I have them.
And I'm thankful for them because they help me keep my life in some perspective. For example, I had hoped to take some time out of the office over the Christmas holiday. I had big plans for shopping, relaxing, meeting with friends, organizing my house, and doing all of the things that "normal" women my age seem to do around the holidays.
One thing is for certain. I'm not normal.
I took two days off at the holidays, the day after Christmas and the day after New Year's. Both days were complete mayhem as both of my children were also home. For those of you who have small children, you know that those days are completely worthless days in terms of any sort of activities described above.
Don't get me wrong, they are definitely worth it. How could you look at this face and think otherwise?
Or this one?
They are happy and they make me happy. But I am not relaxed. And I did not take any time to "recharge my batteries" over the holidays. I desperately needed that time. When Whit called last week to tell me that my son's sitter could not watch him on Monday so I could take the tree down, go to a movie, have lunch with a friend, etc., I literally burst into tears in my office. Of course I adore my son, blah blah blah, but moms sometimes need some downtime. Once I received that call from my husband, I realized that I would not be getting any said "downtime."
I was feeling particularly sorry for myself when I received a phone call on my beloved iPhone from an old friend who moved away twenty years ago when we left for college, Candice. As soon as I saw the familiar name on my caller ID, I realized that, of course Candice is in town!!! It's Christmas!!!
We hadn't spoken since our high school reunion in August. This one:
(Candice is the 2nd from the left).
This was a shot of the "gang" that was inseparable in the 8th grade. I distinctly remember the four of us watching the Super Bowl at my parents' house and climbing the Magnolia tree at halftime in 1988. Wow. Times have changed.
Despite the fact that we had not spoken in over four months, Candice immediately launched into how crappy her day was since her mother made her sort through boxes of her personal effects that she had stored since the dawn of time. Candice, my tough girlfriend who lives in New York and is as independent as they come, showed just how sentimental she really is during that call. She was particularly affected by the love letters from old flames she found in the box. Like this one from the 8th grade:
She found cards, photos, notes, and other mementos of her past life, a youth that we both shared. I know all of the names of her past boyfriends. I remember their dates -- some of which I was actually on with her since we often went out together. I was there for the happiness and the breakups and the joy and the heartbreak. I heard tales of her parents and complained in my teenage years about just how dreadful my own parents were. (Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad.) We have a history.
I understood her angst as I just went through my boxes that my own mother had stored since the dawn of time last year. [This, however, is a post for another day.]
Even though it was a school night for me, we met for jazz and drinks at a club in town. Her parents (yes, the ones I heard so many awful things about) were there. We drank. We laughed. We were merry. And we listened to good music.
We took surreptitious photos of unknowing patrons.
And people who were waiting to go onstage to show off their musical talents.
And then I went home and crashed before having to get up 6 hours later to go to the office. But it was worth it.
We met again two nights later when Candice came to see my children. She came bearing gifts for the little ones, as well as a bottle of wine for me and Whit.
That bottle didn't stand a chance.
Bless its heart.
We not only shared a bottle of Cabernet, but also stories of our past. Some of which, unfortunately, were captured on "videotape." Candice brought an actual VHS tape and VCR from her parents' house so we could watch a video taken of us during the summer before 9th grade. After I put Henry to sleep, we poured our first glasses of wine. Whit plugged in the VCR and popped the tape in. We sat back to enjoy the show. As soon as I saw my 14 year old self on the video, dancing and singing to Randy Travis' "I'm Gonna Love You Forever", I immediately felt the heat rise in my cheeks.
My husband was stunned.
My daughter (for once) was speechless.
The moment was priceless. As was my time with Candice. Thank God for old friends.
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