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Saturday, November 27, 2010

Farewell . . . for Now

It started out as a normal farewell dinner, if indeed there is such a thing. Farewell dinners, by their very nature, are NOT normal. In fact, they signify, quite publicly, that things are not going to be "normal" ever again. The farewell dinner states for those in attendance that the status quo no longer applies. It helps prepare us to think differently. What will life be like now? How am I going to feel about my world tomorrow? The whole evening became quite poignant for me in that regard.

At this particular farewell dinner, I said good-bye to my wonderful friend Diane who is moving to Chicago. She is relocating for her job, and she will be leaving in a matter of days. I said good-bye eight years ago to our other college buddy and confidante, Rhonda, who relocated to Florida to be with her now-husband Oren. It was hard to see Rhonda go, and it is difficult to see Diane go as well. We have so many memories here -- memories of achievement, of struggle, of friendship, of love, of anxiety, of sorrow, of encouragement, of bonding. These girls were present at the birth of all my kids, threw me a fabulous Goddess shower, read Mists of Avalon with me and exulted in our feminine power, and shared a graduate program and masters' exam experience with me. Both these women have been fabulous role models and friends, and I miss just hanging out and discussing literature and life and wine and food and everything else that makes a life. Diane and I usually meet Rhonda for lunch at Zov's, our favorite restaurant, when she is in town. Now, I will try to arrange lunches with both of them when our schedules all coincide. I think we all know that those occasions will be few and far between. This is simply what life will be now.

In the midst of this reverie at dinner, I felt a pull in another direction: a sense of farewell to a former self. Marc, our dinner companion, friend, and colleague of Diane's, was amusing us with tales from the office. Then, Marc and Diane took turns amusing the table with tales of their many work adventures. As I laughed and listened, it struck me that I had little to contribute. This had been my world for many years when I was working as an editor and then when I was heading up the non-profit. I knew some of the players in their escapades, but my association with them was long ago. My stories aren't current. Staying at home and educating my children is my new job, and most people aren't interested in the vagaries of this highly unglamorous (and grossly underpaid, I might add) lifestyle. My value is now lodged elsewhere, and it's impossible to wow a table with stories of ADHD medicine decisions, how Sean loves wearing his Mario Halloween costume hat everywhere, how Gavin won our first Bookopoly round the other night or how Grace is really bummed that Teen Titans has gone off the air.

Even as I write out these frustrations, I am keenly aware and know for sure that staying home with the boys is the best decision I could have made. I know that everything I'm doing now is of critical importance to the boys' growing selves, to their self-esteem and identities. I just want to scream from the rooftops sometimes that my life is more than the minutiae of our day-to-day lives. I don't want to be ungrateful; I know it sounds petty to complain about staying home when there are so many women for whom this is not an option. But I cannot make a living doing what I'm doing. We are struggling financially, and I am capable of so many things. I guess I'm just hoping that others will notice. I am a force to be reckoned with. I have skills!

These insecurities and neuroses lie deep within me or bubble to the surface depending on the day. Feeling a bit overwhelmed (and overweight I might add) that night, I fought with my feelings of inadequacy a lot, understanding that I am going through a season of my life, that Diane's life is not one that I could do well, that my life has value even if there is no paycheck, and so forth. I will have power one day, just not now. And just to underscore that idea, the waiter who had been very fun and attentive all night dropped off the bill and his business card, hoping to entice the table back for another visit. The only problem is that he gave his card to Diane and to Marc only. He did not offer me one, nor did he offer one to Jacquie, Diane's mother.

I'm not sure what his message was in excluding both Jacquie and me. Did he not think we would come back on our own? Did he think that we were not decision-makers? This slight bit of business, this unexpected oversight was hurtful in ways that Craig the Waiter could not have imagined. It shocked me. I felt ashamed. I felt angry. Could he not see that I was a person of value? Who was he to judge?

I went home that night defeated and just sad. Part of the sorrow is that my friend is leaving. Part of my sorrow is that part of me is already gone. I have to say farewell to who I was before staying home with the boys. I need to mourn that identity and take advantage of the lessons I am learning now so that the new me can flourish when I am given or I take the chance.



Wednesday, November 3, 2010

And Another Thing . . .

Hi there Target,

I am so glad that you now carry more grocery items. Imagine my surprise when I found Honeycrisp apples and Greek yogurt the first time I looked around. Awesome. You are my favorite store, hands down.

However, you need to hire people who know how to bag groceries. It was a bit disconcerting to find my apples in the same bag as the new hand soaps I bought. Even more disturbing was to find my new yogurt in the same bag as two heavy cans of soup. That my yogurt did not burst open on the way home after being jostled against the Progressos had to be an act of the gods.

Just a helpful hint. Thanks!