Best Friends

I just returned from a lovely event with a handful of ladies from church.  It was one woman's birthday and her husband arranged for a few of us to go over for dessert and a conversational game.  It was a really nice time!  Although I admit, I was on my BEST behavior.  I am such a teenager walking around in a 29 year-old's bod, not to mention with 2 kids in tow.  The immaturity is not fading, people!  I mean, with my disheveled bun on top of my head, all of my energy was being focused on not leaning forward too quickly and letting a ginormous toot escape, which would inevitably echo loudly on the wooden chair my rear was throning!  Cue clenching.  Clenching, ever clenching.

Moving on.  Today was a day that I was just aching for a good friend within a few miles of me.  Because I just haven't made a bosom buddy yet.  This triggered by a few run-ins with an unpersonable, somewhat passive-agressive land lady and a non-respondant woman whom I am trying to befriend, I was really needing some comfort.  So I made some calls...and no one answered.
Except my Mom, of course!  And Moms just have that awesome/weird ability to bring every tender emotion immediately to the surface, dang it.  So of course I am silently crying (because I don't want her to know I'm crying, of course) as I hear her simple response of "Oh yes. I'm sorry, that is hard!"  I really, really love my Mom and it took me entirely too many years to come to appreciate her.  I am really hoping my boys won't be as prideful and dumb as I was [am].

This was all happening in the car while driving around and at one point I turn around and see Wade asleep in his carseat and a little voice says in my mind, "Well, you'll just have to make these boys your best friends."  Pretty good idea.  After all, Hank is definitely my best (and breast!) friend right now.  He is satisfied only when in a position approximately 1" from my face.

We're doing pretty good with Wade, too.  Every time the toddler-proof door knob comes off of his door (even/usually when he's inside of his room, throwing a tantrum & kicking the door in protest to being in there due to hitting, etc), he comes running to me in sheer terror and tears saying "I broke it!" and wanting me to put it back on.  Tender little heart, right there.

Well, at least I'm pretty sure these boys (and their 14-years-old-in-[im]maturity- Dad) will always find humor in my clenching woes.  That's comforting.