From the Flipside...

Hey there,

Ain't nothin' wrong with a little overindulgence once in a while. And I laughed when I read that you were eating Ramen noodles for the hangover. No food I know beats cheap college fare for the day after. Tomato soup. Grilled cheese. Oatmeal packets. Ramen. Indeed. (Oh, and an hilarious, but eloquent, use of the words "steep" and "ramen noodles" in the same sentence. Rock on, writer!)

Interesting comments on the high school reunion, B. Here are my thoughts on that, for what it's worth. I have never lived in a place where houses and spouses defined us, but as you know, from that story about Amir, I do come from a place where the expectations for success were predefined for all of us. I wasn't able (didn't choose?) to meet many of those marks, much to the disappointment of not only my parents, but my friends too. In the same way that you did not marry, have children or buy a house in the burbs, I did not do what I was "supposed to" do either. I did not rise to the level of self-sufficiency that is so highly valued among both the men and women of my class. I did not go on to put my MA to good use, becoming an established educator, working in different industries, leaving a legacy in the world. I took the "easy way out". I'm just a mom.

I know what it feels like, that pity and confusion they show when I say I'm a stay home mom. That my kid's not going to college. That I watch Ellen in the mornings and haven't traveled further than the west coast in years. They tell me about their promotions, their awards, the scholarships from which they must choose to ensure that the children get the best possible education. They ask me insulting and misguided questions like "Don't you get bored?" and "What do you do all day?" Then, I feel, they whisper amongst themselves about how I didn't measure up. Her parents must be so crushed. What a shame.

But I am willing to bet that there are more than a few of them who envy me, who long to stay home with their kids and sell popcorn on Fridays in the playshed. I bet many of them would trade everything they have - travel and money and notariety - to have had children at all.

Imagine her - the one who did all the right things, the one whose parents brag about endlessly in Christmas letters. Imagine she's there, dutifully conforming, at the church for her son's confirmation. She's happy and bursting with pride for her family. And suddenly, that Barb girl walks in.

She's beautiful and composed; she's - oh! - alone! My God, how cool would that be? No whiny kids, no aloof husband, no mini-van filled with french fry wrappers and muddy cleats. (She's carrying a real purse!) What I wouldn't give, here in this town of Everyone Does the Same Thing, to be like her. What must it feel like to have the freedom and the time to care about me? What would it be like to make choices for me? But I can't show her that I'd kill to be her. I can't let on that I wish, more than anything, that I had had the courage to be different. I want to tell her that I'm proud of her, that she's everything I wanted to be, but I can't. All I can do is hold my head up high and act like those things aren't important to me. I hope she doesn't come over here; what will I talk about? Prattle on about my kids? That's all I have to offer! I'll bore her to death; please God, don't make me stand here bragging about Little League like an idiot!

I believe that inside every righteous, snotty soccer mom, there is that woman, wondering and wishing. The ability to accept and honor both of those women within each of us is a gift that most of us don't possess, so we put up our defenses in the form of pride and judgement, not knowing what else to do. Whether we followed the beaten path or forged our own, none of us is truly at peace with the choices we've made or the hands we've been dealt.

Just some food for thought. Remember, you're amazing, no matter what they ignorantly blurt out of their jealous mouths.

More later - Love you tons, A