Teaching old dogs to make new friends

The other day, the Hubs and I were watching an old episode of Raising Hope, in our jammies, in bed, probably with a handful of crackers, which is pretty much how we roll. Rollin' in Cheezits. It makes our sheets feel like a salad bar, but such is life. I'm probably the only person who snuggles in deeply with her blankie, lulled to la-la land by the scent of Colby, but heck, if that's wrong, I don't want to be right.

Anyway, this episode was about trying to make friends as adults.

As kids, it's difficult enough and we look forward to the day when everything falls smoothly into place, socially speaking. That day never arrives. It never gets easier to make people like you, connect with someone, really feel that chemistry in a totally platonic way; you know what' I'm saying. And as you age, it's not socially acceptable to smack anyone or pull their hair or demand their lunch money in order to show that you want to be bosom buddies. BFFs. They're hard to come by. My personal creed is to make one per decade and then threaten them that if they ever die and leave me, I will ... - uh, well, I'm a little vague on the details. But I'd be super sad. And friendless.

Seeing as how I'm in my mid thirties and if you do the aforementioned math, you'd see that I have three and one half friends. This is accurate. The one half of one friend are those acquaintances who just may be THE NEXT BEST FRIEND OF THIS DECADE. Of course, I cannot decide until the last rose is given and until they've seen me without hair products or in labor, maybe both. Then and only then, is the title of Bestie bestowed. It's a prestigious honor that not just anyone can handle, as it involves the holding of my purse when I use a public restroom, allowing me to be a second mom to your kid, and French braiding my hair. Occasionally. You know, when the occasion calls for it? Oh, never mind.

Sometimes this search for my new buddy adds added pressure to my life. I search the crowds and think, she's here! I just know it! That woman over there has totally gorgeous shoes and I want her for my friend! That woman there has kids just my kid's ages and I want her! No, no, her! No, wait, that one! Everyone stop and pay attention to me so that I can weed out the lovers of thrift shops vs the lovers of malls! Stand still, this is a delicate process! Stop moving! Wait, why are you all moving away from me?

If I could just put together a questionnaire, it'd go something like this:

1. Will you tell me when I have spinach in my teeth? (the correct answer is no. I'd prefer to find out on my own and hope that no one ever noticed).
2. Will you buy my book? (The correct answer is yes. And all you trolls who insisted I put it in paperback are really bringing me down, man. I've sold 4 copies. 4. And three went to immediate family. You're all in trouble. Trolls, I say!).
3. Will you rescue my offspring from certain death on the days when I just need to veg out and calm down and say, NOT commit infanticide? (obviously, the answer is yes as my kids are too cute to die).
4. Will you meet me for movies and flea markets and paint your toenails with me? (Again, obvious answer, yes).
5. Will you answer my texts about underwater basket weaving with excitement and smiley faced emotions? Like, ten times a day?

And so on and so forth.

But anyway, back to Raising Hope. You really must find this episode( it's in the first season and I think it's called Romeo and Romeo...) because I can't do it justice. Suffice to say, I was laughing and laughing so hard I nearly wet the bed, which would have caused an unfortunate soggy salad bar thing.

Because Mike and I have moved far too much, we are forced to make friends. I say forced, because it is truly like pulling teeth. It's like dating. And I  never dated much. Plus, we are too conservative for liberals and too liberal for conservatives, so it's a delicate web we weave. "Wanna come over after church and watch Harry Potter?"  Is that the sound of crickets I hear?  "How about after the Dave Ramsey retreat I buy you a beer?"  Oh, look...a tumbleweed is tumbling by.

Anyhoo, my point is, thanks to new friends and old who have put up with me. Today we had some luffly newbies over and Gianni got kissed. After she kissed him he was a little enamored with her, so when she was on her way to her car to go home, he reached out for her. She walloped him but good and he lay sprawled in the grass for several minutes after. I think he's in love.

It's not any easier with men. Mike's best opening line a few weeks ago at church?

I just need someone who will talk theology with me sometimes and other times just play x-box and drink a beer.


After a pause, the other man raised his hand.

I am that man.


Wait. Maybe it is easier for men.

Stoopid men.

Blarney

So I'm having a momentary freak out and if I text message it it'll be 24 texts long, all arriving in un-chronological order, and if I Facebook status it it will be way too long, and if I say it out loud I'll cry and I don't like crying - it gives me a headache and makes me crave chocolate and causes my mascara to run down my face where I have to scrape it off with a butter knife later - so I'll just blog it.


I have a friend moving to Ireland.


That's across an ocean.


I won't be able to call and say take me shopping before I eat my children. Or please bring me hot wings. Or do these pants make me look fat? Or I have Goodwill coupons, meet me at the curb in three minutes.  Or let's go out for margaritas and a movie.  I mean, I could call and say those things to her but she'd be like, yeah, girl, I'm in Ireland wearing cable knit sweaters, sipping Guinness, conversing with Liam Neeson and Colin Farrell, exploring castles, and eating corned beef and cabbage and soda bread.  


And I know she loves me and all, but I really cannot compete with Liam or Colin.  Colin is way prettier and I'm just not as good at vigilantism as Liam.  I mean, if a teen girl gets kidnapped and sold into slavery who are you gonna call: me or Liam?  There's just no competition.  He'd be like, keep calm, I got this.  And I'd be like, panic immediately! I'm gonna throw up!  Call the police, call my dad, call Liam Neeson!  I will sit by the phone and  eat ice cream until this situation resolves itself!  


So in a few weeks we meet to say goodbye and I really don't know who we're fooling because the only person who despises goodbyes more than I do is her.  I'll be hiding behind a rose bush, sucking my thumb, and she'll be locking herself in her car, and there will be no goodbyes.  Our husbands will drag us, kicking and screaming out from our respective haunts and force us to but we won't.  We will avoid eye contact and I am stating for the record right now I am not hugging her baby goodbye.  You can't make me.  Well, maybe one quick hug.  


The strange thing about my friend, Genesis, is how much we've been through together.  


She was there the day Cora disappeared in the woods and she was gone for an hour and a half and she was only four years old and I hyperventilated and Gen took Anna, who was only a munchkin, down to get the sheriff and Anna kept saying 'where's Cora?' and Gen had to hold it together because the munchkin's mama was falling apart.  We referred to that as The Episode of Which We Do Not Speak until something happened a year or so later that nearly dwarfed The Episode of Which We Do Not Speak and that title was transferred.  We like to rotate our emergency titles like that.


She was there when Gianni had a life threatening reaction to a medication and once again, she took charge of Anna so that I could ride along in the ambulance.


She was there last year when I was told what an awful person I was by people I gave up everything to help and my family was torn apart.  She was there when I lost my voice from tears and fed me and helped me pack my life into a utility trailer.  She was there to financially help me get back West - home - because if she hadn't we'd still be stranded in Nebraska somewhere, out of gas and out of food with a debit card that was declined.  


I was there when we thought her husband was dead and he wasn't.
I was there when they brought home their baby from foster care, not knowing how long they'd get to have him and I was there to celebrate with eggs bennies the day they adopted him for good.


She's been Santa and the Easter Bunny for twelve years for my kids.  She's thrown me baby showers and surprise birthday parties.   She allows me to text her fashion commentaries during every televised awards show.  She gave me a really cool red pot that weighs sixteen tons and which broke her foot and makes me think of her every time I use it - which is nearly daily - and also makes me feel like a chef because it's always featured on cooking shows.  

Will she make lady finger Halloween cookies for Liam and Colin?
Will she knit them scarves and quilt them baby quilts and give them manicures?
I hope they appreciate her.
Humph.
I hate Ireland.




If you'd like to check out their Irish missionary page feel free to do so right here and right here .  But whatever you do, don't tell them to have a good time.  We want them to come back in a speedy fashion and bring some cable knit sweaters. 


Love you, Gen!  Consider this our goodbye because I am SO barricading myself in the bathroom at your goodbye party. 

What I learned in 2010

1.  I don't like moving.  I don't like Uhauls.  They wiggle.  It freaks me out.  They're really loud and bumpy.  They make my jowls shake when you are on a rocky road.  They eat my possessions. They're ridiculously expensive and that's before you do the math for their gas guzzling habit.

2.  I secretly enjoyed the government benefits of food stamps for a few months.  I should feel ashamed but we have never eaten so well in our lives.  I now miss medium rare steak more than I miss the size 4 I used to be.

3.  Going through difficult times in life, it's very helpful and recommended to have a life partner with a sense of humor.

4.  It's very helpful and recommended to have a sense of humor when going through difficult times in life.

5.  It is possible to live out of one half of a suitcase for 6 months.  Not screamingly thrilling, but possible.

6.  If you're low on furniture or things to do, nekked drumming is always an alternative to the humdrums.

7.  My dog is neurotic, but I learned to love the mutt more.

8.  It's 2,013 miles from Nampa, Idaho, to St Louis, MI.

9.  Approximately 1,013 miles of it is corn.

10.  Homeschooling is so the way to go if you're unemployed and traveling!

11.  I can drive a huge van like a bad mambajamba.  I don't know what a bad mambajamba is actually.  I think it might be a Star Wars term. 

12.   Gianni likes the ladies.  The ladies like Gianni.  And she didn't even get to witness the nekked drum show!

13.  You can sell my bed.  You can sell my couch.  You can give endless boxes of my very own stuff away to Goodwill.  But if you lay a hand on my book collection I will come at you like a spider monkey.

14.  Goodbyes stink.

This one stinks.

This one was rotten.

This one was tear ridden.

This one was-

well-

I don't miss this nut all too terribly.

It's his wife I miss.

But she won't sit still for pictures.

Like me.

So we've known each other for eleventy seven years and have like, no photos of each other because we each duck and yell and take cover when someone takes out their camera.  And if I do get a photo of her she complains about her hair, or her shirt and makes me delete it.  And if she does get a picture of me I complain about my jowls.  And she deletes it.  At least she tells me she deletes it.

I suspect she lies.

                                 I miss her.  I had a picture of the two of us, but I looked jowl-y. 

There are others I miss (Jen, Anna) who evidently hide from cameras as well.


15.  Gianni grew hair.

16.  Michigan is humid.  Speaking of hair reminded me of that, thank you very much.

17.  I'm not ashamed to say I heart texting, emails, Facebook, and phones, so I can keep in touch with all my fruitloops.

18.  The first three weeks of being a mom to teenagers I did not sleep at all.  We're talking full-on zombie, night of the living dead.  Can you say, anxious? 

19.    Baptists are just Christians.  Shhh.

20.  It is not advisable to do Pilates on the floor when your toddler is perched precariously above you on the tip of the recliner.

21.  Public schools make me nervous.  They're full of oversized toddlers.  I want to put my fingers in my ears and shout at the top of my lungs, 'I'm a homeschooler!'  But I don't think this would do much for the reputation of homeschoolers in general.  Especially if I'm wearing my Star Trek shirt tucked into my sweat pants tucked into my moon boots at the time.

22.  If nekked drumming isn't your thing, due to a lack of musical ability, there's always nekked biking.  A few scant seconds after I took this shot, he ate the geranium.

23.  This picture has nothing to do with anything and wasn't taken in 2010, but it somehow seemed appropriate for this blog.  I want him back.  I want to chew on his nose cuz back then he let me chew on his nose.

I'm ending there, partly because dinner is about to boil over, and partly because I like ending my list on #23 for all you OCD people who will not be able to sleep at night because I didn't end on an even number. 

Love,
me and my jowls. 

pals

Ike, Moose, Sadie, Anna, Cora. And all their stinky feet.

Luigi and Laney Chase.

Cousins Cody and Coralee.

Cora and Jamel. I guess she cracks him up.

Gianni and two of his fan club members: Airianna and Kianna.

that's why we call it three kid adventures

-not sure if Gianni is blessing his friend, Quinn, petting him like he does Milo, admiring his coiffure, or elevating him to the status of knight-

-cousins at Christmas time-

-Gianni resorts to surrender and torture by tickling after a game of chase with Mommy-

You may notice that the photo of the girls isn't the most recent, but strangely enough there are lots of new pictures of the youngest monster and none at all of the Firstborn or the Middler. This is strange because, as anyone with more than 1 child knows, the first is spoiled rotten, the next is spoiled but not excessively, the third is lost a bit in the shuffle, and so on and so forth. With Cora we took photo after photo, lovingly recording every feeding, smile, burp, laugh, haircut, holidays, vacations, change of clothes, bathtimes, mealtimes, sleeptimes, rolling over times, colorful bowel movements, well, you get the idea. Now, Anna was born a scant 18 months later and we were a bit more forgetful about things like putting batteries in the camera or remembering where we left the camera last, or actually owning a camera. But here and there we hastily scribbled cute things in her baby book and if there are a few pictures that may be Cora and not in fact, Anna, well, everyone says they look alike so who's gonna argue with the name on the back of the snapshot? Now the only thing that is saving Gianni from complete and total lack of personalized memorabilia, it's that he was born 6 years later to parents who had forgotten how fun babies could be. So yes, there are photos of him at most every stage. No video however and the baby book has a thick, protective layer of dust, but we mostly know where he is at all times, his middle name, and if we have to think real hard about birthdates, well, attribute it to old age on our part.

Oh by the way, if you get a phone call from someone with a high squeaky voice asking you if you ordered a large garlic and pepperoni pizza... it's Anna. And she will be grounded.

In other news, we have decided to quit tormenting the child care workers at both our church and the YMCA. Those poor people do not get paid enough (and in the case of the former, their reward is in heaven, and hopefully a long way off) to watch our grumpy little gnome. The wailing is hard on their ears and the turning blue/passing out is hard on their nervous systems so we're letting them off the hook. He can sit in service with us, sticking pencils in our shoes, flirting with the preacher's wife, scooting under pews, contributing loudly with the sermon, and in general forcing us all to patiently recall the scriptures about letting little children come to Jesus. As far as the YMCA goes, there will be no more sneaking out of the house without the moppets (yeah, yeah, I heard ya, Dad) so I guess I'll just get fat. We'll try the whole tough love thing again in a month or two, but in the meantime G. can party to his little heart's content and so can the babysitters.

Oh, and if anyone has a surefire way to memorize the times tables, please let me know. Cora knows a lot of fun and interesting and little known facts, but the pluttification tables (shout out to Pippi there!) is not one of them.