The movie was entertaining enough that I almost didn't miss my husband... almost. It's been an interesting week with him and I've poured myself into my little village of friends. I have always thought that a group of friends like "sex in the city" would be super cool and fun. But when you think about it, each one of those women are more extroverted and they thrive and do well in a group. I have friends that I see one at a time, mostly. Each one is a mirror of something like about myself or fills in something that's missing. So, this week I went around the village and knocked on doors and went in for a bit to decompress in different ways with each one.
The cans are back. Earlier this week the dog was barking in the kitchen. He barks sometimes throughout the day, like a "woof!" here and there, but this was real barking. I went down to the kitchen and there he was, one eye on the back door and one eye looking down the hallway for me. I slowed down as I approached and cautiously entered the kitchen and looked towards the back door. There was a man on our porch. His back was turned to the door and we was stooped over. I went over with Pete (the dog) by my side, and opened the door but kept the glass storm door closed. I rolled down the window a little and knocked to get the man's attention. "Excuse me Sir?", I said. He stood straight and turned. I immediately saw that he was homeless. He had multiple layers of worn clothing, no teeth, food smeared in his beard, and a filthy, rugged, red face from the -15 wind chill. He was also holding a big empty dog food bag and had been filling it with the soda cans from our recycling bin. "I'm sorry, Mamn." He said, "Do you mind if I take your cans? I'm doing really bad right now and these will help a little." "Sure." I said, "But next time could you wait until the cans are out at the curb instead of coming up on the property? It makes the dog nervous and he doesn't like strangers." That's a I lie. I'm the one that doesn't like strangers... or small talk, or Wegman's shoppers... and between my pit bull and me, I'm the one more likely to bite.
He said that was no problem and I closed up everything and called my husband. "David! I'm so sorry! A homeless man was on our porch and he took all your cans! I wasn't going to stop him.... Oh no! He's going down the back steps! What should I do? Wait! Now he has two of your big black garbage bags of empty soda cans from below the porch!" That homeless man had hit the jackpot at our house. And then the longer I thought about it all, the angrier I got. It was scary having a strange man on our porch. And granted he was nice and polite, but he did help himself to bags of cans that I didn't authorize. And I had asked him not to come on the property and instead he continued further onto our property to look around. No, No, I wasn't angry at the homeless man. I was getting angry at my husband! What if that man hadn't been nice? I mean, I am alone all day and he's attracting homeless people with his stupid can collecting! And this can hording was supposed to stop. He promised me he wouldn't bring home (he brings home cans from work!) or keep any more cans that would fit in one garbage bin. If that bin got full he had to take the cans to the metal recycling place before he continued collecting more cans. Well that promise went out the window a long time ago and now I'm scared our house has been marked. I mean, homeless people talk! What if that guy tells his friends about the aluminum at the end of the rainbow at 1289 Elm St.? (that's not our real address, don't try to find me) And what if I have strangers on the property all the time, and what if cans aren't enough? What if they look in the windows! And this guy, THIS GUY, had yelled at me for leaving an old wooden kitchen broom on the back porch. He said that someone would steal it, and it would bring someone onto the property. A BROOM! Gosh I was mad!
Later that night I picked up James from swimming. I told him the story about the homeless man and when we got home he went to investigate. "Mom, where did those chairs come from?" "What chairs?" "The chairs down by the basement door." Oh no. I went out and looked. There, by the basement door where 4 ugly kitchen table chairs. I went back inside and called my husband. "David, where did the chairs by the basement door come from?" I could hear the change in his voice, it sounds like someone who knows they got caught. "I brought them home the other night. Just look at them and give them a fair chance." "Ok, But if I look at them, and I think they are ugly, can I put them out with the garbage?" "I will get rid of them, but you can't get rid of them." Do you see this hoarding logic? Anyway, I agreed. I didn't tell him that I already thought they were ugly. Instead I decided to give them another shot in the morning, in the daylight. Maybe my fairy godmother would come over night and change them into a magical horse drawn carriage and take me on a night out, and give me fabulous shoes and would baby-sit while I went and danced. I don't need the prince part. Despite all of this nonsense, I am happily married, and even the most happily married woman will tell you that one man is more than enough. Plus, I already found my Prince Charming and he collects cans.
The next morning I went and looked again. Still ugly. If for some odd reason, I actually needed 4 kitchen chairs, these would never be it. I knew I had to approach this delicately. My husband is very protective of the treasure he finds. "David" I began calmly. "I did look at those chairs just now and I honestly think they are ugly. It would frustrate me if they stayed." KA-BOOM! My husband quickly threw up his offensive line. "Well, you know what frustrates ME?!? It frustrates me when the you don't pay bills on time! And it frustrates me when the house is a mess! And it frustrates me when..." You get the point. It didn't go well.
I left the house in a tearful huff and drove to my Catholic Mother's Group. I was actually supposed to lead the group that morning in prayer and discussion. I was coming off of that argument with my husband and that's all I could think of, so that was my topic. I basically unloaded this frustration on them and wanted to know how they balance frustration like this with respect and love for their spouse. Lillian said, that sometimes she thinks of the saying, "The greatest give of love is to lay down one's life for a friend." And when she is having a disagreement with her husband she thinks of that and "lays it down", like lays down her own issue for her spouse. Naomi offered that I could pray to St. Joseph and the Blessed Mother because they are truly experts at marriage and family, and I could ask them for help. A lot of good advice was offered and I didn't feel so alone. So, I texted my husband right then and there and told him to not worry about the cans or the chairs, it was all fine. He txt's back, "What did you do with the bag of cans I brought home from work last night?" OMG. Can't he see that Jesus, Mary, Joseph and I are trying to forgive him! I had a homeless man on our porch and that very night he brings home more cans! I shared the recent txt with the other woman. "Yeah... I'd say it's now time to put your foot down.", Naomi says.
Next, I went to visit Tracy. I picked up Pizza and drove to her house. It's the first time I'd seen her since before she had her baby on New Years Day. The last time I saw her was she had been 39 weeks along and I met her at night in the Wegman's parking lot. I stood there as she rolled up in her big dark SUV and I dealt her some herbal labor tea through her window in a paper bag. Now she met me on her drive-way and gave me a long hug that brought tears to my eyes. Tracy is my good deed for 2013. She was pregnant with her fifth baby and found herself with very limited birth options because of her pre-term classical (the King of all Scars, as I call it) C-section from her last pregnancy. I "counseled" and "advised" her through out her pregnancy and brought her from - I want a C-section, in a hospital, at full term... to having a water birth vbac with a midwife. I can't claim full credit, we can also thank the OB's and hospital for trying to box her into an undesirable corner instead of working with her wishes. And It takes a special person to listen to what I did with my birth and go and consider it. Her 9 lb vbac baby is a healthy little bundle and we sat and enjoyed lunch together. She shared some intimate moments about her birth that brought tears to my eyes and it felt so good to sit and talk about babies being born. It really cleared my mind and warmed my soul.
Then, I had to meet my friend Lori at Warren's school for pick-up time. She is St. Lori to me. Her son, Charlie, and Warren are in the same the class and it seems like they are becoming best friends. Lori is such a good baker. I brought baked goods home from her house once, and my husband told Warren, "You have to always be friends with Charlie." Warren asks why. "Because this is the best icing I've ever tasted." Lori was babysitting Warren and David for me while I went to James's swim meet. And let me tell you, anyone who would babysit those two, is a true friend indeed! We packed them into her car and she waved me goodbye, "Have fun living the life with one child!" Little baby Brody and I went to James's swim meet. It was so nice. I watched races I would have never gotten too before. I mentally critiqued starts and turns (I was a swimmer all the way through college) and even watched the men's and women's 500 free. It was such a treat. Thank God for Lori, it's good to have a friend who is empathetic enough to take your kids so that doing something is just a little more pleasant.
The next day, I went to my friend Michele's house for a play date. It's supposed to be a play date for our 2 and 3 yr olds, but mostly we just drink coffee, bullshit, and referee two year old fights over toys. It started to snow that morning and Michele doesn't like snow driving. I said I would come to her and when I got there I told her, "Your 're going to see me today whether you like it or not!" I needed some more friend therapy. Now I can really talk about anything with Michele. She is also smart as a whip and kind of cutthroat in her discernment of my issues. We talked about our Christmases and family issues. She's the one, unfortunately for her, that I unload all my extended family agony on. Michele is a hard-ass with this stuff and gives me a hard-ass perspective, which I do enjoy. I left feeling more confident and tough.
Fast forward to the day after the movie... I met with Sara, Sara from A Special Purpose, she took me out for dinner for my birthday and we laughed about how odd numbers always sound older than even numbers... like 33 sounds so much older than 32, you know what I mean. I turned 34 this year so it doesn't sound THAT much older than 33, right? I was happy to have someone to laugh with. My husband didn't have a lot of time to celebrate with me other than a kiss on the cheek before he left for work. He went to a game and then worked all weekend. It left no time to spend with me, hence me alone in a movie theater on a Sunday afternoon. I talked to Sara about my feelings surrounding some recent events. Sara has such a soft, good heart. Her perspective towards goodness in people was inspiring. On the way out Sara noticed that the place was having a DJ contest that Friday and she signed up. She got in and I was totally stoked to see her compete.
During the week, I thought of things Sara had said and reached out to try to make things better with some issues. It didn't work out and by Friday night I ended up covered in word vomit. Word vomit is what people spew all over you when they are so angry that they don't even make sense and are literally just out to hurt you. I got word vomit via text. Buckets and buckets of nasty, smelly word vomit. I actually even have an email inbox folder where I send emails that I am fairly sure contain word vomit. I don't even open them. I mean, I used to open them and then hated spending a week cleaning the vomit off of my clothes out of my hair. Now I just send them right to the "word vomit" folder.
It was about an hour before I was supposed to leave to see Sara DJ when I got vomited on. I skimmed the txt's, trying not to take them to heart. A lot of it was about this blog. People really do not like blogs! Most of it was so ridiculous, it was easy to joke in my head. Some of it was purposefully hurtful and most of it was so crazy, it didn't even warrant a response. It's like a person with anger management problems calling you crazy, and you're like how could I possible spend time proving that I'm not crazy to a angry, crazed person? They are just going to get angrier and crazier.
I unhooked the baby from my boob and handed him to my husband. Then I quickly combed my hair and threw on a black shirt and jeans (you can't go wrong with black, right? Especially if you have no time for make-up!) I left to see Sara covered in word vomit. I didn't burden her with helping me clean it all off. It was her night and I was there to support her. Another friend, Carrie, came too and we enjoyed some beers and danced and laughed a lot. I was still getting a few crazed text messages. The last one told me that if I even showed up in certain places that the sender would "personally escort me out". Carrie asked me what my phone was blowing up about and I shared the message with her. Carrie looked thoughtful for a moment and then grinned, "You know?" she said, "That's actually really nice, that she will personally escort you!" I choked on my beer mid-swallow. Carrie continued, "I mean instead of calling the police or grabbing a baseball bat, I think that's really nice!" I barely could set my beer down before my knees got weak from laughing, "That is really nice, isn't it?". The stink of the word vomit started to dissipate into the night.
Thank God for all these great friends that I have made. And thank God the can man always ends up being my Fairy Godmother and watches the kids for me so I can get out. Sitting alone in a movie theater is great every so often, but sometimes, it's good to let others into your space to give you a new, different energy. Because when you are alone in a movie theater, this definitely doesn't happen, and you'd be sorry to miss it...
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