Re-Tarzan

A few weeks ago I made the mistake of giving son #2 the moniker "re-Tarzan" because he kept running and smacking into the couch. On purpose.

Last night, he asked me, "Can I go to college before middle school?"

"No. Why would you want to do that?"

"Well, when I'm in college, I'll be able to run and crash into walls without anyone telling me not to." He then proceeded to run into the door to the garage.

What is it with my kids and their hifalutin college expectations?

Best Friends Forever

I just finished reading the Christian fiction book The Shack which came highly recommended by someone I trust implicitly. Not (at all) my cup of tea -- crappy writing, bad fiction, too new agey -- but it's an easy read so, even though I wanted to end my misery immediately, I felt compelled to keep reading. I'm somewhat glad that I did given that there were a couple of golden nuggets that did make me stop and think.

One point that the author made about friendship was especially poignant for me. In it, he says that with friends there is an "expectancy" of being together, of laughing and talking. It's a gift. But when it becomes an "expectation," it's more legalistic.

"You are now expected to perform in a way that meets my expectations.
Our living friendship rapidly deteriorates into a dead thing
with rules and requirements.
It is no longer about you and me,
but about what friends are supposed to do,
or the responsibilities of a good friend."

I loved this analogy. Sure, he was talking about our relationship with God but on a more human scale I've been living it and it doesn't feel good.

For the past few years, one of my best friends from my high school and college years rarely returned my calls. We had an absolute blast whenever we were together (typically in a foursome that another friend arranged) but, outside of our group dinners, I felt like she couldn't have cared less what was going on in my life.

I actually brought it up one night but it only served to make it worse. Whereas I truly didn't want to be that chick who you have call out of "expectation," I did think our friendship was deeper and I was feeling sorry for myself. Sadly, the only thing that changed was that she now prefaced every greeting with "I'm so sorry I haven't returned your calls; I've been really busy." Interesting, because I've been working 80 hours/week . . .

As my girlfriend Melinda would say, "Don't write her off as a friend; just re-write the friendship contract." I couldn't agree more. I really love being with that group of friends so why not give up the charade? Our "best friend-ness" was in the 80s -- I need to simply enjoy her company when I can during this millennium. So last May, after hearing her apologize one time too many, I decided to completely let her off the hook. I would stop calling her and simply spend time with her whenever she called.

One year later . . . not one call.

I remember thinking last September, "OMG it's been four months and she has never once called me!" Over the past year, my feelings have gone from utter disbelief to hurt to sadness and finally the real acceptance that I was merely feigning this time last year. It is what it is.

Last night, we all got together briefly to celebrate another friend's birthday. She and I split the bill and as we drove home, she pulled her car up alongside mine. "I just realized you paid for the hummus I'm taking home for my son!" D'oh! She then said, "I'll mail you the money." Mail? She lives less than five minutes from my house.

Thankfully, I can now laugh -- sincerely laugh -- about it.

I called out from my car, "Dude, don't mail me the money. We can go out again!" And then I shouted as I drove away laughing. "FYI: I stopped calling you a year ago and decided to wait for you to call me. Pick up the friggin' phone!" She was incredulous. The comical part: she had never once noticed. So much for kidding myself about how people may like being in my company!

Anyway, I don't think it's time to erase the second "F" in BFF; but, it is time to recognize that, like the song from Friends, some friends really will be there for you when the rain starts to pour. And others are simply one whole heck of a lot of fun to be with.

Learning to Write a Second Grade "Personal Narrative"

The other night, son #1's homework involved writing the answers to the following three questions:

1. What problem or challenge have you faced in life?
2. How did you solve it?
   
3. What did you learn from it? Or what is the moral of the story?
   

He wrote about how he dislikes school and hates doing homework. His solution is to picture the future: he wants to go to Annapolis and become a Navy fighter pilot. (Hence, his addiction to Dogfights on the History channel. And, no, there are no age-related, TV viewing filters in our house with the exception of anything involving sex and nudity.) And his morale: You reap what you sow.

When he finished writing, I asked him if he had ever had any other problems in his life.

He responded by telling me, "Yes, but I don't want to talk about them."

When I prodded a little further, he told me that it was a secret. "Do you know what a secret means? It means that I am not going to tell it to you."

I gently told him that I respect keeping secrets and didn't want to pry but I did want him to know that he doesn't have to bottle things up. It's better to tell someone and get it off his chest.

He told me that he would just as soon forget about it which, as his mom, I'm having a hard time doing. "Was it that thing you wouldn't tell me that happened on the bus with Ethan?"

"No, it happened in the neighborhood and that's all I'm saying."

"Were any adults involved?"

"No, just kids," and he stood and began walking away. He then added, "I've actually had a lot of problems that I don't want to talk about."

I gave him a little hug, told him he can talk to me at any time, and let him leave. Inside, however, I'm still sad. What could have happened? Did he do something wrong or did someone wrong him? Is it a boy thing to not want to talk about it?

What it really amounts to is control: specifically, my lack thereof. I want to protect him from harm (especially while he's still so young) and help him make wise decisions. But he has his path in life and there's nothing I can do but be a good parent, a strong role model, and his biggest supporter in life.

And I need to learn how to give him space.

Memorial Day

Finally I can wear my white pumps again . . .

I took Friday off because it was (dare I say) a bit quiet at work and the kids were off from school. I slept in the hammock while soaking up the sunshine and chatted with my next door neighbor as the kids played.

Then my mom, sis and I flew to Greensboro on Saturday to hang with my brother and sister-in-law and meet their gorgeous, sweet, awesome, baby boy who made my heart swell. I have to say, what a great little city: beautiful neighborhoods, nice shops, cool relatives. I could totally live there. Maybe I could score a job at the Center for Creative Leadership? Not sure what I would do exactly but the topic of leadership is certainly one that is of great interest to me not only because I have slaved under some of the worst "leaders" on the planet but also because I have gladly served some of the best. Anyhoo, I digress.

While there -- just for a microsecond -- we somehow got on the topic of how we're all worth more dead than alive. I was thinking about it later that night. Menendez brothers aside, what keeps most families from killing each other? In addition to the fact that it would be horribly disturbing (as Lady Macbeth clearly demonstrated), life isn't about money at all: it's about love and relationships. You could have all of the money in the world but, without love, it's worthless. Conversely, one moment of pure love is worth more than gold.

Last night I had a date with Son #1. Just the two of us; his brother and dad went to the movies. We went to the Red Lobster (!) because he has been asking to go there for ages and we've been putting him off. As I was cracking our crab legs, he was dipping the crab meat in butter and repeatedly exclaiming how it was one of the best meals of his life (next to daddy's cooking). I couldn't help but think how blessed I was for these little moments in life -- just spending time with someone who is still capable of being in awe of the world.

So, yes, today it's back to work. But I'm extremely grateful to have had a four-day weekend filled with the people I love the most: my family.

Love & Marriage

"Marriage is like an unfunny, tense version of Everybody Loves Raymond
. . . but it doesn't last 22 minutes. It lasts forever."

-------

I finally saw Knocked Up last night and, while I couldn't stop laughing throughout the film, that line was the highlight. (Doesn't hurt that it was delivered by Paul McDreamy Rudd.)

Although the focus of the movie is on the hilarity of the unplanned pregnancy and the budding relationship between total opposites (i.e., a stoner and a hottie), I really enjoyed the scenes with, and droll dialog of, the married couple (i.e., the hottie's sister and brother-in-law).

Yep, it doesn't get any better than this! Till death!

Lighten up Francis

I was telling my nephew last week, who after his freshman year in college has not yet firmly decided on his primary course of study, not to sweat it. Why add so much pressure to "get it right" when you're young given that life -- in and out of school -- is a path of learning?

When I was a senior in college and graduating with the presumably useless B.A. in English, I called my mom weeping. I was grappling with some serious angst about my inability to define myself when my girlfriends were going off to medical school or jobs as graphic designers and engineers. "What am I going to do with my life?" I sobbed.

Her response, "Don't worry about it. I'm 50 and I still have no idea what I want to do either."

Although it may sound dismissive, they were the most loving and accepting words I had ever heard. And they immediately took the pressure off; I didn't need to have clarity right then and there.

What I didn't realize until much later was the profound nature of my mom's statement either. That 22 years later (and probably for the rest of my life) I would still be in the process of defining myself, trying to determine what talents I have been given (!) and searching for answers regarding what's next.

Right now, I feel confident that I am exactly where I need to be. And instead of forging my way into the next experience blindly and later assessing the collateral damage, I'm waiting for divine inspiration (intervention?) to guide my way.

You never know what God has up his sleeve. I'll probably become America's Next Top Model.

Son of a Gun

During the sermon this past weekend, our pastor was recounting the scene in Dead Man Walking when Sister Helen Prejean (Susan Sarandon) tells the convicted murderer/rapist (Sean Penn) whom she was counseling spiritually, "You are a son of God" and he responds with a bit of a laugh, "I've been called a son of a you-know-what plenty of times, but I've never been called a son of God."

Son #1, who just turned eight, turned to me and whispered, "I bet he's been called a son of a bitch."

Hmmm. Well, at least he was listening.