You may be wondering where we went and what we did and who with. In fact, Alex, I know you were because you kept nagging me to tell you. Over. And over. And over. I'm sure whatever the screeching sounds coming from your sister as I pried her off of me while applying my make-up (Yes, I wore make-up, like a girl!) amounted to the same line of questioning. The truth is, we're adults and it's none of you're god-damned business what we're up to when you're not present so long as it's not getting us killed or arrested. But, since you want to know so badly, it was a quasi high school reunion of a few of Mommy's female friends in a bar and involved bullshitting and copious amounts of alcohol. Daddy came to be the designated driver, have a night away from you guys and out with other adults, and to laugh at me.
So did I have a good time? Oh you bet your cute little butts I did. We sat and talked about our old classrooms and teachers and how each of us met the others. There were even a couple of women there I didn't really know, but we got to talking like old friends anyway through the shared experiences of high school dramas that had unfolded some 13-17 years ago. (Yes, babies, Mommy is old.) Daddy even got in on some of the fun, having gone to the same school but being a year younger and knowing most of the teachers. (Yes, babies, Mommy is a cradle robber too.)
The alcohol flowed and the conversation flowed. We discussed who we still talked to and where they were now. We asked after long lost friends no one had heard from since graduation. We laughed about the rumors of which teachers were up to what while we were attending school. We talked about all the trouble our graduating class got into. And the parties. And the failed attempts at keeping order on the part of the school staff. And the various ways we drove teachers insane. Ah, good times. But none of that is really what's important here. Nor something I wish to discuss with my children. After all, I'm a mother now and I have to somehow convince you to behave in school. Or at least not get caught. I was very good at not getting caught. But that's a discussion for when you're older.
What's important, and the reason I'm writing this entry, is what happened next. The night went on and the happy childhood reminiscing began turning more towards the grown-up "What are you doing now?" conversations, as these types of things always do. The mood began to somber. I waited, reluctantly, for my turn. I'll admit it. I've been frowned upon, especially by women, for stopping in my tracks to stay home with you kids. I often feel incomplete somehow. Like I'm failing at womanhood for not doing it all. So I waited. While one of my friends talked about her Masters, her career in social work, two children, and divorce with split custody, and being broke. And another talked about being a single mother just finishing her BS while her child lived out of state with her grandmother. And a third talked about her career being fine but lamented having no time to meet anyone special because she was so busy with work. Still another hadn't even finished college because she'd spent her 20's "fucked up" but wouldn't elaborate. Another friend who's boyfriend had come was happy in her career and education and seemed relatively strong in her relationship, but still pulled me aside to ask how I was able to make it work with your dad. And a couple of the women just sort of seemed the be flying by the seat of their pants. No one seemed unhappy. But no one seemed to have it all together and perfect either. It seems there was no perfect.
And then I breathed out a deep breath and I told everyone all about my life. I told them all about how I had gotten my BA and had taken a couple of much needed years off of school to work and to decide what I really wanted to do before committing. I told them about how your dad and I got together completely by accident. And about how you, Alex, totally surprised us with your impending arrival and threw my life plan off course. I told them how going for my Masters had to wait because Dad and I had a baby to support and about the job I took to do that and how I hated that job but how it was worth it. I told them how Dad got a great job and we got married finally and how I was finally ready to go back to school when-oops-Amy decided it was her turn. I told them how I got so sick I had to quit working and how Dad took a promotion that made going back to work impossible for me, but it made enough money that we're going to be able to buy a house in a few months. So I told them I'm a SAHM now but I won't always be. And I'll go back to school and I'll get a Masters and I'll have a career. One day. And no one had anything awful to say to me.
Near the end of the night I heard some of the women talking. They were saying how, if they could, they would go back to high school. How those were the best days of their lives. How being an adult sucked and they wished they knew then what they know now and they wished they enjoyed it more. They were saying if someone gave them a choice to give up everything they have right now and go back to relive their high school days they'd do it again in a heartbeat. And here's the REALLY important part, my precious children. I WOULDN'T. Don't get me wrong. Sure, I had some great times back then. Some of my best memories are from those days. But I didn't have you. I didn't have your dad. I didn't have this family and our memories and our future together. I was a child having childish fun. The problems then were small and stupid and life was easier. The ones now are so much harder. But the rewards are so much greater. The love I feel for you and your father is so much stronger than anything I was ever capable of even knowing existed back then. And, with you in my life, I'm ok with letting the past be the past, and continuing to build for your future.
I love you both with all my heart. You know I can't let you read this though. It would make the threat of selling you to gypsies because we can just have more kids completely ineffectual. Maybe when you turn 18.
No comments:
Post a Comment