Monday, February 21, 2011

Friends Help Friends Keep Brain Cells Together

Morning Readers,

     I'm drinking out of the "chipped" mug. The one with the dime-sized rough spot that always ruins my coffee-drinking experience. Until the dishwasher's finished, I have no other alternative. And although the sandpaper feeling, across my bottom lip, should totally be pooping on my liquid joy, I won't let it. This weekend was excellent, and it's loveliness is still resonating with my be-sweatshirted self. Why? Well, besides the calm lunch husband and I pulled off with the twins yesterday, I got to do something that most mothers yearn for on a daily basis. Social interaction. Yessssssssss.

     You know what war refugees have in common (besides having been involved in the same war)? Haggard, haggard faces, my dear Readers. The same ones which my friend and I exchanged upon our little reunion, in her front yard, this past Saturday. After a brief, yet meaningful hug, we each grabbed a baby and hauled our weary bones towards her front door, complete with its own baby stuck to it like a gecko; her fat baby hands seeming to say "Come in. Come in."
     Mothers, much of the time, are sequestered to their own cubicles of life. And although we're occasionally handed the opportunity to sit with others of our own kind, we're not really alone. Gone are the days when we got the last-minute phone call, grabbed our purse, keys and lip gloss, and bolted for the car, ready for a relaxing afternoon on the patio of the nearest bar and grill. "Yes, yes bartender, send another beer my way. For I have nothing else to do with my time, for the rest of the day. After this, I shall retire to my sleeping quarters and store enough energy to make it to the pool for tanning tomorrow."Instead, we've acquired baby sidekicks...and they ain't goin anywhere without us.
     The times, they certainly are a changin'. And after another one of our good friends joined us for our lunch rendezvous, it was readily apparent. Oh, it was exhilarating, the witty banter back and forth, the laughing and joking, reminiscent of college days. Like a junkie in search of a fix, I snorted each and every syllable crafted specifically for adult conversation. Wrap me in your thick blanket of neural stimulation, I thought. And we would've been completely submerged, had it not been for the the thirty baby digits, clawing at our grubby, mom-jeaned, pant legs.
     That's the thing about being a mom, you're allowed the little luxuries, but there's always a footnote attached. You can discuss politics, but you have to be willing to catch the baby crawling up the steps, while you do it. Gabbing about the latest swimsuit styles, you believe are adorable but won't dare sport in public is all well and good, IF you're up to protecting the cat from being bludgeoned to death, via plastic giraffe.
     But beggars can't be choosers either. When you're stuck in the Gobi desert, you don't turn your nose up at the two drops left in the canteen...you drink it, and lick out the insides (sorry, the analogy pool is running dangerously low today).
     Still, we had a fabulous time. No matter how brief it is, women, moms specifically, need that interaction. It refreshes and re-energizes....even if you leave with cookie stuck to your pants, and the overwhelming urge for a nap afterwords.

Until Next Time Readers!