Other Firsts: We’re Not Perfect. Take a Drink.

(courtesy of cdn-www.cracked.com)

It’s Wednesday night, and I’m sitting around a marble countertop at Spagio Wine Cellars with seven other women. We all have children in the same preschool class, and we want to get to know each other so we can schedule play dates with a clear conscience.

It starts innocently enough. One by one, we walk through the door, shaking off the blasting cold with a cheerful hello and a glance at the wine list. We complement one another, which is what women do when they don’t know each other well, and then something totally unexpected happens.

They launch into their very worst stories.

~*~

(I’m changing names here. Nobody wants their kid-related laundry aired with names attached.)

“My kid’s the class troublemaker, if you’re wondering,” one mom says. When we tell her she’s being silly, she answers, “No, really. Campbell was sent to the office again today. Isn’t that crazy? This is preschool.”

“Tell them about his first trip to the office,” another mom urges. She looks at the rest of us and whispers loudly, “It’s actually pretty funny.”

“The preschool directors called and said, ‘We think Campbell needs to go home a little early today.’ He’d pushed Abigail and dumped soap in the fish tank. I tried to scold him, but I couldn’t keep a straight face. Pushing Abigail was bad, but come on—soap in the fish tank? That is hilarious.”

“You think that’s bad?” another mom says. “On Friday night, we called Poison Control because Joe ate baby powder. I ran upstairs to see why he was coughing, and he was pouring it in his mouth! The Help Line called back three times to check on him and reminded us to watch for a fever in case he developed a lung infection.”

“That’s little boys for you. “

“I send my son to Montessori in the morning and preschool in the afternoon because our nanny can’t handle him.”

I’m just fascinated by these women! It’s the strangest pissing content I’ve ever seen. Usually, moms try to outdo each other with stories that shine the best possible light on their children and themselves. But these women? Oh no. There are no pretenses here. Just honesty. And I love it.

~*~

It all makes me think of a scene in Sex in the City 2.

(What? I saw it, ok?)

As I was saying, it all makes me think of a scene in Sex in the City 2. Charlotte is worried that her husband Harry is having an affair with their beautiful (and bra-less) Irish nanny. Miranda decides to get Charlotte drunk so she’ll talk about her honest, ugliest, most hard-to-admit feelings.

Miranda says something like, “I’ll go first: You know I love Brady [her son] with all my heart. And I love staying home with him. But it’s not enough. I miss my job. Take a drink.”

They both throw back, and Charlotte says something like, “I love my girls, but Rose cries all the time. Sometimes I just have to lock myself in the closet and have a good cry myself.”

And then Miranda says “Good. Good. Now take a drink.”

The two go back and forth until they’re laughing and reassured and completely plastered.  It’s a satisfying scene, because the sentiments are those every mother (and father, I’m guessing) on the planet can relate to.

~*~

Not long ago, H asked me for a snack. I told him it was too close to supper, so he completely melted down. It wasn’t a tantrum-ish kind of fall-apart. Instead, he just wept, and slurred out the quietest, most dreadful words in the world: “Why don’t you love me?”

This, just for saying no to snacks?

I dropped the spoon I was holding. It clattered against the floor. For a moment, I was too stunned to do or say anything. But then I scooped him up, showered his blond head with kisses and searched the last almost-six years of his life to figure out where on earth he could ever have fallen under such a sad impression—or what I could do to erase it—or what I could say to prove just how much my boys are my world.

But how, right? Honestly, how can a parent ever possibly explain what it’s like to love a child? No matter how crazy my boys behave, or how much I hate when they burp or beat each other up or throw tantrums in public or forget to be respectful, I still follow them around with blind, unfettered, goofy, boundless, unconditional love. I don’t understand—I honestly can’t imagine—how for even an instant, my son couldn’t see that.

If you want to know my biggest parental failure to date, I guess I’d say this has to be it.

And the worst part is, it’s a big one. Take a drink.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
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Side Story: Read ‘Em and Weep (Occasionally)

image courtesy of http://www.liladelman.com

There are 10 women sitting in my living room. We’ve polished off a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, a gallon of hot rum-infused apple cider, a host of tasty treats, and this month’s book selection, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows). I chose it at my mother’s recommendation because it was so well received by her friends. It’s a story about a Channel Islands book club formed by accident during the German Occupation in WWII.

(I love the irony of a book club reading about a book club.)

This is our fourth meeting, and although we’re still quite new at this, we’re already comfortable enough to talk about our books—the characters, the plots, the themes—and share how they apply to our lives. Tonight’s discussion has been a good one. We’ve blown through all 15 discussion questions, and now we’ve come to the last one. I’ve added it myself, because I think it’s important.

I pretend to be serious as I clear my throat. “#16: The Guernsey Literary Society has a name. Do you think our book club should have one? If yes, what should it be?”

“I’ve been thinking about this for months!” Our founder, Leslie, says. “I keep wondering if I should bring it up.”

We nod collectively. A few options make their way to the floor:

• Sexy Librarians
• Sexy Drunk Librarians
• Sexy Drunk Librarians with Snacks
• Books on Heels

“Read ‘Em and Weep,” Sara suggests.

“Oh, I like that. We should say something about crying. We do that a lot here.” Which is true. We’ve read a few tear-jerkers.

“Or how about Read ‘Em and Weep (Occasionally),’” Melinda adds. “Because we don’t cry all the time.”

This is also true. Mostly we laugh, go off-topic and laugh some more.

It is decided. Once we pick the name, we forget about the book and just start talking. Lynn tells a personal story. Then Jen. Then Melinda. We all give solicited and unsolicited advice, swear a little and laugh again.

Quietly we congratulate ourselves, because this is shaping up to look like friendship, 10 women strong.

~*~

I think about friendship a lot.

When you’re young, it comes so easily. You both like Barbies. You both like Batman. You both like to roll from the top of the hill to the bottom, fist-bump over your mom’s chocolate cupcakes, and spin out together on your Big Wheels.

Then it’s not easy anymore. She flirts with your boyfriend. He’d rather play basketball than ride bikes across the lawn. She talks about you behind your back, and it smarts. Suddenly, your friends are jerks.

Then it’s easy again. Kind of. Your friendships take a little longer to build. Mostly, you buddy up with people who live near you. The kids in your dorm. The kids in your major. They like the same bands you do. You hang out at the same clubs. You visit their houses on summer break, and call their parents by their first names.

Then maybe you pair off. If you’re lucky, your significant other is also your best friend. Eventually you get a job, and you make semi-friends at work. You start a life, and there’s no time for anything else. At first you don’t notice. And then one day, you feel it: you’re lonely, and there’s no one you can call to say so.

“It’ll get easier when your kids are in school,” my mom said once. “It’s an even playing field then. You’ll be in a place where you all have something in common.”

But I want more than just kids in common. Friendship needs a wider foundation than that.

~*~

The older I get, the more I value the people I know, and the more I expect from them. Are you authentic? Interesting? Do you have your own opinions, and do you care about other people? Can you be honest when I ask how you are? Great, let’s have coffee. I’ll buy, and we can chat for hours.

It’s taken time, but I’ve started to focus on stringing together a group of people with something in common: wit that slays, an undercurrent of compassion, and honest, firm opinions that inspire me to think and learn so much more—as much as I can. I want the nearly-tangible sense that we’re all old enough now to see what’s important. Online or in person, that’s what I want all around me.

At 11PM I close the door on my last guests, slip off my heels and usher the empty glasses to my kitchen sink. The house is silent, and while I whistle something nameless to fill the quiet, it occurs to me that what I’m trying to build was in my living room tonight: Good people with kind hearts, and the willingness to open up, just to see what happens.

I’m looking forward to more hours like these.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
~*~ Visit the 36×37 facebook page

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