So Many Friends, So Little Time

There's a lot of press being given right now to what it means to be an introvert and what it means to be an extrovert. The currently accepted bottom line seems to be that if you gain energy by being around people, you're an extrovert and if being around people sucks the energy out of you, you're an introvert.

By that definition, I'm an extrovert. No, make that a capital-e Extrovert. Or even an all-caps EXTROVERT. I love to be around people. I would almost always rather be with someone than be alone. I might be doing something solitary--reading, frittering away my time on Facebook, folding laundry, you name it--but I'd rather do that solitary thing with someone else in the same room. I might not even be in the mood to talk or interact in any way, but no matter what I'm doing, I find the presence of another human immensely comforting and affirming. Either I'm an extrovert or I have some serious self-esteem issues. I'm going with extrovert.

I'm also an optimist, and I can generally find something to like and appreciate about any given situation or person. I enjoy the company of a wide variety of people and I am blessed to have a lot of friends. I like to do social things with those friends because I like to be around people because I'm an extrovert.

On top of all that, I have two extremely verbal children, one of whom is undoubtedly an extrovert like me and one of whom might be an introvert and might be an extrovert but who is adaptable to the presence of others out of sheer necessity given the extroversion of his sister and mom.

Plus I have a job at which I spend 8.5 hours a day once you count commuting. Which seems neither here nor there in this discussion until I present to you this equation of words and ideas:

extrovert + optimist + lots of friends + 2 kids + job = social time black hole

By this I do not mean that we don't spend enough time being social. Quite the opposite. We have so much social time that we have no unsocial time. Our weekends are packed to the gills almost all the time. There are playdates and brunches and dinners. There are outings and gatherings and parties. Occasionally, we have a random, unscheduled day and we talk like we're just going to do nothing, although we usually end up doing an impromptu social event because that's what we all crave. Even if we don't get together with other people, there are still three of us hanging out together; we're our own little social event.

I'm not complaining about this, because, hello, I'm an extrovert and I truly enjoy it. What's starting to eat at me, though, is how to manage it. I am terrible at saying no to social events because I want to do them all, hence our packed schedule. But Maddie, Riley, and I don't get a lot of time for just the three of us because we're often doing things with other people, and when we do get that family time, we all really value it and wish we had more of it. We don't see my extended family as much as I'd like. There are certain friends I don't see as regularly as I'd like too because we're so busy with so many friends that we don't see anyone all that frequently. I've been awful at maintaining my Boston friendships because I'm so busy with what's right in front of me.

And now there's this Significant Person in my life, so that's a whole other priority for both me personally and me and the kids as a family.

I don't know how to do it. It's the world's biggest embarrassment of riches to have so many people to love in one's life that it's hard to see them all. It feels icky to me to start prioritizing who I spend time with. Kids, Significant Person, extended family . . . OK, there's the first tier. But then what? Then what do I do? (Rhetorical question, although if anyone has ideas on this, I'm happy to hear them.)

This is why I haven't been blogging much. See what's on my mind these days? Oh, gosh, my life is hard I have SO MANY FRIENDS. The truth is, I'm bursting with the goodness of it all. I just want to share the goodness with everyone. Feel the love!

On Mother's Day

I was more ambivalent about Mother's Day this year than I usually am. I am a reluctant participant in most holidays, and Mother's Day and Father's Day strike me as the most made-up of the made-up Hallmark tomfoolery, plus both are additionally fraught with not-so-tacit insult to nontraditional families, those who choose not to have children, those who can't have children, etc. etc. etc. Ugh. A mess, the whole thing, if you ask me, even under the best of circumstances.

Something I've had to face about myself in the past few years is that I'm not always terribly gracious. This trait becomes most apparent when it comes to gifts and holidays. I have a hard time with accepting people doing something nice for me if what they present or how they want to celebrate doesn't match my desires. And I don't like to acknowledge something or someone just because I'm supposed to. Wow, writing that down makes me sound like a total asshole, and the truth is that I've probably come off that way a thousand times in the past.

I've been working on this, though, working on it really, really hard. The work is paying off in that I have come recently to see the joy in both giving and receiving gifts. It's also more clear to me how much gifts, ritual, and ceremony can mean to others, and how I need to consider that even if it's hard for me to understand. It's all about love, really, in the end and how you either show someone you love them or acknowledge that they have shown you the same. To not be kind about that is to be jerk, when you come right down to it.

And so, even if my cold stone of a heart thinks Mother's Day is a racket, I tried to put on my game face. It was not easy, I have to say. I had a lot of discomfort with the fact that society was telling my kids to love me more on this one random day, or that I was somehow a better person because I was a mom, or that I was supposed to get special treatment--often meaning time away from my kids!--in honor of my motherhood. Huh? And yet, I found that I also had discomfort around the fact that the main way in which my family honored this way was by getting together for lunch, which was largely prepared and served by my mom and me.* Yes, it's true, I didn't want to be pampered at Hallmark's request, but I also didn't want to do all the work. Maybe I am still an asshole.

Or at least maybe I was still an asshole until the day arrived, because I have to say that I have no complaints and a wealth of joy about what happened today. It was a lovely day. I ran a 5K with friends, and felt so much gratitude about having friends who made the running of that race possible for me. Also, I ran fast.** After the race, we went to my mom and stepdad's, stopping along the way to buy some flowers for my mom.*** It was hot and sunny and we got out the slip'n'slide for the kids and drank prosecco and had lunch and opened gifts and read stories and just let the time slip away. Everyone was happy to be together. It seemed unimportant once I arrived that the moms had done the bulk of the work. It was mostly "work," really, nothing more than I would have done on any other day.

When Maddie, Riley, and I left, I gave myself the gift of not judging myself. I stopped at 7-11 and got Slurpees for all of us. When we got home, I did some chores while the kids played Wii bowling. I made spaghetti with jarred red sauce for dinner. That's all. Spaghetti and red sauce in a bowl, with some grated cheese. No veggie or fruit or anything. Just pasta in a dish. IT WAS SO FREAKING SIMPLE and everyone was happy. Then we watched three episodes of Avatar,  read some Harry Potter (we're on book 5!), and now they are asleep.

Now I'm going to go to bed because nothing says Day of Indulgence to me like going to bed early.

I'm no more special than anyone by virtue of being a mom, and I don't need a day devoted to trying to make me think I am, especially when that day makes others feel bad about what they don't or can't have. But have no quibble with the joy of spending time with people I love, and of having tangible demonstrations of their love for me, and of having a (forced) reason to reflect on the gratitude I have for all that is in my life, even I am still an ambivalent asshole about it sometimes.

*Not entirely, but mostly.
**Supposedly I came in 14th or 15th overall, but I'm waiting for the official results to post. ???!!!
***Maddie and Riley love to give people flowers, very cute.

Running

One of the busy, happy things I've been doing a lot over the past number of months is running.

I've written about running before, and I'm going to do it again because lately, a bunch of people have asked me why I do it or told me they could never enjoy it or that they don't understand how I could find running fun.

The main reason I run is that it is an incredibly efficient form of exercise. I don't have to belong to a gym to run and the only specialized equipment I need is something comfortable to wear and a decent pair of running shoes (those who run barefoot forgo even that bit of gear). I can run anywhere: in my neighborhood, at work during lunch, while I'm on vacation. In under 45 minutes--5 minutes to change into running clothes, 30 minutes to run, and a 10 minute shower/change--I can get a really good whole-body workout.

I'm not saying that finding 45 minutes is easy. It took the combination of the twins being older and less demanding, starting a job with a gym (facilitates lunchtime running), and having live-in child care to make it relatively simple to find four times a week or so to get out and take a run. These days, I go out two days a week at 6 a.m. and then try to run two more days per week during my lunch break. If things work out, I do a longer run on the weekend, too, but that takes more dedicated planning.

Here's a confession: I don't actually love to run. I know that it's important for me to take care of my body by exercising, and it's the simplest thing to do. I've only gotten what I would quantify as a runner's high all of once or twice in my entire running career, so I'm not doing it for that. Often, I have to give myself a serious pep talk to get out the door, and at least half the time I spend much of the run wondering what on earth I'm doing  to myself.

Here's what I do love:

• being outside (I run exclusively outdoors, including in rain and even snow)
• being with friends (running with a friend, which I do on both of my morning runs and one of my lunchtime runs, never feels like drudgery)
• taking care of myself mentally and physically, and how I feel mentally and physically stronger when I'm running regularly
• participating in road races (I love that feeling of camaraderie at a race)
• overcoming the mental challenge of getting myself motivated and out the door, then putting one foot in front of the other

I'm not going to lie: I also enjoy the eating that goes along with the running. When I am running a lot, my body needs more food, and it's nice to be able to be a little more free about what I consume.

I think there's a mythology about runners, that we all really really love to run! I'm sure I give people that impression; I'm always trying to recruit people to run with me, and given that I have a limited amount of free time, I spend an awful lot of it jogging around and thinking about jogging around. I'll bet that it's not uncommon for nonrunners to hear the evengalistic pep talking of the runners, give running few tries, find it boring at best or dreadful and worst, and then write it off. Memo to the nonrunners: it's not the running itself that's great. It's all the stuff that comes with and from the running that makes it worthwhile.

While I often don't love it while I'm doing it, running has definitely become an important part of keeping my stress level and patience in check. When I don't run, I don't feel good anymore. I feel lethargic, I don't sleep well, I lose my temper. I'm an optimist by nature, but I'm happier in a fundamental way when I exercise regularly.

Running is what works for me, and I egotcentrically feel like it would work well for everyone else. Ha! Probably not really, but if you feel like trying it out, plenty of bloggers give fantastic advice to new runners. DoctorMama is one of my favorites. In the end, it boils down to this: start slow (distance and pace) and keep doing it. One day, it will all make sense. I know a bunch of people who have done the Couch-to-5K program and found it really successful.

/end PSA about the benefits of running/

Signs

A note appeared in my inbox yesterday, a kind note from a reader who wanted to make sure I was OK.

Yes, I'm OK. I'm more than OK. Let's call it neglectful but great.

Last night, I got home from work and put some water on to boil for spaghetti, and Riley played on the Nintendo DS and Maddie followed me around and talked and talked and talked. We ate dinner, then we got out big sheets of paper and we drew maps of the third task in the Triwizard Tournament (we're almost done reading the fourth book of Harry Potter.) Pajamas were chosen and donned, teeth were brushed, the most dramatic chapter yet of Harry Potter was read (Harry defeats Voldemort and takes Cedric's body back to Hogwart's!) Then I did some chores and drank some wine, and went to bed. This morning, the twins watched some Arthur while I went on a run with friends, and now I'm at work and they're at school, and this evening there will be more like the last.

I'm busy doing these things. There are so many good things to do, and I'm busy doing them. I think about blogging all the time, because even in the good there are challenges, and if there's one thing I know how to blog about, it's a challenge. Who knew the six-year-old girl could be willful, so full of eye-rolls? When do you start giving kids an allowance? Is there an age at which children become gracious losers, and how do I foster that? How do I manage a relationship with neighbors who have kids I don't want M&R to play with?

For the most part, though, I'm that friend who annoys everyone by becoming unavailable when she starts dating someone new. Only it's not new anymore and he prefers not to be blogged about, so I will leave it at the fact that it's totally wonderful and it's to everyone's benefit for me to spend time with someone who is so such a great person and who helps me to be a better person.

Having two kids, a full-time job outside the home, and a very full social life is a lot to balance. Blogging has been one of the casualties. I still think about life in blog posts, though, not that it makes a bit of difference to anyone but me if I don't write it down.

Blog-worthy event of the day: there are two therapy llamas on campus as a stress-relief event for the students who are in the midst of their finals. I got to pet them--so soft!--and I think that I'm going to promote a therapy llama party for M&R's birthday. They will be six in June. SIX. WHOA. SIX. They talk about their birthday a lot; the latest idea was a chip & dip party, which I'm totally for. I'll bet we could do chips and dip and llamas, though. Why not?

I'm here. I'm happy. I'm busy. Beyond the time constraints, I think that some of the reason I'm not writing here is that I don't feel like the person I was when I started this blog. That person who started this blog is still a part of who I am, but my life is fundamentally different now, and when I come here to write, I feel a clash between what I was and what I am. That probably sounds overstated and way too dramatic. It's not that I don't know who I am now, it's just that I don't know what to say about who I am. A few people who are new to my life have recently read through my archives, which pushed me to read some old posts, and I'm struck at times by what I wrote in the moment versus what I remember in this moment, and I'm also struck by the transitional period between when John died and where I am now. I will change and grow my whole life, but I can see with so much more clarity how the rawness of that time influenced my decision making and my emotions, and how much more centered I am five years after the fact.

I didn't even mark the five year anniversary of John's death on the blog. I thought about it on the day,  and this is in many ways the perfect place to mark it. In this space, five years ago feels like both yesterday and a lifetime ago; this space defined my view of myself during such an intense part of my life.

I'm here, I'm happy, I'm different, in some ways I'm better. That doesn't negate what I was in the past, but acknowledges that the past got me where I am today and that my optimist's view of life dictates that more good things lie in the future.

Enough clichés! One more time: I'm here. I'm happy. I'm different. I'm better. I'm glad someone checked on me.

And then there was Sunday.

5:15 a.m.: Riley's up. He wakes me up. He wakes Maddie up. I try to sleep a bit more, but he and Maddie proceed to argue about anything and everything until I give up, give in, get up, and lecture them both about being respectful of people who are sleeping.
6:15 a.m.: I take a shower.
6:30 a.m.: I lecture M&R more.
7 a.m.: Breakfast. More lecturing. I can't stand to listen to myself even as the words come out of my mouth, yet I seem unable to stop myself. The kids excuse themselves and I actually fall asleep with my head on the table.
8:15 a.m.: Riley does something so minor that I can't even recall what it was, but it's enough to cause me to have a Total Parenting Meltdown that includes yelling. I close myself in my room for a bit.
8:30 a.m.: We do some chores, get ready to go to church. I apologize for my behavior and we agree to restart our day. I warn the kids that I'm exhausted and having a hard time today. I think they've already noticed that.
9 a.m.: We head for church. Riley runs around in the sanctuary, nearly knocking over a few elderly members of the congregation. Then it turns out the kids have chosen seats that had been reserved by someone else, so we had to shuffle around a bit to make things work. Not a big deal except on a day when everything felt like a Big Deal to me.
9:30 a.m.: Church turns out to be just what I needed. The sermon is awesome, about Ralph Waldo Emerson and our place in the world and what we learn from loss and about being true to ourselves. I feel more in control of a decision to be positive about things, more open to yes instead of no, etc. etc. etc.
11:15 a.m.: We head out for a few glorious hours of fun. We see Phantom Meanace in 3D, we eat frozen yogurt, we play at a park. This part of the day is truly great.
5 p.m.: I decide to stop for sushi on the way home. Uh-oh: restaurant's closed. We go to Mexican across the street instead where Riley knocks over a display of soda cans at the register ("Riley, please don't touch those. Riley, please keep your hands off the soda cans. Riley, I've asked you twice now to please not touch those cans." [as I study the menu: CRASH! Sigh.]), Maddie spills a huge glass of water and nearly topples our entire table, and both children complain bitterly about the food. I feel myself getting progressively more annoyed.
5:45 p.m.: We get in the car. I've lectured them the whole way from the restaurant to the car about good restaurant behavior (again, cringing the whole time but yet NOT STOPPING.) Once we're in the car, I yell again for good measure.
5:50 p.m.: I have closed myself in my room to blog and calm down.

I suppose if you average the goodness of yesterday with the mix of good and not-so-good from today, we're still ahead, but the bad of today has just been so very bad that I'm having a hard time not letting it drag me down.

Deep breath. Time to go hug and apologize. Time to read some Harry Potter 4. Time to think back on church this morning and the good things I heard there. I don't like to think the lecturing and the yelling are my true self. Time to go be true.

This, my friends, is a Saturday.

4 a.m.: Still somewhat-sick (since Thursday) Maddie gets in bed with me. She's sick enough to want some comfort, but not so sick that I'm overly worried about her or that she can't sleep. We're both glad for the excuse to snuggle.
5:45 a.m.: Riley joins us. Maddie continues to sleep. I doze.
6:15 a.m.: I kick Riley out because he's clearly not going back to sleep and he's keeping me up. He ambles off and I hear him start in on the LEGOs.
6:50 a.m.: Maddie's up. We all get up. We poke around.
7:15 a.m.: We're downstairs. Coffee's brewing. Maddie and I make cranberry/orange/pecan scones.
8:15 a.m.: Breakfast! Scones, eggs, fruit.
8:45 a.m.: Let Reading Day begin! We are on a mission to finish Harry Potter, book 3.
10-ish: Bathtime for the kids.
11-ish: More reading.
12-ish: Lunch.
1-ish: Bike trip to the park.
3-ish: Home from the park. Cookies and milk. More Harry Potter. Book 3: complete.
5-ish: Movie time: My Neighbor Totoro. So cute.
6:30 p.m.: Dinner. Totally random. Dumplings and fruit for Maddie, PB&J and fruit for Riley.
7:30 p.m.: First chapter of HP4.
8 p.m.: Sleeping twins.

And the last step will be . . .
10 p.m.: Sleeping mama.

We rarely have days like this, that are totally unstructured and involve no one but the three of us. I remember times not too long ago when such unstructured time overwhelmed and intimidated me. Now these are all of our favorite days.

Pent-up

Maddie and Riley are no different from most kids in many ways, one of them being the way they store up negative emotions for release with a safe person: ME. This means that while yes, they were very happy to see me this morning when they got up from school and yes, we had a lovely time telling each other about all the great things we'd done while we were apart, the proverbial shit hit the fan tonight.

It was the perfect storm:

• Saving up of lots of big emotions during our time apart.
• The arrival of a package from John's parents, which is super fun, but which always contains toys the kids want to play with Right Then when there's no time for much of that in the evenings.
• Exhausted kids, exhausted mama.

We opened the package before dinner (dumb move #1). Riley got this totally awesome LEGO kit from which you can build all kinds of Star Wars stuff. He got settled working on that while I got the delayed dinner ready (dumb move #1a, consequence of dumb move #1). Riley quickly got frustrated (tired child = child who has difficulty with LEGO directions). I advised him to wait for help after dinner. He plowed ahead. We had dinner. After dinner, I cleaned up and he plowed ahead some more. Then he waited for some help, but when I got there to help, things had become, uh, rather interpretive in the LEGO department and attaching the cool robotic arm was not really going to happen in a satisfactory way without some backtracking and redoing.

The world pretty much stopped turning for Riley at that point.

He proceeded to rail at me, rail at Maddie, rail at the universe. I told him that I was happy to help when he was in a state in which he could receive help. He railed some more. I repeated my offer of help, to either continue in the interpretive vein and figure something out, or backtrack and redo. More railing. I advised that it was getting into story time and perhaps it would be wise to put the LEGO decision off until morning, opting for some fun! Harry! Potter! instead.

More railing.

Finally, after much sitting and waiting (and a lot of patience from Maddie), offers for snuggles, and reiterations of help, I let Riley know that it was time to head upstairs for pajamas and bed and that there was time neither for finishing the LEGO project nor for stories.

Not really the first night home I wanted. It ended with brushed teeth and pajamas and two quick songs and big, big hugs and reassurances of love, but it was still a very rough evening.

I hate to see Maddie or Riley frustrated. I hate knowing that the frustration is from tiredness and other overwraught emotions, but knowing that such an explanation seems hollow to the frustrated child. I am proud of myself for not getting upset in this situation, but still feel like I wasn't much help. Would it have been better to just calmly go upstairs and let Riley know I'd be reading with Maddie and that he could join us when he calmed down? I feel like she suffered unjustly. I wanted nothing more than to just wrap Riley in a huge hug, but he wasn't ready for that until the very end of it all.

Oh, poor sweet baby. I missed them so much. I am grateful that the vacation gave me the grace to handle that situation kindly if imperfectly, but wish that it didn't feel like the vacation was indirectly responsible for the behavior in the first place.