Guest Post: My Annual Sanity-Saving Scrapbooking Vacation

The PBKMoms are pleased to welcome Amy Moss and her sanity-saving vacation tips!

It started so innocently, like most life-changing, amazing ideas do.

I was sitting around a dining room table with my four close girlfriends.  Two years prior we had all taken up scrapbooking as a hobby.  This is not a story about scrapbooking; so if you are not into scrapbooking, don’t worry. In place of scrapbooking you can insert knitting, crocheting, needlepointing, cross-stitching, quilting or any other favorite craft.  We’d found a hour or two here and there on rare weekends to get together, drink wine and try to put pictures of our children into scrapbooks.  Scrapbooking is a great hobby because it is a shopper’s dream.  There is always something new to buy – sparkly jewels, Mickey Mouse die cuts, just the right shade of black paper (It does not exist.) and on and on.  I have more scrapbooking supplies than I will use in my lifetime, but still I buy that new Victorian Halloween paper that would be perfect for my imaginary fall layout.

Anyway, it was not for a lack of supplies that led to the great revelation, but rather an over-abundance of them.  We had so many neat scrapbooking toys that it made it hard to get together.  Even with Creative Memories rolling luggage bags, it was a hassle to pack it all up.  We’d complained about this problem at several crops.  Then enlightenment hit - What if we went away for the weekend and scrapped?

Wait a minute! Could we go somewhere away from the kids, away from the husbands, away from the jobs, away from the cleaning, cooking, laundry, playdates, swim teams, etc.??  This idea was pretty unheard of outside of bachelorette parties to Vegas or New Orleans.  Our voices dropped to whispers, lest anyone hear of our novel scheme.  The more we talked, the more we loved the idea, and so we made a list of requirements:

1. Location must be within driving distance – shorter the better.
2. We each need our own room – Ladies, after college you are too old to share a room.
3. We need a place with a large space to all sit together.
4. We need a TV, DVD player and sturdy blender.

The plan was born: Friday through Sunday in a rented house on the beach in Galveston, Texas.  Just us girls - all together with no responsibilities (and, as it turns out, a lot of tequila) for three whole days!  After our first weekend together we knew that we had something unique and precious.  Something we were determined to do again… regularly…  and our annual scrapbooking weekend was born!

Unlike other girls-only vacations there is no running around to see antiques or museums or going out to restaurants or bars.   And no shopping.  No need to worry about what to wear or wanting to go home because you are tired when everyone else wants to party.  With this vacation there is no schedule!  You get up when you want to.  You go to bed when you want to.  Hell, you even get to take a nap if you feel like it!  You also don’t need to worry about what to bring.  Pajamas, t-shirts and yoga pants are pretty much all you need.  No one to see you.  Your girlfriends don’t care that your hair is in a scrunchie and you are wearing old Eeyore pjs.

Remember there is no schedule here and you have nowhere to be.  So cocktails start whenever you want them.  It is a safe drinking environment because there is no driving.  Your girlfriends are watching out for you with Advil and water.  So have that mimosa with breakfast and smile!

This is the time to watch all those chick flick movies that your husband and kids don’t want to see.  So pull out the Notebook and the tissues!  Haven’t seen the first season of Downtown Abbey – you can watch the whole thing this weekend!  Want to watch Gone with the Wind again – all four hours of it – with enough vodka you can do it.  I also recommend a PBS mini-series, any Jane Austen movie and missed seasons of Glee.   

 Now is the time to indulge in the food you love.  Never have you seen a grocery cart so full of delicious and unhealthy junk.  Oreos, five different kids of cheese, salami, BBQ potato chips, peanut M&Ms, etc.  You name the junk food and we eat it guilt-free.  This is vacation and the calories don’t count.  We take turns cooking dinner or we decide to just eat olives and cookies.

However, the best part about these scrapbooking weekends is being with friends that are family.  We talk.  A lot.  About everything.  Life’s scary challenges have been tackled with laughter, tears and loving support (plus a little drunken dancing).  If I have a problem, I know these girls will be there with at least three possible answers and a shoulder to lay my weary head on.  Their experience with home and business matters is invaluable and this weekend gives us the opportunity to swap stories and best practices.  It is a safe place to bare our souls…. and we get a little scrapbooking done too.

In short, this is a wonderful stay-cation away from home with your best girlfriends doing a hobby you love.  This relaxing time is the best weekend any over-stressed mom could have.  I hope you can plan your trip soon!

Amy Moss is Corporate Securities and M&A partner at Haynes and Boone, LLP in Houston, Texas.  She is the proud mom of two amazing kids, Z-Girl who is finishing up third grade and Z-Boy who starts kindergarten in the fall.  She is lucky to be married to Z-Husband, whose idea it was to pick names for the children that start with Z.

C, D, P, M and K – can’t wait till scrapbooking weekend in September!

One of THOSE Moms

I am not one of those moms. At least, I don’t think so. I know a few of us have written about this before, but it’s come up again for me, so I’m revisiting.

My daughter’s day school is in a very affluent neighborhood. A lot of the parents are very, very wealthy. They send their kids to this school until the children are three and can enter the more prestigious private pre-schools in the area. These require interviews and teacher recommendations, etc. You get the idea.

We are not rich. We’re not poor. We do okay. But we’re not rich. Baby Galen is going to public school—a good public school, but a public school. She goes to the day school not because my nanny needs off a couple days a week or so that I can work with my personal trainer (don’t have either one!) but so I can write books and blogs and all that.

Friends–NOT the friend in question

I grew up with friends who were both wealthy and closer to the other extreme. I’m not impressed by wealth, and these moms are cordial to me and we do the chitchat thing at pick-up and drop-off. But lately my daughter has become friends with the daughter of a mom from the wealthy clique. Every day she begs me to invite this little girl over. These kids are barely three. They don’t go to play dates without parents yet, and I don’t really know this mom. But Baby Galen talks about this little girl all the time. They play “princesses” and “run-away-from-the-bad-guy” together.

Another friend–NOT the new one, though

What should I do? Ask the mom if she wants to do a play date? Keep putting Baby Galen off? She has plenty of other friends, whose moms are my friends or whose moms have more in common with me. Help! Why do I feel like I’m in high school and have to ask some mom to the Prom?

The Ties That Bind

Today I’m thinking of a friend.

I remember the first day of ninth grade. I made my way through the crowded hall to homeroom, uneasy because I didn’t know that many people. (Many of the kids I’d been going to school with fed into a different high school.) There were lots of new faces, and somehow they all seemed to know each other. I remember finding a seat and sitting down, and I remember seeing a girl sitting across the room. She was so pretty, with thick dark hair and beautiful eyes (blue, I would later discover). And her smile, that was what I really noticed. I was nervous and unsure, but she had one of those thousand watt smiles that spoke of warmth and inner confidence, that could light up a room and immediately put other people at ease.  I was drawn to her from the start. She sparkled. I think she’s always sparkled. I soon learned she’d been wildly popular at her junior high. A cheerleader. Her boyfriend had been the star of the football team. I, on the other hand, was basically a bookworm. A nerd. A straight A-student not exactly known for anything other than my grades. Not only had I never even had a boyfriend, I’d never been kissed. Never even held hands. People like her didn’t usually have much to do with people like me. And yet she did. We became friends with crazy ease.

I think back on all that now, those friendship that dominate the early years of our lives. When we’re little girls, long before we fall in love for the first time, it’s (usually) other girls who form the nucleus of our lives.  Sure we’re aware of boys, but for the most part, it’s the girls that we gravitate toward. We hang out at recess and pass notes in class, have slumber parties where we challenge ourselves to stay up as long as we can. In those early days it’s all about fun and games, laughter and being silly. I remember playing music and dancing, singing and braiding each other’s hair.

Somewhere along the line, maybe when hormones set in, things get more serious. We talk about guys, school, our parents—and other friends. We find ourselves sharing dreams and problems, frustrations and fears, and of course, all the intoxicating wonder and anticipation of dating.  We get emotional. We get gushy. We share poems.

That’s also when we start talking about kissing—sex. Who’s done what, and what it was like. We giggle about certain boys, and wonder how they kiss. We give nicknames (lizard tongue, anyone?) We talk about drinking, and drugs.  We talk about college. Our future. Sometimes we talk about out future weddings and speculate about who we’ll marry and the kids we’ll have, the lives we’ll lead, jobs, how it will all play out. But even with all that sharing, most of what we “see” follows the storybook script. We never talk about what will happen if the first guy we ever loved one day commits suicide, or if a parent walks out the door and never comes back. If our pregnancies don’t reach full term. And we sure never imagine that one day many, many years later we’ll be sitting in an exam room at a pediatrician’s office, waiting for the nurse, when suddenly a text comes in, and while our toddler babbles, we’ll be staring down at the words sick—very sick. We never quite see ourselves on the phone with our friend’s mother, the mother you once felt never approved of you as a friend, grasping for the right words to say as she falls apart. You never see yourself in a grocery store, frozen next to a rack of nail polish as you stare numbly at another text, this one with the words inoperable, no chance, so scared, and don’t know how to tell the kids. You never see yourself at a funeral.

That’s not part of the dream. That’s not the future we see when we’re sixteen and invincible, drunk on innocence and possibility. Maybe it happens to other people, but not us.

Sometimes I watch my daughter and her friends exploring the ropes of early friendship, and feel my heart ache. They’re third graders. Their lives are still blissfully simple. They’re silly. They laugh a lot. They make up cheers and chants. But the inevitable complications are starting to slip in: “Mom, I think Friend A is spending the night at Friend B’s house tonight–why didn’t she invite me?”  “Friend A and I were playing at recess, and we saw Friend B by herself and asked her if she wanted to play with us, but she just turned around and walked away.”  “Mom, Friend A got upset with me and I’m scared she won’t be my friend anymore.” “Mom, we’re changing tables next week, and since my table won the quiet award, we each get to pick one person we want to sit next to. But I don’t know what to do. If I pick Friend A, Friend B will feel bad, and if I pick Friend B, Friend A will feel bad. What do I do?”

I remember those feelings, the uncertainty and insecurity, the fear that you’re not good enough, that a friend might one day decide they don’t want to be your friend anymore. Freshmen year, I wanted so badly to fit in with the new girls I was meeting, the ones who’d grown up together and shared countless memories and jokes, even fun nicknames, but despite how nice they were to me, I often felt like a third wheel, like I was hovering on the edge of a circle, but not quite part of it.  Of course, now I realize that was my own junk, that place inside of me that never felt good enough as a friend, a student, a daughter. In retrospect, it’s obvious why I threw myself into Cross Country running, but at the time, I didn’t see the connection. All I knew was that sometimes friendship was hard. Sometimes it hurt. Sometimes it made you feel every bit as vulnerable as romantic relationships. The highs were really high, but the lows could be really low. But somehow, when that connection is there, you get through it.

You love your friends. You grow together. You laugh. You cry. You learn. They touch your heart, and you theirs. You share secrets and dreams, hopes and fears. You learn how to give and understand, how to trust, and apologize. You learn not to walk away just because things get complicated. You learn you’re stronger together, than apart.  There are no vows, at least not the spoken kind. Not usually anyway. But the bonds are there, and they can be as strong as those to our spouses.

That’s why I know that no matter how badly I want to fix things for my daughter, I can’t. I can’t call her friend’s mother and try to smooth things over. I can’t wave some magic wand. All I can do is listen to her and let her know everything she’s feeling is okay. Normal. I can give her advice and coach her about the importance of being authentic and owning her actions/reactions, her emotions. I can give her a shoulder to cry on. But in the end, she is the one who has to walk this road with her friends. They’ve got to work through tough times and hard choices. They’ve got to feel the love, and the hurt. That’s the trick, the key. That’s how they learn, and that’s how they prepare themselves for what lies ahead. Those hard times, the ones that seem devastating and insurmountable at the time, they teach you how to be friends, and make us so much stronger. Planting seeds, laying a foundation, whatever cliché you want to use. I know that, because I know what the road looks like. I know things now that I never imagined when I was a freshman, smiling at the girl with the amazing blue eyes—and crying months later, because she invited someone else to spend the night at her house.

Now I realize we’re each a thread, beautiful and unique and strong, but more beautiful, more unique, and infinitely stronger when woven together.  The end result is a tapestry, a safety-net ready to catch us, hold us, support us, when life takes those unexpected curves.

In that small exam room, when I saw those words—sick, very sick—images flashed through my mind like a slide show stuck on fast forward. I saw my friend laughing, being silly. I saw her smiles, her tears. I saw her cheering on the sideline of football games, on the beach, graduating. I saw her in college, and later, five hundred miles from our hometown, as my roommate. I saw her gushing about the guy who lived in our apartment complex, the one she said if I didn’t date, she would. I saw her a year and half later, standing in our wedding. I saw her eyes dancing as she told me about a guy she’d met, and I saw her standing at the altar, taking vows to love and cherish, til death do they part. I saw her pregnant. I saw her holding her first child, and her second. I saw her at our high school reunion, and I saw her sitting across the table from me, sharing a beer as we talked about Days of our Lives. I saw all that in one blinding heartbeat, and everything inside of me hurt.

So much hit me at once, shock and fear, dread and sadness, anger–an intense, soul-searing anger. THIS was not part of the script, dammit. But along with all that, a fierce need filled me. I couldn’t fix what was wrong. I couldn’t stop the disease shattering her life, no matter how badly I wanted to. But I couldn’t shrink back, either. I couldn’t abandon her. I was her friend, and she mine. I wanted to be there for her, to stand beside her, love her. It wasn’t enough, it could never be enough. And yet sometimes life takes that choice from us. Soon I found myself in contact with all those girls from before, the ones with whom and from whom I learned so many valuable life lessons, and as one we came together three years ago today as our friend said goodbye to her amazing husband, the father of her children and the light of her heart. We stood together, the girls we’d been and the women we’d become, and wrapped our friend in the invisible, Teflon bonds of love and friendship, forged all those years before, through the fire of good times and bad. We held her and we held each other. We cried and we prayed. We stood together as our friend, the girl with the beautiful eyes, the woman with the broken heart, turned to face a new chapter of her life, one of grief and fear and uncertainty, but strength and courage, too, and with time, healing. It was a long way from the skinned knees of playgrounds and late night angst sessions, and yet it was those experiences that ultimately created the support system, the sisterhood, that carried us forward. It was friendship in action, the culmination of everything that had come before.

Today I’m thinking of my friend and seeing the girl she once was—with the wild dark hair and laughing blue eyes—and the strong, beautiful, courageous woman she has become.

Today, I’m thinking of my friend, and loving her with all my heart.

Today I’m cheering her on.

Today I’m grateful for the ties that bind.

Girls Night Out

Every other month or so, a group of the guys in our neighborhood get together for Poker Night. I’m not 100% sure how it goes down, but I think someone picks a date, designates someone as host (they take turns) and send out an email. Sometimes we girls find out about it ahead of time, such as when a bunch of us are talking and someone else mentions it; sometimes the discovery happens on the target day (or night!) itself, when our guy mentions they’ll be heading out after dinner, and sometimes it’s not until after the fact. Usually these are the times that our guy can’t make it. (To be fair, I’m sure there are also times, or at least was a time, when I learned about the night well in advance.)

And you know, I think it’s a great idea. I love it when the guys get together, and I’m always bursting with curiosity the next morning. I try not to blast my husband with questions the second he rolls out of bed, because Poker Night usually rolls into the early morning hours, and beer is involved.  So I wait awhile before I start my interrogation. Usually, it goes something like this:

Me:             “So who all was there?”

Him:          [Sips his coffee] “Pretty much all the regulars.”

Me:             “So how’s [Insert’s Guy Name] doing? I heard he had the flu.”

Him:          “The flu? I guess that’s why he wasn’t there.”

Me:             “Well, how did [Insert Guy’s Name] house look? I’m dying to see the new painting.”

Him:          “They painted?”

Me:            [Sigh]  “Well, what about [Insert Guy’s Name]…are they still trying to have a baby?”

Him:         [Insert Are You Crazy Look]  “We don’t talk about that.”

Me:            [Banging head] “Well, did [Insert Guy’s Name] seem okay? I feel so bad about his mom.”

Him:         “What about his mom?”

Me:             [Growl]  “So what did everyone think about the break-in down the street?”

Him:         [Frowns] “It never came up.”

Me:             [About to scream]: “WELL, WHAT DID COME UP? YOU WERE GONE SEVEN HOURS! YOU HAD TO HAVE TALKED ABOUT SOMETHING.”

Him:         [shrugs] “We played poker. I totally schooled [Insert Guy’s Name].”

So they don’t talk. They play cards, with real money. They throw back a few beers. They compete. Someone wins, and someone loses. They go home. I guess it’s a guy thing, right?

With time, the girls in my neighborhood have decided to get in on the action, except we go about things a little differently. For us, the biggest challenge seems to be selecting a date. Whereas the guys pick one and run with it, for us, we come up with a few dates and discuss them via email. Rarely can anyone commit via the first round of emails. We have to check family calendars. We have to see if our guy is going to be in town and come home on time, to check if one of the kids has a sporting event or a party, to make sure we’re not having out of town company or some other commitment. And you know what?  That in and of itself, the very fact that no one can commit without checking with everyone else in the family, is one of the biggest reasons why Girls Night Out is so important. As women, as mothers, our families typically revolve around us. We’re the glue. We’re the cruise director, the drill sergeant. When we step back, time either freezes or collapses. It’s really quite fascinating.

After a flurry of emails, sometimes spanning a few days, a night is selected…a night usually quite far into the future, and Girls Night Out is on.  And really, how great does that sound, Girls Night Out? Immediately images of laughter and Magic Mike come to mind. It’s pretty darn alluring J

Anyway. We finally get our night scheduled, and as we rip ourselves from our homes and our families, from dirty dity dishes and laundry, school projects and deadlines, the most amazing things happens. Time falls away, and we once again return to how it was in the beginning, before kids and husbands, back when it was just us and our girlfriends, gathering at someone’s house for a slumber party, when we’d stay up all night doing each other’s hair, watching scary movies, talking about boys, and the occasional Urban Legend detour involving Bloody Mary and Light as a Feather.

Okay, so we don’t do each other’s hair anymore, and we don’t watch scary movies, but we do talk. A lot. We talk about work and our families, about stuff going on with our kids and our parents, about problems and opportunities, about the neighborhood and our community. About something we heard on the news, on the playground. About what book we’re reading or what movie we just saw (or want to see.)  About an upcoming doctor appointment. About what stresses us, scares us. Terrifies us. The walls come down. We quit trying to be strong, invincible. We quit trying to be the glue that never cracks. We talk, and we laugh, and sometimes we cry. And when the tears come, so do the looks of understanding, and the hugs, and suddenly we’re not alone anymore. We’re not the fulcrum point of our families, but a friend among friends, a woman among other women. They get it. They know. They understand. They’re living parallel lives, and together like that, we all feel stronger somehow, because we know we’re not alone. We know the road we’re on is well traveled.

Consider these research-based facts:

• Women with strong female-based networks live longer than those without them.
• In fact, women without these social networks (support systems, safety nets) risk health issues equivalent to being overweight or a smoker.
• As opposed to fight or flight, women undergoing stress actually seek out others for companionship and support.
• The UCLA School of Medicine actually found that when in the company of girlfriends, a woman’s production of the oxytocin, the feel-good hormone, actually increases.

All this is significantly more sobering when you consider how increasingly isolated so many of us are. According to a sociologist at Duke University, Lynn Smith-Loving, friendships are actually the decline, a devastating consequence of the fast-paced lives more and more of us live.

If you’ve never seen the one-man show Defending the Caveman, you need to. It’s a classic, and it’s spot on. If you have, you know what I’m talking about.

 

It’s funny. There’s a bunko group in our neighborhood, and for years they’ve been inviting me, and I’ve politely turned them down. I’m not sure why. I think it’s because I don’t really know what bunko is, much less how to play. But finally last month one of my super sweet neighbors grinned and said…”We don’t actually PLAY bunko. That’s just what it’s called.”  Oh?  Really? So I went. And she was right. We didn’t play bunko. We gathered first in the hostess’s kitchen, where we indulged in chips and guacamole and other yummy offerings. Then we gathered around the kitchen table, with wine and laughter and stories about kids, families, school, vacations, you name it. No bunko, just camaraderie, and a whole lot of awesome.

Apparently calling the evening Bunko Night draws a firmer parallel to Poker Night, even though nothing could be further from the truth J  But regardless of what you call it, Girls Night Out, Bunko Night, Mom’s Night On The Town, I’ve come to realize that time with friends is like one big group hug, like an endless warm bubble bath. Remember this commercial:

 

And yeah, while I was looking up that commercial, I ran across this one, too.

 

It’s kinda of the opposite end of the spectrum, but it counts, too. It matters. Because it conveys the same message, the woman who does it all.  You. Me. Us. And THAT woman deserves a break…she deserves a group hug and a bubble bath, she deserves a night without anyone spilling milk or asking her to wipe their butt. She deserves to laugh and cut up and be silly. She deserves a girls’ night out. It’s not selfish. It’s not silly. It’s VITAL…and fun  I think that’s why I’m so excited about my Silpada jewelry party coming up next week: girlfriends, jewelry, and wine. I can hardly wait!

The Club

Me and Shana at a booksigning in Houston

Ever been to Target and seen that poor mom with a crying toddler in her cart and two rambunctious other kids running around and screaming all around her feet? Ever been that mom? You know it’s funny, it’s not that I never noticed her before (before being before I became a mom) it’s just that I didn’t really get it. Maybe I judged her a little, or perhaps just misunderstood, but things are different now.

No matter how you come to motherhood you’re automatically, overnight, inducted into a secret club, a camaraderie of women you aren’t quite expecting. At least I wasn’t. Now when I see that mom, I smile and nod in that knowing way. I’ve been on the receiving end of those nods too. We get it. It’s like we’re saying, “I feel you, Mama, and it’s okay, you’re doing a great job.”

one of Emily’s visits when I lived in Tennessee

Motherhood has changed my relationship with my friends too, deepened them. Now we connect on levels we didn’t before. It’s a tight bond. I know we’re in this together and it makes things so much easier on those days when you’re just at your wits end. I remember in those first few days, after the girls had arrived and I was overwhelmed in so many ways and a friend emailed me and said, “whatever you’re feeling right now, it’s totally okay and normal.” I don’t think she’ll ever know what those simple words meant to me. It was like a balm to my wounded soul.

I think I foolishly came into this thinking that because I’d wanted to be a mom for so long, because I’d always been the one that people said, “oh, you’re so natural around kids, you’ll be a great mom!” I expected it, not to be easy, but I didn’t expect to feel the things I felt. Not the impatience or the frustration, but the uglier stuff – the what-the-hell-did-I-do-to-our-lives kind of stuff. And the best thing I did was talk to my friends. That same friend told me that she, on many occasions, had gone into her closet to hide and just cry. Emily told me similar stories. And I’m pretty sure I’ve apologized to her, more than once, for not being sympathetic enough about her motherhood plights before I “got it.” I’ve emailed Shana a million times over for advice and suggestions and she always comes through with tips that I never would have thought of.

Not too long ago, after I blogged on here, a fellow writer and mom emailed me. This is not someone I’m close friends with, I think I’ve only ever met her once. But I guess she could tell from my blog that I was struggling and she just reached out to offer support and resources to help with my struggle. It was unexpected and I was so touched that she will forever hold a special place in my heart. (Thanks, Kris!)

I’ve had countless moments like these. Reminders that I’m not alone. That I’m not crazy. (okay I am totally crazy, but it’s the writing that does that, not so much the parenting) These women welcomed me with open arms into the club, not every minding that I’m not a “traditional” mother, no, they didn’t even wait until the adoption was final. So I want to tell all of you out there, that no matter where you are today, no matter what struggle you’re having, please reach out to the moms you know and know that you’re never alone. We’re all in this together.

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I’m Robyn DeHart, AKA Basket-Case Mama, but not because I’m crazy (though really, what mom isn’t?) but because I have a slight obsession with baskets, well containers really. I’m a bit of an organization nut and I love to containerize stuff. And yes, I’m authorized to use words like that because I am also a writer. But back to the kids, so I’m mom to two ridiculously beautiful little girls and I can say that without bragging because I didn’t actually make them. Last year my husband, The Professor, and I adopted said little lovelies from the foster-care system here in Texas and now we’re a big happy forever family. Busybee is three and so full of joy it just oozes from her. Babybee is a walking-talking toddler who has a heck of a temper but is so cute, it almost keeps her out of trouble. Though neither of my girls are newborns, I’m fairly new to motherhood compared to the other peanut butter moms, but we’ve settled in as a family as if we’ve always been together. When I’m not trying to keep up with my two bundles of energy, you can usually find me on my laptop on Pinterest, no, that’s not right, um…you can find me writing, yes, that’s it, writing my latest historical romance. www.robyndehart.com

Lucy and Ethel ride again

Normally I blog about my kids, but today I want to start what I suspect will probably be a series of blogs about me and my mom. I suspect there are lots of great moms out there, I’ve met many of them, but I dare say you won’t find one better than my mom. She’s great for many reasons, but one of the main ones is because she’s just plain fun to be around. We tease a lot that our antics, which have often involved my sister as well, are very much like Lucy and Ethel from I Love Lucy.

Someday I’ll tell y’all about my mom vs. the bus when we were traveling in London. And someday I’ll tell y’all about her very bad idea involving Ben-Gay. But today I want to tell you about her most recent chuckle-inducing behavior. Now in the last couple of months I was having some medical issues that required weekly visits to the specialist. My mom came with me to those visits because The Professor was teaching summer school.

On one such day we’d left the appointment with some bad news and I was tired and upset and hungry because I hadn’t been able to eat breakfast that day. So we stopped at the first place we saw, which happened to be a McDonalds. We went through the drive-thru and as I was driving around she informed she had to go to the bathroom, so I parked and waited. I was halfway into my Egg McMuffin when I saw her walk to the driver side of the car and then she proceeded to get into the car parked next to us. I was trying to honk and bang on the window to get her attention, but luckily the poor girl sitting in that car (whom she scared half to death) assured her that she was in the wrong vehicle.

Eight days later we were out running errands and we left the store and I was walking to the car and was talking to her, turned around and couldn’t find her. I looked around and called out because I was concerned she might have fallen, but nope, she got in someone else’s car again. And before you think she’s suffering from dementia, she’s not, she’s sharp as a tack. I think it’s mostly that she’s terrible with car descriptions. Both of the vehicles she got in were small SUV’s like mine, but neither were a Honda and neither were blue. And she’s actually done this before…

Several years ago (before I was even married) we had stopped at the small grocery store on the way home and I was driving her car. She had gone into the store and I waited outside. Out of nowhere an intense rainstorm started and by the time she came out it was pouring and when I say pouring, I mean like crazy, fat drops drenching the ground. In any case she came out of the store and proceeded to go to another vehicle even though I was honking trying to get her attention though admittedly I was laughing hysterically too as she actually pounded on the window of the other car. She finally found me, but she looked like a severely wet and irritated cat by the time she got in with me.

So there you go, my mom’s latest funnies. There are more, I assure you. So how about you? Have you ever gotten in the wrong car before? Or what’s the funniest thing that’s happened to you lately?

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I’m Robyn DeHart, AKA Basket-Case Mama, but not because I’m crazy (though really, what mom isn’t?) but because I have a slight obsession with baskets, well containers really. I’m a bit of an organization nut and I love to containerize stuff. And yes, I’m authorized to use words like that because I am also a writer. But back to the kids, so I’m mom to two ridiculously beautiful little girls and I can say that without bragging because I didn’t actually make them. Last year my husband, The Professor, and I adopted said little lovelies from the foster-care system here in Texas and now we’re a big happy forever family. Busybee is three and so full of joy it just oozes from her. Babybee is a walking-talking toddler who has a heck of a temper but is so cute, it almost keeps her out of trouble. Though neither of my girls are newborns, I’m fairly new to motherhood compared to the other peanut butter moms, but we’ve settled in as a family as if we’ve always been together. When I’m not trying to keep up with my two bundles of energy, you can usually find me on my laptop on Pinterest, no, that’s not right, um…you can find me writing, yes, that’s it, writing my latest historical romance. www.robyndehart.com

Will You Be My Mommy Friend?

I am an introvert. I admit it. Have always been one, am currently one, and probably always will be. Some of my writer friends who also claim to be introverts turn into extroverts when they’re around other writers. Not me. I always hang back, watching and waiting until I feel comfortable to join in the conversation.

The other day as my husband and I were driving the girls to Target to let SuperGirl give us an idea of what she wanted for her birthday (she turned 3 yesterday, yay!), we got to talking about how we really need to expand our social circles and start meeting new people and start doing new things. As I’m sure everyone who has young kids knows, this is a lot easier said than done. We’ve good intentions, certainly, but when push comes to shove, something always seems to come up. For me, this is even worse as an introvert, because I can easily talk myself out of any number of things that normally fall outside my comfort zone.

Once inside Target, that conversation on the road led to the recognition of an opportunity. While my family was sorting through the dollar bins (I love those so much!), a very nice mom with two boys under 5 and one on the way came up and just started talking to me–saying how great the dollar toys were, asking about my girls, telling me about her family, etc. Well, conversations between strangers can only go on for so long (especially when you have kids in tow), and we ended the conversation (perhaps a little awkwardly, with me being the introvert I am, lol). A few minutes later, though, my husband tells me that I should go find the woman again and give her my number and email address, to see if she and I can get together with the kids for a playdate sometime. Yeah, he called me on my feel-good speech on the way to Target about meeting new people and doing new things. =P

I hemmed and hawed (of course). “That’s creepy.” “She was just being nice.” “No, YOU don’t go give it to her–that’ll be even worse!” (He did volunteer to find her and give her my information, and–while I appreciate it–I KNEW he would have looked like some crazy stalker and also, it would make me look like I was in the 2nd grade having to ask a friend to pass a note to someone else to be my friend. *sigh*)

So, I did it. *deep breath* Against every natural inclination of my deeply ingrained introvert tendencies, I wrote down my information, put WonderGirl on my hip (you know, because my hope was that she would make me look less creepy), and went to search for the other mom and her kids. I walked ALL AROUND that Target store, looking up and down every aisle, to no avail. Finally, we went outside (to where my husband and SuperGirl had already gone to load the car) and he waves frantically to me, telling me that she’s a few cars away getting ready to leave. In fact, she’s putting her kids in their carseats.

Great. So, as if stalking someone around a Target store isn’t bad enough, I now have to seek them out in the middle of a parking lot where they’re focused on putting their kids in their carseats (which, we all know, can be a mentally exhausting task). But I go. New me and all. I believe my words were something to the effect of, “Excuse me, ma’am. I know this looks creepy, but my husband (I was SO ready to blame him, lol) thought you might be interested in getting together for a playdate sometime.” I didn’t even have WonderGirl on my hip anymore, but I held out my information and she took it. Then–wonder of wonders–she gave me her card and said that sounded like fun.

AND she called me yesterday to actually schedule a playdate. (Because you better believe I was 75% of the way ready to talk myself out of calling HER.)

So, what have I learned in all of this?

1) Being an introvert can really suck sometimes. I need to just do what I’ve heard a million times: ACT like I’m outgoing until I feel like it.

2) Introverts CAN take risks that CAN result in positive outcomes and (hopefully) new friendships.

3) Perhaps other moms out there are as desperate to find another mom to relate to and help preserve her sanity as I am, and perhaps they’re waiting for ME to strike up a conversation in Target. =)

4) I have an amazing husband who knows my faults and challenges me to do better.

5) Starbucks (which I was drinking when this happened) is my liquid courage.

So, fellow moms–are you an introvert? Do you find it difficult to reach out/find other moms? (I joined MOPs at one point, but never really clicked with my group–either time; I’ve learned I’m better in a one-on-one situation than in a large group.) Why is having a friendship with other moms so meaningful to you?

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I’m Elise Rome, AKA Midnight Mama because I’m usually burning the midnight oil. If SuperGirl (3, with a speech delay) and WonderGirl (1, my very own hip attachment) aren’t getting up in the middle of the night, then I’m busy working on writing and writing-related business until early morning…usually 3-4 am or so. Both my husband and I stay home with the girls (he’s a writer, too! www.lukasholmes.com), but usually I’m focused on them throughout the day and only get started working until after 8pm when they’re both in bed. I’m a former Texan now living in Colorado who desperately misses no-snow winters, and my parenting goal is to raise my daughters to be strong, intelligent, and independent women…much like the heroines I write, as a matter of fact. I’m a recovering perfectionist, recovering procrastinator, and perpetually aspire to keep the house clean (because it never actually is). When I’m not chasing around my daughters or adoring my cooking/cleaning/diaper-changing husband of 8 years, I write historical romances about women who fascinate me and men who somehow always remind me of Rhett Butler, the first literary hero who captured my heart. www.eliserome.com