There was a song we sang around the fire at camp,"Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold." Never made much sense to a girl who prefers silver jewelry any day but I get that it is about making new friends.
You, my bloggy ones are like the friends I used to have. The ones I could call in the middle of the night to pour out my woes to. The ones who would hold my hair while I threw up and who even took out my contacts and my hoola hoop-sized hoop earrings when I passed out on the couch. I miss those friends, the pre-marriage (or in my case post marriage but pre-kids since I got married when I was 23 and didn't get knocked up for 9 years) friends who were always up for a night out, didn't matter what time we had to be up the next day. We haunted bars and clubs, partied with random guys from Australia or where ever they pretended to be from. We hitch-hiked home from downtown to midtown for god's sake and no one ever got hurt except for the occasional broken heel or unidentified party wound. We were gorgeous and funny and smart and had the world by the balls - we had fun.
Now fun is something that is scheduled, pre-arranged to take place without the kids. But even when we do go out and have fun we pay for it the next day with killer hangovers, faces that lost in the eighth round to gravity and kids who demand pancakes at 6am. I miss my Girls. I live a life of testosterone-filled wrestling matches and conversations which revolve around farts and penises and who is better, faster, smellier. My house isn't decorated as much as boy-proofed. The Benjamin Moore White Cloud paint that was painstakingly applied to every bit of the previous owner's knotty f**king pine has been chipped by either a light saber, the puppy or the impact some one's head.
But tonight I sat in a pristine white bath tub surrounded by scented candles, sipped a glass of chilled wine and read a Jane Green novel. But, of course, not at home. I had to escape and I was lucky enough that my Other Half realized I had had enough and told my father's girlfriend and she arranged for my "spa get-away" at their house. I almost cried when she lead me into the bathroom where she had a plate of cookies, a bottle of wine and vases filled with lilacs. Who am I kidding? I did cry.
And I have cried a lot lately. I don't know if it is a cliched mid-life crisis, pre-menstural or pre-menopause but any way - it sucks and my only refuge is here with you guys. Checking up on who has commented on my silly posts about Random Thoughts or the crappy weather or whatever I spew forth. Clicking on my favourite parent bloggers, fashionists or politics junkies is a respite from the tragic comedy that has too many acts and no intermission in sight these days.
And then today I had to drag myself outside to go to the post office and the lady behind the counter presented me with a package with my name on it. My name? Not the business. Not the family. Just me and I knew what it was before I even looked at the green customs form on the box. It was a box of "Cheetos Big Balls" from Sane Without Drugs. I had commented on her post about how much her boys loved "Big Balls" and lamented the fact that they aren't available north of the border. Lickety split she packaged them up with a few DVD's that my boys were over the moon upon receiving and it made my crappy, self-pitying day (I watched "He's Just Not That Into You" under the covers this afternoon on pay-per-view for god's sake).
That's why you aren't just like my old friends - you are the new friends I am so happy to have gotten to know over the past few months. The shiny, cool, sparkly silver ones who inspire me, make me laugh and shake my head in amazement. And despite the fact that I did finish half that bottle of wine in the tub, I am not drinking and blogging. Not too much anyways.
THE tale as old as time - For years my uncle, Eugene Brock (namesake for our 4th child) rounded up writers to share op-ed for our home-town newspaper (Wichita Falls Times & Record N...