All I Know

All I really know how to do is love them.

No, let me change that.  All I really know how to do WELL is love them.

Shower them.  Engulf them. Swarm them.  With love.

I know I give in. Give up.

I wrap my arms around them when I “should” turn my back.

And let them cry.

I kiss their tears away.

When maybe those tears were just for show.

I help a girl too old to put her socks on her feet

Even help her get the fork to her mouth

When I see exhaustion overtaking her.

I let a proud boy walk out with his pants on backwards

With a shirt far too small

Because it’s his Favwit

And he put them on himself.

I’m told to be strong.

Show them who is boss.

Don’t get walked on.

I try.

Really.

And I am.

Sometimes.

But it’s not what I do well.

I’m told my “way” is the easy way.

Showing this much love

Having this much patience

is the EASY way.

Maybe.

If spending 30 minutes adjusting the sock line

On her feet so she doesn’t feel the threads on her toes

Is easy…

If rubbing her back each night

Consoling her that her fear of throwing up

Is not reality

Is easy…

If holding her hand

Until she falls asleep

To show she doesn’t need to suck her thumb

Is easy…

If allowing them both to rest their fever hot heads

On my shoulders

For days on end

Because they don’t want to be alone

Is easy…

If not getting sleep for three months straight

Because he’s afraid of monsters

And shadows

And spiders

Is easy…

If making three meals

For four people

Because I prefer they eat

Instead of going to sleep hungry

Is easy…

If cleaning up their mess

So that they can play those extra ten minutes

With each other

Enjoying each other

Is easy…

If making up a song

Each night

About fire trucks

And race cars

To sing at bedtime

Is easy…

Then yes.

My way.  Is the easy way.

But it’s all I know I can do. Well.

Love them.  Give myself to them.

And I can’t apologize for that.

Because in the end

When the end of this mothering thing stares me in the face

I’ll know. I did what I knew how to do.

Right or Wrong.

Easy.

Or Not.

Is there a Perfect Shoe?

You know that feeling when you haven’t spoken to a friend in so long, you just can’t find the right time to pick up the phone to make “that” phone call?  You can’t call when you only have 5 minutes because it will take five minutes to rattle off the reasons you haven’t called.  And you don’t even know what the reasons are.  And so much has happened that you don’t know if you should rewind and tell them everything that’s happened or just the most recent events.  And you just feel bad.  Guilty. Out of touch.

It’s how I feel. About this blog. My “friend” the blogosphere.  I keep wanting to write.  I have a scroll of blog posts listed in my head waiting to be written.  Dozens of bloggers I want to come visit and read what THEIR lives consist of.  But it’s been so long.  Too long.  I just found out yesterday that FOUR of my BFFBF’s (Best Friend Forever Blog Friends – a term I just this second coined) are pregnant.  Close to their due dates. Some after worries of not getting pregnant.  Friends who I commiserated with on fertility issues.  They were my inner circle.  I think at one point, I was theirs.  One friend had her baby five weeks ago. And I didn’t know.  And to those who don’t “get” the blog world, that might seem unimportant, a non-event. But to me, it was the Same as these life altering events happening to a real friend.

So here I am. About to “call” my “friend”.  Fingers prone to type a blog post.  I’m sick.  My house is empty. It’s quiet. I have that aforementioned scroll of posts in my head.  Months of drama in my house ripe for writing about.  But I’m stuck.  Because it’s been so long and none of it seems Right to write.

Sigh.

Getting caught up on twitter last night with my friends did make me start thinking about friends.  I’ve written a number of times here that I find it so hard to make Real friends at this point in my life.  I’ve lived here for seven years in May.  And have made lots of friends along the way but very few I’d actually put on my “speed dial”.  In January I woke at midnight with what I believed was appendicitis.  I could barely breathe.  Couldn’t walk.  Needed to go to the ER. And I had No One I could call to come over to stay with my kids so Tim could take me to the hospital. I had to wake them and bring them with us because I had No One.  Shouldn’t we all have Some One?  I want to be that Some One to others.  Recently I’ve made three friends.  Three that yesterday, when I lay in bed with 103 fever I actually felt I could call them to help me.  Take my kids for dinner.  Take my kids for a playdate. I didn’t call them, but maybe I could have.  Maybe I’ve made some progress.

Last night as I lay in bed I thought about a new theory I have about friends.  That they’re like shoes. You can’t expect any of your shoes to be perfect, right?  While some are perfect for one occasion, they’re not for others.  My converse low tops are my shoe friend that I call on when I need comfort.  When I need reliability.  They keep me honest. I have friends Just Like my Converse.  But I wouldn’t necessarily throw those khaki sneaks on for a fun night out.  No, some friends (and shoes) I call for when I need a night Out. A night to forget the serious stuff. A night to get my mind Off my drudgery at home.  My peep toe bootie heels perhaps? My shiny red heels?  I don’t expect any deep conversation while wearing them… but they’ll give me a night to remember.  My gym shoes.  Good for just that.  The gym.  I chat with these friends in the locker room, on the weight machine, beside me on the bike.  I don’t even have their phone numbers, or last names.  But I like seeing them at the gym. They make me smile – at the gym.  And My pink flats with the girlie sequin bows.  Six years I’ve had these shoes. They’re me. They know me as well as I know them. They’re right for day.  Right for night. They’re casual.  They’re fancy. They’re consistent.  Never surprising.  But we fight. Because they hurt me.  The first week of every summer.  They hurt. Like some friends… we’re so close, they can hurt.

My shoes are like friends. My friends are like shoes. And this realization has helped.  No friend can be everything.  I shouldn’t expect to be able to call every friend for every need. When I look at potential new friends I need to keep in mind what this friend could be for me.  And what I could be for them.  Similarly I read some blogs I read for a laugh and some I read for a reality check or beautiful writing.  Few blogs can do it all.  And that’s ok.  We don’t need a one shoe fits all shoe (or friend), do we?  As long as my husband encompasses a whole wardrobe of shoes, I’m ok.

Right now I have an ad out for my Ugg Slipper friend.  The one I CAN call in the middle of the night.   To watch my kids so I don’t have to bring them pajama clad, lovey holding and anxious to the ER.  Any takers?

I wish I could say I’m back.  You’ll be seeing me daily.  That I’ll be visiting you daily.  But I can’t promise that.  I don’t know how some of you find time to work, spend time with your kids and write your amazing blogs.  I can’t seem to do it all.  The time I used to have to blog, I now work.  Luckily I sometimes get to blog FOR work when I’m able to convince a client that they need a blog.  Like here.  And here.

Just know I miss you guys!  And truly think of you often.  Like my flip flops.  I think about wearing them All The Time. But never get to wear them because it’s so freakin cold.  They stare lovingly at me when I open my closet.  (Like I stare lovingly at your names as I open my Reader). And when the time is right to slip them on, oh boy do they make me smile.

xx