Babies & The Seams of Friendship

These are the thoughts on my mind this morning, after drumming louder and louder this week. Thoughts related to pregnancy, life as it's been so far affected by our pregnancy, and my attempt at trying to normalize after our normal is changing... just enough that all of life seems like it's turning on its head.

I get it now.

When we first joined our old Sunday School class at the Peoples' Church in '07, the February before we got married, it was overflowing with a variety of newly (and nearly) wed couples in their early twenties to early thirties - navigating through the nuances of a new (and upcoming, in our case) marriage. It was such a wonderful season for us, making friends and learning... even as some of the couples started having their first (or second, in some cases) babies. Because I love babies. And always had. It was like having class mascots that I pined after holding at group get-togethers. 

But with that, lying under the surface of the excitement for these couples we liked so much, was this hidden shift that was taking place somewhere in the behavior of those relationships - tugging at seams that were once held by marital status alone and now had changed so much with children on the way. At parties, the pregnant women would sort of sequester themselves off to each other - chatting about the things us non-pregnant women couldn't quite yet relate to. Not that I would have been unable to enjoy or learn from those conversations, but would have had nothing to add. As much as that sometimes hurt back then, a part of me understands it now. 

Except that I no longer find myself in a steady community in which to do any sequestering. We are no longer in that community, as that shift itself pointed to changes in the seasons of those couples' lives - where newly-marriedness was not so much the issue as parenting - and things devolved from there... we are slightly hanging in the balance as far as community goes. 

So, instead of gravitating towards a subset of people within a group, there is no group in which to live a subset. That lends itself to then moving now towards my individual friendships. And I think it's been easier for some to move along with me in this transition, and I with them, because our ties have never had anything to do with marital status - just similarity of thought and hope and dream, and yet such differences in staging of life that there is grace to be encountering new and altered states of being without feeling the need to either pull away or speed up to that state. So it's not a betrayal of any sort of expectation that one must be as we are - married without the responsibility (or humdrum, as some might see it) of kids.

I've begun to feel, in a way, that instead of being the one to pull away - we are being pushed, just every so slightly, to the edges of relationships where we may not be quite as weightless in the thinking, the changing, the preparing of such a circumstance in life. And while I expected that to happen after the arrival of our little one, I didn't expect it to be so soon before.

Seams of friendship.

And all of that gets me thinking about, again, the difficulty of friendships as an adult. I look at relationships like the ones Cliff's sister Wendy and her husband Brad have with their closest friends - and the reason it works is because their friendship has been so long-standing and was not stitched together by the idealism of marital or parental status but by similarity of heart. It's only when those things get mixed into the same bag that it gets funky and slightly tenuous.

It's why some friendships that moms form with other moms are done out of a feeling of necessity and then at some point years into their kids' friendships, the two... or three... or four... realize they have nothing in common with each other. Or the way it is with couples when we try, for our spouse's sake, to be friends with the spouse of their friend and we may fool ourselves for awhile that it's working... but it doesn't. Or even, when newly-marriedness seems a cause worth rallying together a band of doe-eyed, hopeful husbands and wives that begins to slowly become unraveled as demography changes.

So what does that mean? Do we then look to those people to whom our lives were stitched together out of the desire for company - not of like-livedness but mindedness or hopefulness or spiritedness - and try to reinforce and update them? Are we to hope that somehow any seams laid on the basis of status become over-stitched by one of true and lasting friendship while pulling slowly at that of circumstance?

How do we hold onto the friendships and relationships we have... and love... and are so grateful for, while moving forward into a family of three when the unspoken rule, for just a little while longer, might have been two. Because the fact is, everyone has known this was coming and yet in some ways we feel faulted for being the ones to move forward. We'll have been married just over four and a quarter years when we have our baby... and will have just barely eclipsed seven years of life spent together, just before or after he or she arrives (depending on how early he or she wants to arrive). This is our time.

But we still need friends.

I think that's pretty self-explanatory.

I Wish That Happened More Often

As much as a husband and wife can fulfill each other, it is a necessity to draw from others. Women need women, and men need men.

And it's strange how we crave it. Distinctly and separately.

Cliff is happy to sit with a friend in front of the television playing old school Nintendo, drinking a beer, and maybe having an occasionally riveting, thoughtful conversation about, well, the things that pique the minds of men.

Me? I want things like my lunch this afternoon with three women whose being makes me believe in the goodness of this world, and the rightness that can be in friendships, no matter where you live - how often you see each other - or what kinds of experiences you've had together. I wish that happened more often.

I am so tired of surface.
So tired of pretention.
So tired of people afraid or unsure of how to share the mess - and thus, the messages.

And yet, I fail to admit to anyone (except for God and Cliff, really) how lonely I feel in relationship to the kinds of people I want to truly be friends with - share life with - learn from - and care for. I don't tell people what they mean to me, and yet daily I question my worth in the eyes and opinions and lives of even my closest friends. But I don't tell them that, because who wants to be needy? And because how many of my own friends do I make feel the same way?

That, right there, seems to be yet another distinction between men and their friendships. I can't tell you the last time Cliff ruminated over some flaw or perceived failure in this friendships - they just are what they are. He doesn't analyze them or calculate ways in which he can make them what he wants to be - he just makes them so.

And I don't know how to do that.

The Valentine's Surprise

Okay, so if you've been following us long enough you know that surprises are a common occurrence around here. Cliff loves creating them and I like being the giver of the "oh my goodness!" It used to be the other way around when we were dating, but I think ever since our engagement on top of Big Frog, Cliff's been on a kick that won't quit. And I don't mind.

He'd been telling me for about two weeks that he had something planned for the evening so I didn't need to worry about putting anything together (last year I whipped up steak, roasted garlic mashed potatoes, and chocolate fondue... thank you, again, PW).

Yesterday we spent the day kind of out and about. We've never spent a weekend Valentine's Day together so it was nice to just have the whole day. I had scheduled some portfolio "engagement" sessions with some friends of ours for the day (and today!), so Cliff played assistant and helped me switch lenses, scout out locations, and gave general suggestions for different shots. It was so great to have him with me and I'm thankful for a husband who is willing to share in this experience with me.

By the time we finished up, it was back home to do some editing for a bit and "get ready" for his surprise. Before leaving, he gave me a surprise (go figure!) gift which was just enough money to purchase Adobe Lightroom for my photo editing. After we celebrated, searched online, and purchased it he mentioned needing to head out for a bit and that he'd be back in time enough for us to get cleaned up and go. Well, I wandered off into Photoshop land and in no time he was back and knocking at the door. I opened up and there were white daisies and grocery bags in tow!

CLIFF MADE ME DINNER.
For the first time, ever!

And I was just shocked and so pleased and happy and smitten it was ridiculous. Not to mention, proud. Because he didn't just go anywhere to pick a recipe. He, knowing my deep admiration for Pioneer Woman, scoured through her recipes online and picked, unbeknownst to him, my favorite recipe of hers (of all time, hands down, no competition). He forgot that I had made it before, a long time ago (probably September 28, 2007... the day after it was posted) and thought it might be something I'd like. Was he ever right!

We enjoyed his delicious culinary creation with with the company of Chardonnay, Candlelight, Norah Jones and finished off with a few Schakolad chocolates from our Lampo Christmas giftbox. Then, to top it off, Cliff borrowed a Hallmark movie (featuring my favorite actress) from Julie a couple of weeks ago, knowing I hadn't seen it and that I'd more than likely love it. We watched the movie while nibbling on our favorite break-and-bakes and drinking milk, and it was perfect.

Just perfect.

Out of the Garage

I kind of had a rough end to my workday yesterday. Completely unrelated to work, but nonetheless distracting from it. I hopped in the car completely aware of a sort of bottomed-out feeling that I just couldn't shake.

In some odd twist of humor, as I started out from the bottom floor of the garage (two levels underground), I saw a squirrel frantically skirting along the edges looking for a way out. My first instinct was to question the possibility of him being down there, and then, when I recalled that any of the three access points at "ground level" could have given him entrance, it made a little more sense. Soon after, the sympathetic animal-lover / emotional-being that I am felt both a pity and a strange camaraderie. How would he find his way out? How would I find my way out?

Not out of the garage, of course. But out of this mess. This indelicate ripping off of a bandage that had been so mindlessly placed over what is now more than a year-old wound, and yet still feels so fresh. I talked with Cliff, I talked with Mom, I prayed. But you know what did it for me? A walk outside.

Sure, yesterday called for rain but there wasn't a drop of it and a cloudy sky couldn't deter me from throwing on my tennis shoes, a pair of shorts, my "I like switchfoot." shirt, and a hoodie and stepping out into it all, once I got home. On the drive home, I thought I wanted silence - space to think. But my route took me along a residential street with mild traffic that parallels I-65 less than a yard away, separated by a thin strip of trees and a barbed-wire fence. And strangely enough, the proximity was therapeutic.

I can't tell you how liberating it felt to walk so closely to an interstate that you literally feel the wind whip off the sides of every car driving by. I walk slow, they drive fast. And the sound was enough that I didn't have to think. Every car flying by seemed to take with it a small portion of the hurt, the burden, and the confusion, at least enough that it wasn't so all-consuming any longer.

The Lord is funny, I think. And I am grateful he knows me and prompts me to do some things sometimes that don't make sense. Most of what plagued me for hours yesterday afternoon just feels, well, it feels lighter. I couldn't tell him what was on my heart, but He knew and He used that walk to pull me out of the proverbial bottom floor of the garage... thank goodness.

For Cee-Bird

(So, her birthday isn't until Saturday, the 5th, but we'll be at the lake so I wanted to make sure I got this taken care of. This is a big birthday year for both of my siblings!)

Happy Eighteenth to my (not-so) little sister!

I can't believe she's an adult now, at least according to the people who regulate films and also the U.S. Constitution. It seems it can hardly be possible. Especially when I look at pictures like this:


I remember sitting on that same porch/deck/paved area of our house in Cumberland, Maryland pouting on the day everyone came to celebrate her first birthday. That first year wasn't easy. Though I loved having a baby sister, it meant my reign of six years as an only child was over and that was a hard adjustment. But as time drew on, I came to love and adore my fiery little sister, the princess, or "ornery" as she was sometimes called. (And who is still as fiery as ever.)

We are so very different in a million ways and yet sometimes I find myself taken aback by the similarities we share. And I am grateful for both our differences and our commonalities. It makes us who we are.

And now she's not a little girl or just a teenager. She's eighteen. And those early-nineties puffballs in the snow are all grown up and either dipping their toes into (in the case of Cearra) or barely up to their knees (in my case, having only recently turned twenty-four) in the sea of adulthood. And more than ever now, they are friends.


And for that I am incredibly grateful.

Some Thoughts on Friendship

I haven't left for Atlanta yet (in an hour!) and I couldn't help but feel like I wanted to blog about something Cliff and I have been discussing as of late and thought others might be able to contribute to.

Is it just us, or does friendship - true friendship - get harder to come by and to sustain as you get older?

"There are not many things in life so beautiful as true friendship, and not many things more uncommon.” - unknown

I saw this quote the other day and couldn't help but think how true it was. But why is it this way, now, when ages ago it seemed not so? And how does one known when they have found "true friendship"? Is it something you just know - is it something proven - or is it something unmistakeable the moment it becomes that?

Cliff has had the blessing of having a best friend since kindergarten. That best friend was his best man in our wedding. I on the other hand, have had hiccups of friendship, that although sometimes short-lived, were still incredibly strong for the season. I was talking to the women in our women's group the other day about how I sometimes miss those all-consuming and self-identifying friendships of elementary, middle, and high school and even of college. I was fortunate, even as an introvert, to always have a "crew", as people liked to call them back in the day, that I spent my time with. You could share anything, the silly, the ridiculous, the heart-wrenching... anything.

Nowadays, and for the last couple of years, Cliff and I have that in each other. Which is great and we love it. We truly are best friends.

But that doesn't mean there isn't or hasn't been a place in our lives to continue new and old friendships with women (for me) and men (for him) and with couples (for both of us). We've been blessed and really can't complain to have had the opportunity to make good friends along the way and to be meeting so many new people who we're getting to spend more time with and get to know better. We'd be lying, though, if we said everything was perfect and that we weren't longing for more. To cut deeper than the surface with, to go through hardships with, to share life with, and to be challenged by friends that won't just be for yesterday or now but for a lifetime.

And then we remember we're 23 and 24 and lifetimes don't start now. But are we building the necessary foundations? Are we doing everything we can to foster not just good but true friendships? Are we letting ourselves get hurt by the disappearance or dwindling of current friendships? We see people like Wendy and Brad with this group of friends, four couples to be exact, who share so much of their lives together. And even though they were friends in high school, they didn't really start this level of their friendship until their mid-thirties or so.

We have friendships we treasure - and I wonder if the problem is that the true friendships don't exist or that we all don't do a good enough job of affirming. Or is it that affirmation changes? No longer do we say things like "I love you" (except for one friend who surprises me always and blesses me with the exchange we share at the end of every phone conversation), or even silly things like "LYLAS" or "BFF" or "You're my best friend." We don't get touchy feely and we don't let others know what they mean to us. And we're as guilty of that as anyone, because there are people we love so dearly it feels like our hearts would fall to pieces if we lost them but we bet they don't know it. And that's the shame of it all...

I know we're not destined for a life of shared friendship only between the two of us, though that wouldn't be all bad. It's just collectively, as a pair, we want more. Because we know it's those relationships that refine our marriage and "give value to survival" as C.S. Lewis puts it.

But we know we're not going to get without giving, and maybe what's missing will be filled in by our own ventures to learn how to be more than just good friends, but true friends.

Maybe.