Friday, July 25, 2008

I care too much.


I don't mean that in a saintly, charitable kind of way (though, I do think I'm pretty friggin' charitable, thank you very much!), but in the why-do-I-give-a-crap-what-people-think-of-me kind of way.
I've lived in this new town for over three months now. Those who know me, know that I have an easy time of making friends, and that it is imperative for my sanity to do so soon after moving to a new place. I was easily welcomed into a playgroup of Mom's with kids who are B's age. They've all been great, and a couple of them are becoming good friends who I really and truly like. But there's *this one* Mom. From the first time I met her, I knew we were like water and oil. I made a nervous joke about B's penchant for unintentionally throwing f-bombs when what he really means is 'truck,' and it was clear to me that her east coast breeding thought my Texas brashness was less than charming. It's been awkward ever since.
And then there's the part where every time I see her and her child, B decides to hit the little boy. Does B know?? Is he sticking up for his Mama? Nah...he just likes to hit right now, unfortunately, and I, (again because I care too much about what others think of me), find myself constantly apologizing and having come to Jesus conversations with B that don't do much good.

So here's the kicker and the reason for this post...today the playgroup was at sweet little E's birthday party. We're leaving and a Mom I really like says, 'So, will you be at H's birthday tomorrow?' I'd heard reference to said party last week at another playdate and brushed it aside. I responded, 'Well, uh, no. I wasn't invited.' The Mom apologized profusely to which I sincerely replied, 'It's cool. It is what it is.' And that IS how I feel. I mean, kids' birthday parties aren't REALLY that exciting, you know? But clearly I am still a tiny bit bugged by it all.
I've noticed, also, that this particular Mom, though never rude, does not address me unless I speak to her first. It is quite odd.

I have theories on this, of course. One stems from her coming to my house and then asking me a thousand questions on what my husband does for a living, etc. etc. And another has to do with me thinking that perhaps she thinks southern girls are a little too rough around the edges.

The point of this is that I don't like not being liked! Though on the flip side, being in my mid 30s (gasp) has also given me the freedom to not need to be "good" friends with everyone, and to appreciate the differences between acquaintances, friends, and close friends. There's such great value to the latter, as I have grown to realize. And given how little time I have for much other than changing diapers, trying to make healthy meals, and driving my kids all over creation, you've really got to cherish those close friendships; nurture and grow them. Make time for them. Because those are the ones that really matter. Not the ones involving someone who can't invite you to junior's playdate birthday party.

Phew! That feels better. Now onto bigger things, right? Like my office, as pictured above. This was that room in the house where all things which had no place went. This included boxes and boxes full of our book collection. We finally bought some shelves, but before they were put together, I unpacked all the books and boys had themselves quite a field day knocking down my neat piles and smearing them throughout the room.
I purchased these bookshelves from Target.com and they're pretty nice for the price. I'm also checking out stacksandstacks.com for some other organizing ideas.

Hakuna matata, man.

2 comments:

little miss mel said...

You're a girl. It's part of your makeup to care about what other's think.

Glad you've gotten out and met some gals. Even if they aren't cool as sheet.

Hey, anyone that has kids is worth hanging out with. We need all the gal pals we can get raising these hooligans!!

gwendomama said...

i had no idea it was only 3 mos. you have integrated well, grasshopper. you also have REALLY FUCKING GOOD INTUITION....follow that.

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