Famous moms I'd like to meet

The writing prompt at crazy hip blog moms is "Famous Moms I'd Like to Meet." And it's a head-scratcher. Because I can't think of any, right off.

"Famous" is a tough one. Because being famous doesn't mean much. It just means that people know who you are. Did you earn that fame? Maybe you're famous for being horrible, like that girl named after a city in France and a hotel.

There are a few famous moms I'd like to give a good shoulder-shaking to, like Britney Spears and sometimes Madonna (never changed her own kids' diapers? what?). I'd like to have maybe an hour-long conversation with them to help them realize that certain things are required of mothers. Like no crotch-shots, especially only a few months postpartum. Is that really something that needs to be explained? Really?

But I'm not likely to ever have those conversations. So if we're going into fantasy-land, I think I'd like to meet some historic moms.

Like Laura Ingalls Wilder's mom. She seemed pretty neat, at least in all those books. When I was in full "Little House" obsession mode, around age six, I tried to call my mom "Ma." She wouldn't answer to it. But "Ma" Ingalls made some great girls, one of whom wrote books that impacted generations of girls. She must have been quite a woman.

And what about Thomas Jefferson's mom? I'm thinking that if her son was so smart, she probably was no slouch herself.

And Abigail Adams. Not for her mothering, but for herself. She was an astonishing woman.

And the suffragists. Some of them were not only concerned with the whole voting thing, but also with children's rights and raising children well and keeping a lovely home.

But I'm not likely to meet any of them, either. So I guess I'll just stick with my not-famous, awesome friends, many of whom are great moms, and that'll be just fine.

New topic

I think I've completely exhausted the topic of friendships, at least for the time being. But that forces me into a decision: what to write about now?

Craig and I recently had a short, but interesting, conversation about having more kids. It's a moot point - we took "permanent" surgical action to end our childbearing five years ago - but it's still worth discussing at least once or twice a decade.

I've been 100% glad to only have two children, and no others on the horizon, for quite some time. The decision to make the decision to stop having children took place after a pretty convincing false alarm when Alex, my then-baby, was two. I was quite certain that I was pregnant, even after going through about $30 worth of pregnancy tests that all were negative. I figured it was just too early to test and I was still breastfeeding, so that maybe had an impact on the test(s). Once the unequivocal evidence appeared, proving the tests correct and me completely wrong, I was elated, relieved, and knew for sure that I didn't want to go there again. The surgical procedure to end our childbearing took place a week later.

But when I thought I was pregnant, I was pretty happy about it, too. Craig and I had never set an ideal family size. When we talked about it, we knew we wanted more than one and less than five. But there were times that a third, and even a fourth, seemed like a great idea.

So, even though it's a moot point, I asked Craig the other night if he ever felt like we made a mistake, if he ever wished we had another child. (I made a LOT of disclaimers before asking the question - didn't want him thinking that something was happening.) He thought about it a minute and told me that yes, occasionally he had little pangs of baby-lust (the man does love babies), but no, he thought our family was just the right size and he wouldn't want to change anything.

I mostly agreed with him. Everything except the baby-lust.

It's weird. Before I had babies, I loved babies. I wanted to hold them, to kiss their little hands, all that. When I had babies I loved everything about them. It was great. They were cute; their milestones were amazing; all was well. But around the time they turned five or so, I realized something: I like kids much better than babies.

Other friends of ours (and family members) started having kids several years after we did. So when they had babies, we had these cool preschoolers who were emerging readers, singers, talkers, doers. And those babies? Pretty much just sat there. And cried. And needed diaper changes. And all that. Plus? They had no idea what I was saying when I said, "Hey kid, will you fetch me another beer?" And preschoolers are really good at that.

There's also the expense. It costs a lot, even if you're frugal and reasonable and don't buy every darn thing they ask for. We really weren't in the position to take on the added financial burden of another child.

And school projects. I secretly enjoy helping to build three-dimensional models of geographic landforms (including mountains, hills, lakes, rivers, valleys, oceans, deserts, islands, and plains) out of homemade play-dough and moss and food color and sand and gravel and the cool tree stuff that you find in the model train section of Hobby Lobby (and that was for the second grader; have I mentioned the science project that the fourth grader did?) (she got third place) (and I really think the kids who got first and second didn't do the projects - their parents did), but I don't want to help with homework forever. And the two kids I've got have enough of it.

Then there's the emotions. It's a roller coaster. I don't know if my nerves could take the drama that a third child might bring into the mix. There's so much that is beyond a parent's control: what they look like, how smart they are, who they make friends with, and all the many things that give parents wrinkles and grey hair.

All that to say, yeah, I don't want to have any more babies.

BUT.

I did get a nice healthy dose of baby lust yesterday, for about eighteen seconds. A couple at our church adopted the most delicious little baby boy, and I could have eaten him up before church yesterday, but that would probably have awakened him, and I would NEVER wake up a sleeping baby. So I just peered at him instead. Because he was really cute.

So yeah, we're done. Permanently. With 99% no regrets.

Friends, part 6

Part six of a series. Please read parts one, two, three, four, and five.

I've covered childhood, college, and young motherhood; I've had a few crucial friendships to get me through each period. But now I'm standing at another doorway. I see my children growing, and I know they won't be in the house forever (Susie's more than halfway to eighteen, and Alex is almost halfway to driving). And with the "best friends" in different states, what's next?

Making a new friend is a lot like falling in love. A lot of those same emotions get stirred up: fear of rejection, nervousness, infatuation, euphoria. When the friendship is in first bloom, the conversations are fast and giddy - finding all those common interests and experiences, as well as the differences in viewpoint - heady stuff. That new person just seems so delightful, so wonderful, so interesting. How did you manage this whole time to not have met? What history will you share through the years?

I see a few people in my life who are gradually shifting from that wider circle of friendly people into the inner circle of true friends. In this entry, I'll examine those relationships. Since we've been going chronologically so far, I'll just keep that going.

Gareth (not his real name, but his requested pseudonym) started coming to church in 2004. He quickly joined the choir and got involved. He and I seemed to click almost immediately. Though several years younger than me, he and I share a snarky sense of humor, a great deal of commitment to social justice, and we both like to be involved. (Maybe it's because our birthdays are just a few days apart?) When I had to undergo a high-dose regimen of steriods that summer, he helped me through it, as he is no stranger to chronic illness that sometimes require prednisone. That support and understanding of what was happening to my body and my mind were probably what cemented our friendship. That and the fact that he lets me call him "my gay" in the style of Kathy Griffin. Oh, and he trusted my Martha Stewart skills sufficiently to have me plan and cater his housewarming party. Because every bachelor needs a pretend wife. Even if he's gay and the pretend wife is eight years older and married with two kids.

Melissa is another friend from church (mentioned in the prior entry). She and I have worlds that overlap in several places. We work at the same place (though not in related departments, so our work is not related or even remotely similar), we share similar political beliefs (though she's much more committed to the liberal cause than I am), and we both have media-addicted husbands. We have similar tastes in most things and have similar interests, too. Like Gareth, Melissa is younger than I am, and is currently pregnant with her first child. I have confidence that she'll be a great mother, and I also anticipate that her motherhood will strengthen our friendship, as our worlds will overlap even more.

Rebecca joined the Memphis Vocal Arts Ensemble during the year I took off after my radioactive iodine treatment for my thyroid gland. And then she took off most of the next year, after I had returned, because she had a baby that summer. So we met last May, when she came in to sing the opera concert. I noticed her immediately, because we had just about the same haircut, just about the same hair color, and her clothes reminded me of things I wear. We're also very close in age and have daughters that are just about two years older than their little brothers. Plus the music. So that's a lot in common. We did a bit of friend-courtship that spring and have gotten together outside rehearsals a few times, and we've had a great time when we've gotten together. So why aren't we closer than we are? I blame geography (we live about 20 minutes from each other) and life. We're both busy women - she is a professional musician, which means her evenings are mostly occupied by rehearsals. I work during the day, so we don't have compatible schedules. We spend more time trying to plan get-togethers than we actually spend getting together, but there is definitely a "spark" that tells me that she could be a significant friend.

I think that's it for my series. I am so fortunate to have had such wonderful people in my life. Even the difficult relationships have helped me to learn more about myself and the world around me. Each person in my life has helped me grow and become who I am now.

Friends, part 5

Part five of a series exploring crucial friendships. Continued from prior posts. In the first four posts of this series, I discussed a few, very important friends. The "best friends" of my life, so far. Intentionally, I've not discussed family, nor have I discussed my husband, though those relationships are by far the most important, especially on a daily basis.

There are friends, though, who aren't our "best" friends. They remain a little farther away. Friends from church, neighbors, parents of children's friends, the list gets longer every year. A few of those people may move to the inner circle, but many of them stay on the list of "people I like" and even "people I can call in an emergency" but not the very short list of "people who know every detail of my life." These people would cry at my funeral but would not deliver the eulogy.

That outer circle of friends is crucial. We need them. We especially need them when the "inner circle" is not well-populated. So let's travel to 2002, just to recap. My best friend since high school moved away in spring 2001. My best mommy friend since my firstborn was an infant moved away in spring 2002. My friend and yoga teacher died in November 2002. My husband's best friend and his wife also moved away, as did the two women I became friends with in graduate school. My inner circle? Was not in the state.

Cue the violins.

This was an unacceptable situation. Period. I'm a social girl, and my needs were not being met. I had not really bonded with anyone at church, my neighbors at the time were not good "best friend" candidates, and I didn't have friends at work. What to do? How to meet people?

My approach was two-pronged. Get a hobby, and get more involved at church. Make sure the hobby is one that involves other people. I joined the Memphis Vocal Arts Ensemble. Surely, surely, there would be someone there that I would like, that would like me.

A man from my church choir, Jack, is the person who suggested I check out MVAE. Bless Jack's heart, after rehearsal he even invited me to join a group of ensemble members who went to a nearby restaurant to drink a few beers and socialize. As, well, almost anyone who knows me can tell you, I'm generally unlikely to turn down drinks, especially when I'm trying to make friends. A quick phone call home, to let Craig know what was going on, and I was soon basking in the warm glow of the Belmont crew.

Like I mentioned before, I did get permission from my current friends before I started blogging about them. Well, these folks are performers, so anonymity is not an issue. So I'm using names. Full names. With links to bios. Head shots, even. Because performers? Like to get more than one or two hits when they google themselves.

The Belmont crew usually consists of about six of us. Stephen Len White, whose voice is like butter, and his lovely wife, Deb, who claims to be our "groupie", Stephony Robinson, who is a gentle, lovely woman who also can throw back a shot of tequila and tells an awesomely funny story, Jimmy White, Dr. Nancy Chase, who will get out her bagpipes anytime, anywhere, if she hears someone has a birthday, our director, Tom Machen, and sometimes Jack, and sometimes our pianist, Lisa, and me. It's a fun group, and sometimes we even get together outside the bounds of MVAE. When Deb and Steve got married, we were all there. Stephony had a birthday party in June that was attended almost entirely by the Belmont crew, and most of the crew attended my blowout birthday party in May.***

That birthday party was the best party ever. It was legendary. About fifty people were there (and my house is not big) and everyone had someone to talk to. (And with Craig's brilliant compilation CD's and the fabulous food and drinks, everyone was having a great time.) Most of the important people in my life come from one of two places: MVAE or my church. But those lines are sometimes blurry, like in Jack's case. He occupies both of those spheres.

My church friends were slow in coming. I've been attending Neshoba since 2000 (I joined in February of that year), but it wasn't until about 2002 or 2003 that I really felt "at home". In 2004 the small group ministry really got going, and a group for young adults finally found wings. I'm at the upward end of the age range, but our group is cohesive and supportive and functions very well. After 18 months together, we opened to other ages, and several other folks who are over 40 joined us, but the dynamic still feels young and vibrant. Melissa, James, Liz, Jason, and Dave (and Stina and Margrethe) are the people I sit with in church, have lunch with after church, and they represent the new leaders of our church. (And, for the first time in our church's history, more than half our board members are under 40.)

Having a child involved in the church-sponsored Girl Scout Troop has also given me opportunities to form stronger relationships with other parents. Dorothy, Tracy, Steve, Jennifer, Martin, and Gretchen are all busy, smart, effective adults who share their talents with the children of the church. For them, I am grateful.

The church choir is what got me to Memphis Vocal Arts Ensemble. And Chip is who got me to join the choir, which means I owe her a great debt. Chip is a fabulous 60, and she personifies what I want to be when I grow up: vibrant, visible, welcoming, active, vital, compassionate, enthusiastic. Most people half her age don't have half her energy. Paul, Alex, Jack, Tricia, Elizabeth, Cathy, Carrie, and Ross bring camaraderie and music to my Sunday mornings.

And once we get to the board, there's so much overlap that I realize the fabric at church is more woven than patchwork. So many of my fellow board members are found in other places in the church: in small group ministries, in the Sunday School classrooms, in the choir.

One of my church friends also knows my neighbor, Anna, from when he lived in an apartment building and she worked for the management company. Anna and Paul live two doors away, and Paul was the first neighbor I met. Jenn and Maggie live behind us with an alleyway connecting our back yards. While my old neighborhood was a "front porch" neighborhood, this one is a back yard neighborhood. I have to remind myself that Jenn and Maggie technically live on a different street than Paul, Anna, and I.

When the weather is warm, our neighbors congregate in what we jokingly called "neighborhood watch." In truth, we're watching little, but we're creating community. We're making relationships. And studies have shown that strong bonds between neighbors help make safe neighborhoods. So maybe drinking a little wine together is fighting crime. We also have each other's email addresses and participate on an internet message board.

The bonds we're creating are strong: at Anna and Paul's wedding, the "neighborhood friends" took up two tables at the reception, and many of us drove to the wedding together. We've become a community.

These groups of friends represent the people who see me through the day-to-day. Our relationships are not all necessarily deep, but they have the comfort of familiarity, of shared experience.



***Though this was intended to be a five-part series, I'm realizing that we need another entry. There are a couple of people who are moving from this outer circle to the inner circle, and I'd like to explore those relationships a little more.

Friends, part 4

Continued....to read the whole series start here, then go here, and here.

I already posted about an important friend I lost too young. She was my first "mommy" friend, and she made a big impact in my life. But there's another friend, my "best" mommy friend. She's been there in the trenches with me, almost from the start of motherhood. We've changed each other's children's diapers. We've never argued and we've never hurt each other's feelings. Our friendship began because of our children but has continued because of our shared values and beliefs, as well as our similar background and upbringing. I've joked that if anything happened to her husband and to me, that I would want Craig to marry her (and I think that would be okay with him). She lent me the dinosaur cake pan for Alex's second birthday party. She changed churches when I did. She's supported me through dark times, and I'm truly grateful for her friendship. And the girl? Can hold her liquor. I'm just saying.

I met K.M. the same place I met most of my mommy friends. At a La Leche League meeting. She was pregnant, near her due date, and had attended the meeting at the urging of her Bradley childbirth instructors. It must have been December or January, because her baby was born in February. That baby is turning nine this week. So that's how long we've been friends - nine years.

K.M. and I hit it off straightaway, but when she and her family began attending the church where I worked, the bond was solidified. We obviously had things in common. Our babies played together in the church nursery, and soon enough, in each other's homes, too. My second child was born and I quit my job, and we started spending much more time together. (My daughter's first attempt at drowning was in K.M.'s mom's pool.)

K.M. is one of the nicest people I've ever met. And when I tell her that, she's astonished: she claims to be shy (whatever). Because she's also humble. And self-effacing. And all those other things that make charming people so darn charming. She's pretty and funny and smart and sometimes I just want to braid her hair. Because she's likable that way.

Our children don't remember a time that they weren't friends. Early on, we arranged the marriage of her son and my daughter (they've since broken it off but decided to stay friends). They were adorable babies and toddlers....three (my two, her one) blond, round, cherubic little ones who honestly resembled each other enough to prompt restaurant hostesses to ask if they were triplets. We babysat for each other without keeping score. When one of us needed help, the other was there. It was good like that. We intended to take a family vacation together, but we never got around to it.

In 2001, K.M. and her husband decided to do what they'd wanted to do since they got married: move to Montana. Which is very, very far from Memphis. On September 11, 2001, her husband got in the car and drove there, leaving K.M. and her son behind in Memphis. He was due at his new job in a few days, and their house had not sold yet. Since it was freaking September 11, I told her to come over to our house because there was absolutely no way that anyone should be alone that night. We watched the footage and our children played.

We spent a great deal of time together that winter and spring, and then her house sold. That was in March. We got a group of used-to-be La Leche League moms (our kids were mostly past that point by then) together for dinner and gave her a wonderful send-off. And a few days later, the kids and I went over to her house to help her finish packing and vacuum and clean up and load the van and take some of her plants that wouldn't fit. And she moved away to Montana.

This post could easily turn sappy and sentimental (wait, it already did? Crap.), but that's not the goal. So now, now that you know that our friendship no longer has the day-to-day immediacy of "before", let's look at a few crucial moments that define our friendship, in no order at all because chronology is sometimes hard.

::When the kids were little, sometimes Craig worked as a consultant and went out of town for a week or so at a time. So, one of those times, K.M. and I had a sleepover. That was silly and fun. Except her son woke up pre-crack-of-dawn, so they disappeared before I got up.

::White Elephant parties every December, alternating houses. The light saber that wouldn't go away. The bottle of Arrogant Bastard beer that she brought every year.

::Taking digital pictures with her camera, of my kids wearing hemp clothes and other things I tried to sell on the internet.

::I'm not going to say anything else except: what I almost saw, but didn't, on the video camera. She knows what that means. And it is just as funny now as it was then. Maybe funnier.

::Hawking her homemade batik and my baby products at the Cooper-Young festival.

::A couple of months after the move to Montana, she was back in Memphis for a few days, then would be heading to Florida. Astonishingly enough, our schedules coordinated this well: She and I ditched the kids with Craig (bless him) and went out to breakfast, went to Christie's yoga class, then got manicures and pedicures! Craig and the kids and I were heading to Orlando to meet my parents for a very traditional family vacation. She and her son were also going to be in Orlando, but they always flew standby, so their dates were uncertain. My phone rang while Craig and I were in line for a ride at Universal Studios. K.M. and son were in Orlando. Could we get together? We gave her directions to the resort and spent the next afternoon at the pool, acting like that was totally planned (it wasn't).

::Talking to her a few days before, and a few days after, the home birth of her daughter. She took her time deciding to have that second child, but little K was worth the wait.

::I'm very, very fortunate in that K.M.'s family (and her husband's family) all live in Memphis. She visits at least twice a year, and we generally get her for the better part of a day, or at least an afternoon and evening. The kids look forward to seeing their buddy, and Craig looks forward to cuddling now-preschooler little K. We catch up, we hang out, we show her what she's missing by not having every single channel that the satellites can beam into a house.

::Commiserating while we each dealt with construction. Her house in Montana had a major fire a few years ago and had to be almost entirely rebuilt. We were building out new home at the same time. Swapping tales of contractors and workers and "what the hell are they doing that takes so long?" is nice, because, honestly, nobody else really wanted to hear it.

::Hearing tales of her life before marriage and children is always eye-opening. She was a pilot. She had adventures. She had great romance and some trauma, too. But the stories are just as good "after" too: she's trained for and run marathons, she competed her M.S.W. while her first child was a baby, now she's in nursing school. She's the most driven laid-back person I've ever met.

::This is probably the best one, the story that sums what kind of person K.M. is. She had my kids (I probably had to work and Craig was out of town). They were pre-school age, maybe 2 and 4, with her son rounding it out at 3. Anyway, she called me to ask me if it was okay if she took them bowling. No problem, right? Did I mention she was a social worker, and her clients were homeless, drug-addicted veterans? No? And that they were all going bowling? Because yes. My kids' first bowling experience was with homeless drug addicts. The best part? My mom called me and asked me what my kids were doing. And I told her. And she wasn't surprised, not a bit.