Little Things

This is a confession.

I have always had a hard time with friendship.

It’s not that I can’t make friends…and it’s not that I can’t keep friends… It’s just never been something that came easily for me.

In high school, I hadn’t really decided on who I was yet. That always makes friendship difficult. When you aren’t sure of your own values, how can you possibly be sure of what you look for in your friends? The friend-base I had fluctuated quite a bit…Some friends hurt me, some made decisions I didn’t agree with. I eventually learned not to rely on them.

Let me clarify a little here… When I say ‘friends’, I’m talking about besties. You know, everyone talks about their best friends in high school. The ones they spent every day with…braided each other’s hair in study hall, blah, blah, blah. Not me. I had plenty of friends, sure. I just didn’t have anyone I completely trusted. I can’t even tell you how many of those broken-in-half-best-friend-necklaces I went through.

So, I quickly learned to put my social trust elsewhere…the ever-present boyfriend. Everything seemed to revolve around whether I had a boyfriend or not. I take that back…everything seemed to revolve around which boyfriend I had at the time. For some wacko reason I thought that the boyfriend basket was the one that deserved all my eggs.

And by eggs I mean figurative eggs in a figurative basket. Not…well…my eggs. Yuck.

All of these factors led to a pretty terrible friendship-related experience in college. Long story short, my lack of definable personality and social value-system (and, let’s face it, jelly-spine) allowed me to be completely ‘mind-effed’ by a very toxic, very manipulative roommate. I’m incredibly lucky to have gained a second chance at friendship with someone I thought was a long-gone casualty of this crappy time in my life, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

Somehow, out of all of this, I managed to come out of college with some very solid, very wonderful besties. And I’ve finally been able to put my finger on the main quality that made these amazing ladies stick:

Understanding.

I know that my friends will understand when I can’t hang out, or talk on the phone, or have to cancel last minute. They understand that this is Life, and we can’t always have a good explanation for it.

Sometimes, understanding means that you’re going to take a significant break from each other. Months and years may pass, but when you’ve got the right friends, it’s only a break. When the time is right you’ll always come back, one of you carrying a bottle of wine, the other carrying a game of MarioKart.

Friends sometimes go through periods where they have to travel very different paths. This is an area I’m currently having a hard time dealing with when it comes to understanding. The path I’m on right now is one that involves (but is not limited to) working from home, being married, and having a baby. Not all of my friends are traveling down this particular road with me, and that can be hard.

I have to come to terms with the fact that not all of my friends have babies and, consequently, have different priorities.
I have to remember that friends get busy, just like I get busy, and that we can’t always talk as much as I want.
I have to remember that they are understanding of me, and that I need to be understanding in return.

But mostly,
I have to remember that my friends will always be there for me when it’s most important.

Like I said, friendship hasn’t always been an easy thing for me, and at this time in my life I’m finally able to be grateful for that. The ones who managed to stick with me while I discovered who I am (and also that happiness does not, in fact, rest solely on who you’re dating) are amazing gifts, and I hope to present them with the same understanding that they’ve given me all these years.

Am I the only one who struggles with this? I’d love to hear you guys’ thoughts.

Oh, my goodness, I am having a nice evening. Paul and I are working on a new arrangement in which I pack up the computer, leave the house, and take my work elsewhere. Charlie’s developing some serious Mommy-attachment behaviors (which, I understand, is not a bad thing, but he and Paul definitely need some no-mommy bonding time) and I’ve been getting pretty stir-crazy.
So, here I am, at the nearby coffee shop, drinking a regular (note, cheap) coffee (okay, so it’s decaf, but the first cup was regular) and getting some work done.

And, holy crap, I actually felt like blogging.

I won’t lie, I’ve really been having to force myself to blog lately. Between getting all caught up in the Japan disaster, moving, and a bunch of other excuses, I just really haven’t been feeling too terribly inspired.

Apparently, all I needed was a little dose of College.

I graduated from the University of Nebraska at Kearney, and I’m not sure if they do this anymore, but there used to be an event called “Mochas and Music.” Once a month on a Friday night, they would open up the Starbucks and host an artist playing live music in the Union. I would get a giant-sized peppermint white mocha, get comfy with my friends or by myself, and soak in the awesome college-ness that was surrounding me.

There was just something perfect about sitting back and floating in a sea of brains filled with the day’s knowledge. Add some live music to the equation and it just couldn’t get any better. It didn’t matter to me if the musician was amazing or not, as long as the guitars sounded nice and their voices were honest.

I’m so surprised and thrilled to realize tonight that my old College Feeling has stopped by to visit me. I may be hanging out with a crowd that is about 20 years older than me, but the music is honest, I’m drinking out of an actual ceramic mug, and I’m sitting next to a college professor who is grading papers. I can taste the coffee and I can feel the knowledge, and I’m calmer than I’ve been for quite awhile.

I’m tempted to try and milk a longer post out of this, but I think that would be a betrayal of my moment. I’m calm, I’m happy, and I’ve come to the realization that sometimes, in order to relax, you have to put forth a little effort. It might be easier to stay at home, but sometimes you’ve got to just get out of the house.

A few weeks ago I was stacking blocks with Charlie when I had one of those moments. I looked up and out of our window at the snow covered trees and thought, “Jeeze, that’s pretty.”

I’m sure Charlie was looking up at me thinking, “Hey, Mom. What are you looking at? Why is your mouth hanging open like that? I could fit, like, 12 Cheerios in there.”

So I got up to grab my camera, and when I came back, I found myself to be surprised and disappointed. Once I was up and looking from my perspective, I could see the cars spraying each other with gray slush, the electrical box, and the buildings across the street.

This, of course, got me thinking. As I sat back down with my camera and snapped a picture of the view from Charlie’s perspective, I decided that I needed to stack blocks and look up more often. When I was looking up, all I could see was blue sky and clouds, snowy branches, empty branches, and sun. I wasn’t thinking about how crappy the roads must be, or how I couldn’t wait for all of the snow to melt; I was just enjoying the way the world was in that moment.

That’s what Charlie sees all the time. How can I make it so that he keeps that perspective for as long as possible? I don’t mean that I want to shelter him from the real world or anything, but that’s just the point. That pretty picture is part of the ‘real world’; it’s just that some people (including me) tend to only focus on the crappy driving conditions and the fact that they can’t wear their flip-flops. If I can find a way to enjoy, or at the very leastappreciate, the situations I’m in, I will be much more successful in teaching Charlie to do the same. That way, hopefully, he’ll always retain some of that childlike perspective.

I know we’re all sick of Winter. Yup, I said it. Even I am starting to get sick of Winter. I’m going through baby clothes and seeing cute little T-shirts and shorts, and wishing it were warm enough for Charlie to run around in only his (totally cute and money-saving :)) diapers. I, of course, will continue to wear jeans all summer, but that’s neither here nor there.

Well, tough cookies for us, friends. There’s going to be snow on the ground for a few more days at least, and it will still be weeks (preferably months,maybe years, but who am I kidding?) before the college Freshman girls get out their butt shorts.

So, starting right now, let’s all pick out something about Winter that is still to our advantage. For me, it means a few more weeks of wearing my favorite cardigans. I know there are others out there who are with me on that one. With Spring getting close, I know that this practice might seem stupid and pointless, but I think everyone would be surprised if they did this just once a day. If you need help with inspiration, you are more than welcome to come over and stack blocks with Charlie while I take a nap.

It’s time I take a step back into the 1950’s.

Now, don’t worry, I’m not going to start putting on lipstick before Paul walks in the door or making Jell-O with hot dogs in it; I just need to light a fire under my housework-lazy butt.

Back in the 50’s, houses were clean (obviously, I’m playing towards a big generalized stereotype here, but just roll with me, okay?) and dinner was on the home-stretch by the time the Bacon-winner got home. Why? Because most of the time, there was a wife home all day making sure things got taken care of. I think I’m pretty lucky to be one of those home-all-day wives, and I think I need to start showing a little more gratitude for that fact.

I’m not knocking anybody’s choice of profession here; I think stay-at-home parents and working parents are on an equal plane. Both types are concerned about their children’s welfare and are addressing the issue in the best ways they can. What I’m saying is that lately I haven’t been working very diligently at the housework part of my particular career choice.

Isn’t it so much easier to sit and judge Go Diego Go (“Everybody scream! LOUDER!”) than to pick up the living room while Charlie dances to the music? Well, sure it is, but it isn’t a very grateful way to go about it. If I’m truly grateful for the walls around me, then shouldn’t I be taking better care of them? Okay, so I’ve got no plans to start actually scrubbing the walls, but I can definitely start being more active in caring for my home.

What’s with all this gratitude mumbo-jumbo, you ask?

Well, I’ll tell you. I’m launching a vendetta against discontent.

I’ve always been a pretty positive person, but I think I could be much more optimistically effective if I focus my efforts. This is part of it. If we can all keep in mind how much awesomeness we already have in our lives, we can start being happier with where we are.

In this particular instance, I had to take a good, hard look at what I was unsatisfied with, and think, “How can I make this so it makes me happy?”

Well, duh. Clean it, maybe?

So it’s time to throw on a mu mu and a string of pearls. The yellow rubber gloves are on and I’m going to do my best to keep this up, because guess what happens when the house is clean and supper is cooking by the time Paul gets home? The time that would have been spent washing dishes or picking up the living room is now used as time to relax with my family.

That’s a pretty big deal.

Friends, I’m asking you to join me! Instead of worrying about what we don’t have, let’s learn to find happiness in what we’ve got, and if we don’t like what we’ve got, let’s find ways to change them into what we want. If that means going all 50’s-style on your own bootay, then so be it.

I hope I haven’t annoyed the crap out of everyone with my goody-two-shoes hippie-juju. Remember, I warned you; I’m irritatingly optimistic.

Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know. “It makes driving crappy.” And then, “It makes me have to scrape my windows.” Oh, and also, “It makes my gas bill go through the roof.” And finally, “I can’t wear flip-flops anymore!”

I don’t really have anything to say that would make traveling in snow remotely enjoyable, but I do think it’s time we gave poor, old Winter a break. Remember when we were kids? And, oh man, when we looked out the window and saw big, fluffy flakes falling out of the sky, how excited we would get? I do. I especially remember staring up into a big gray sky that still managed to hurt my eyes a little bit, my tongue stuck way out, trying to catch snowflakes. And then I’d get dizzy from staring up for so long and I’d fall down on my butt in the big snow pile by my feet. Those were the days…Those were the magic days.

I’m a firm believer in a sacred, age-old Philosophy called Davism. Dave is my dad, and I’ve witnessed many great gems of wisdom spew from his mouth in my lifetime. Granted, he has recycled some of his philosophies from his dad, Chuck. This is an even older line of thought, Chuckism, and will take much further study before it is properly understood. One of my favorite mantras of Davism is, “You’ll just have to get happy in the same pants you got mad in.” I think that is what wise, old Winter is saying to all of us. I believe we owe it to this abandoned and betrayed Season to take a good look at our Winter pants and decide how we can be happy in them once again.

First of all, beverages. Hot beverages. Next time you’re pissed at Winter, make yourself a big mug of hot cocoa (I’ll post my Grandma’s recipe for homemade cocoa at the end of this—it’s pee-your-pants good.) and wrap both hands around it and smell it like you’re on a Folger’s commercial. How can you not appreciate the Winter magic of this? (Note: Maybe wait a minute or two before wrapping both hands around said mug of cocoa…I don’t want any lawsuits over this…)

Secondly, slippers. All winter clothes, actually. If you hate Winter, but don’t have a pair of slippers, that may in fact just be your problem. Before you say anything too slanderous about the Season, go out and buy a pair of slippers. Fuzzy, simple, squishy, firm…There are so many options. Personally, I prefer my old, gray and blue flat-footed slip-ons that my mom bought me in sixth grade (And, no, my feet haven’t grown since I was 12. So what.). Last, but most definitely not least, (for all you baby-lovers out there) footie pajamas. What. Is cuter. Than a baby. In footie pajamas? Nothing.

Thirdly, books. Or movies, or entire seasons of TV shows, or music. Another gift that our dear Wintry friend bestows upon us is that heightened sense of Awesome that surrounds our favorite media when it’s cold outside. Give me one of my seventeen copies of Wuthering Heights (I may have a problem), a big fuzzy blanket, and turn on some John Mayer (pre-dumbass John, of course) and you will find a content-as-a-kitten me wrapped up in some perfect Winter magic…And then I’ll get up and shut the music off because I can’t ever concentrate on a book when there’s music playing…But then I’ll get back under my blanket and be content once again.

Now, if you don’t like hot beverages, winter clothes, or any kind of indoor-entertainment, then I don’t know what to tell you. I guess it looks like you’ve peed in your winter pants and the only way to get happy is to either take them off (trust me, though, it’s cold out there) or find a blow dryer and pretend it didn’t happen. Either way, we won’t tell…(Because we’re Winter People and we are tolerant, forgiving, and attractive.)

Grandma Anderberg’s Hot Cocoa:

½ Cup sugar
2 Tbsp. Baking Cocoa
½ cup water
Pinch salt (to taste)
2 ½ cups milk

Cook sugar, Cocoa, and water on stove till smooth. Add milk (you can do more or less milk, depending on your preferences) and salt. Let the glorious mixture cook till it is the temperature you like, pour it into your favorite mug (I pick mugs according to my mood), wiggle your toes in your slippers and get nostalgic about something. You could always throw some peppermint schnapps in there if you get too nostalgic, but that, of course, is optional. I personally prefer this particular cocoa to be innocent and untainted.