". Now, at the ripe old age of 29, I can say that my experience has turned into wisdom. Yet, it seems that some people my age still have to know if, who, what, where, when and why someone is talking about them. I am sorry, but that is too much detective work for someone who has kids.
A few weeks ago, someone told my husband and a friend's husband that the friend and I were complaining about our husbands. Still not quite sure who was playing spy-tech on us, but my husband laughingly approached me about what he and the other husband "heard". After I stopped laughing, I explained to him that this small portion of our lengthy conversation was nothing my husband hasn't heard come out of my own mouth directly to him. Everything was blown over in a matter of seconds, no big deal. To be perfectly honest, the majority of this said conversation had to do with the similarities the girl and I shared in growing up with alcoholic fathers, yet, this eavesdropper who shall remain nameless (only because I don't have a name) took it upon his or herself to assume that our private, conversation that took place over a glass of wine in the corner of an outside deck at a friend's gathering was completely about our husbands, and worse, any of their business.
To that I say, who cares if it was entirely about the pope or my kid's poopy diaper? We are all entitled to vent. No one can possible be expected to internalize every thought and worry in order to avoid "talking smack". That is what friends are for. I should mention that she was somewhat of a new friend, previously an aquaintence. When my husband approached me about the drama, we quickly squashed it and chalked it up to immaturity. I hadn't even thought about it again until I saw my conversation buddy today. She immediately informed me that the husbands know we were talking about them. Duhhhh, I wanted to say... and so what. Our husbands talk about us too. Thats what people do. I then realized she was one of those people who talk about people and I was her newest enabler. I quickly reminded her that 80% of our conversation was about our fathers and family life. Then I realized that she must have had more wine than me that night because she seemed to have forgotten what I took as a meaningful conversation. She seemed more concerned with the fact that she was "caught" and she wanted to know who "ratted" her out. Ughh, I felt so dirty. I couldn't consume my thoughts with who was the mole in a group of people I only see 1 or 2 times a year, most of whom were acquaintences.
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