Missing My Friends

Every Sunday morning, I get a recap of the previous night’s Jugs. Currently, local (Charlotte area) Jugs sits at five: Miss Manners, Stitches, Nice-Nice, Prom Queen and Lady Beaver of the Syllables. I’m in Raleigh — and I haven’t been back since March because I’m still recovering from surgery — while Mary F. Poppins is in Portland and our new Jug doesn’t live in Charlotte yet.

I miss them. Nice-Nice and Stitches had their babies, and it bothers me that I haven’t met them yet. I want to be there for my friends while they make these big life transitions. Hell, I want to be there for tiny little non-important stuff too.

New Juglets!

I once heard us — Jugs, collectively — referred to as exclusive or clique-y, and snobby.

“How dare they label us…” I started to say, deeply offended, and then finished with, “completely accurately.”

It’s true — maybe not the snobby part, so much, but we are exclusive. Not because we don’t welcome others, but at this point Jugs has been together for over two years, and it would be difficult to catch them up to speed.

You must do the secret Jug arm wrestle move to join us!

Just sharing my epic butt history could take hours. And would include a video that Miss Manners took when she accompanied me to an appointment with Dr. McSweetcheeks in which he went spelunking, as I call it.

But Jugs is special, I know that. We’re a group of diverse women. Three Jugs are not American. Half of us work outside the home, the other half are “just” moms. We have very different backgrounds — one Jug worked as a clown, and actually lived in a cave for years.

What we have in common is that we’re all attachment-moms, and we’ve all breastfed (hence the name Jugs!)

But really our most salient feature is that we each put a premium on our time together. We are all busy and tired and stressed — but we always show up for Jugs anyway. Sometimes we’re late, sometimes we have to bring a kid or two with us — or leave early to get home — but we’re there. (The great Jugs Plague of early 2011 notwithstanding. We each got the flu. It sucked.)

Anyone could find a group of friends and have their own Jugs. But I don’t have Jugs here, and I’ve never had Jugs in any of the other places which I’ve lived. It takes commitment. It takes willingness. It takes trusting and honesty, and an equal desire for close friendship and companionship.

At Nice-Nice, Stitches and our new Jug's shower/blessing ceremony party!

We’re not snobs, but we know what we have is special. Don’t waste time thinking about us; go try to make or find your own Jugs!

Sinkos, Twilight and You-Know-Who

First I want to address Sinkos. Do you all read the Momastery blog? If not, you really should.

Now a confession: I am a bad blogger, in the sense that I don’t spend a lot of time reading other peoples’ blogs**. I read Dooce, of course, because that’s DE RIGUERE for mommy bloggers. I read The Bloggess because Jenny cracks me up, and she’s very honest about her struggles with depression. I sometimes catch Mommy Wants Vodka and I always think, “I should read that more often!” I read the Pioneer Woman — I recently read her BOOK which is just a huge collection of her blogs. And I’ve been following RANTS FROM MOMMYLAND since it was a little fetus of a blog — I’ve even guest-posted for them. But the point is that those are all really well-known blogs in the blogosphere, nothing totally new or fresh. 

**I also read the blogs of moms I know personally, because I’m kind of a stalker like that.**

Anyway, Momastery’s readers/followers are called Monkees. And I thought, my followers need a name! And it just came to me: SINKOS. Because I’m Cinco de Mommy. Sometimes I feel like this blog could be called sinking de mommy. Sinkos. Sinkos! Perfect!

This segues totally nonsensically to Twilight. I used to be a Twi-hard. A Twi-Mom. Team Edward (books), Team Jacob (movies). I have seen every Twilight movie at midnight on opening day. Even when the original Twilight opened a mere two weeks after my weight-loss surgery and it hurt to walk, I was there at midnight. However, as the years pass and I get older and my daughters get older, I become less enamored with Twilight. I love the way Stephenie Meyer really seems to capture the intoxication of first love… and then after that, I kind of hate it.

Bella is wimpy and sucks. Edward is controlling and sucks. Jacob is manipulative and sucks.

I read a critical essay about Twilight (because yes, I do that in my spare time) and now I can’t find the link, but it was about Bella’s initial reactions to Edward. When Edward acts like he hates Bella, she thinks there’s something wrong with her. And then later, when Edward can’t read her mind, again she thinks there’s something wrong with her.

Oh, Bella. Other than being kind of a bland wishy-washy lip masher, there’s nothing WRONG with you, girl. 

She totally lost me there, because I’m the opposite: when I meet someone and they don’t like me, I assume (1) they just haven’t gotten to know me enough yet or (2) they’re an idiot. It could also be (3) they don’t have time in their life for someone like me, but back to (1), I think they would want me in their life. (When I lived in Charlotte, there were several women I met who I wanted to get to know better, but my life was really full from Jugs. So I can understand that point of view — to an extent.)

Just recently I was talking to a mom who hadn’t YET extended an olive branch of friendship toward me, when I realized that I really didn’t WANT her to extend an olive branch of friendship to me. That was a moment. It’s taken me a while to feel like I’ve cracked the code of mommies here in Raleigh. But once I get discerning, I feel like I’m in.

And besides, I know the right people. Case in point: after dropping off Mineral at speech therapy on Monday, I realized I had a flat tire. Speech therapy is 1/2 mile away — if I were more organized/enthusiastic and it was warmer than 20* out, we could walk  – so I just drove home and called My Chemical Romance. Once home I noticed the tire was completely busted open and I didn’t think I’d make it back to pick him up. So I called Kat. Kat is my around-the-block neighbor’s daughter who is a little younger than me, and works in a doctor’s office that’s one floor below Mineral’s speech therapist’s office. Voila — a ride home from speech therapy for Mineral. I do not know that many people in Raleigh yet. But I know the RIGHT people.

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