Watch over 'em....they may start thinkin'...

I'm entering this whole adult world and its scary.
I want the old days back when my biggest drama was whether or not to sit in Katie's room talking shit about the rival sorority and what color my newest highlights should be or just to stay in my own where I could smoke cigarettes and recruit passerbys to join in the fun. If you shove a meeting or class in my gossip time, well then the world just ended my friend.

I figure other people are navigating this weird adult/parent thing similarly to me. That's why these groups were formed in small communities throughout the world called 'civic groups'. Civic group, leadership group, social club, hell...the PTA to some extent is a group formed so former sorority women, athletes, chess clubbers and frat boys can find a way to belong again. To be wanted. The more exclusive the group, the larger void that gets filled within us.
I'd even go so far to say that this void has been filled for centuries. So ring the four hundred year old bell....cause we've just arrived at the Mason's doorstep.

I've had several men in my family be a part of a Masonic lodge. The masons are known for their secrecy, their air of mystery, the amount that is not allowed to be known to the outside world. You have to be invited in, and once in---you aren't out and normally you never want out. It's fun to think of Benjamin Franklin shouting 'A skull above any other!' with that kid from Dawson's creek standing beside him.....you get the idea.

I imagine that being so far away from our family and friends isn't any easier for Brian. Here lately, he's been expressing more and more interest in joining a lodge. If it'll make him happy, give him an outlet and he can make more friends, I'm supportive.

They even have a part of the masons that is a branch out group for women, called Eastern Stars. I can dig it. Masons have their secret thing, girls have theirs.....I've always been one for same sex organizations. Mostly because it'd be weird to talk about Suzie's hellacious bikini wax or pregnancy constipation with Bill hanging around.

A few weeks ago, we were talking to a mason we knew about Brian joining and I mentioned that I was interested in learning what I could about the Eastern Stars.

"Yeah....they do good work. You know, help us fund raise, they have their own little ceremony. It's cute. The Eastern Stars though have to have an initiated Mason present in order to conduct a meeting."

Wait. What???
I ask if an Eastern Star is at mason meetings and of course, they aren't and wouldn't be allowed. When I inquire as to why the rule... and I quote:

"Well, you know...it's for the ritual. A mason has to be there to make sure it's being followed properly."

In case you aren't yet as floored as I was, let's revisit college for a moment.

If you were in a sorority, you remember the butt load of rules that went with everything from recruiting new members to the brand of toilet tissue that is suggested and even comes with all the necessary risk management forms to fill out before you pee. We would cut our own bangs before we told the 'secret' handshake or knock....and we made snazzy references to our ritual in letters to each other while swearing to never, ever utter a word of our sacred passages to any non initiated member.

If you were in a fraternity, well----have at it. But remember, headquarters did request you have the over 21 alumni buy the keg. Don't make the pledge get in trouble and go to jail...yet. Yeah, they taught a handshake. And if you do it just right, hahaha, it looks just like the shocker.

Let's fast forward to right after getting married. We women learn and keep many a secret learned during those first few years of marriage. We form our own new secret society of young married women---pioneering uncharted territory together. We had each others backs, shared tales of getting dinner ready, hair curled, extra files from work completed, all while publicly swearing we always love gender roles and think when he leaves his wet towel on the carpet it's 'cute' because his mom said he's done it since he was 4. Cute. Reeeeeeal cute.

So now--we've graduated from higher education, obtained careers, had children and have stayed close with those women who know and love us best. We choose to support both our husbands and selves in joining one of the last 'big girl sororities' left.

Hey, we'd all love to join the Junior League but let's face it honey...you're hair just isn't big enough.

So the women folk can't be trusted to light a candle by themselves? Are they scared we'll put a 'you' instead of 'thou' when reciting some ritual? God forbid.......some strong man better watch over us with a quickness before we screw it all up.

But first I have to finish my masters and recalculate our 5 year financial plan...but I'll be sure to get on that barefoot in the kitchen with curlers in my hair real quick...

Does our PPO cover injuries of War?Mommy Wars?

It's Daniel's first birthday party--let the Mommy Wars begin.

I don't care who you are, what letters go behind your name, or what self help book Oprah is pushing this month that teaches you to embrace yourself....we all participate in Mommy Wars. From conception, we gauge which pre natal vitamins are better than the other, whose maternity clothes could cure autism, whether or not Sally had an epidural (and if she did, how far dilated was she when she got it "Oh....you got one at 4 centimeters? I wanted to hold out until 7....I heard it helps them read faster. But don't worry, I"m sure Billy's speech impediment will go away soon."). Then, once then kid is born, the entire first year is a build up to the first birthday party. I've known women who spent more on this damn birthday party than they did on their Honeymoon. And I'm not over exaggerating(yet).

It's going to be a cookout that is Chicago Cubs themed. Specific enough to be cute, while vague enough to be hard as hell to buy for. Guest list is 30 of our family and friends, none of whom I'm sure give a durn whether the napkins are baseball themed, solid red or blue, or get monogrammed with his initials and birth date. But for those who are unlucky enough to be called my best friends, they'll get to hear about this and other life altering decisions almost daily for 6 weeks leading up to the big day.

We've planned this party to be in North Carolina, which of course, is the best state in the country---and compared to other nations around the globe, might as well be the land flowing with milk and honey.

It's Friday, Daniel's actual birthday and the day before his party. Brian's mother, brother, and sister-in-law have flown in for this specific function alone.

Friday morning, after getting up and ready to take Daniel to breakfast at Timberwoods (the best damn place to get breakfast on I-40 by the way), Brian tells me he's feeling kinda crampy "down there". Well that's a romantic statement first thing in the morning.
Considering I've either called, texted or confronted Brian with the most pressing issues of the moment, such as the newest fondant icing maneuvers, I know he's had no time to stray. So he's either slept in a weird position the night before, or he could possibly be having the second kidney stone of his life. I feel so bad for him after seeing him the last time he was in that much pain, I'm almost hoping he's found a new "friend". Hey, but just almost.

Halfway through breakfast, Brian is almost positive it's a kidney stone. Honestly, I'm just happy this popped up on the day before the party instead of the morning of. (Selfish, I know).

To diagnose the kidney stone, they'll most surely need to do a CT scan, which can't be done in a doctors office and most urgent cares do not have the equipment. We'll have to go to the Emergency Room.

Driving to the ER, I'm still going over these dang lists. Get cupcake mix, white icing, food coloring, multi brands of chips, hot dog buns, onion, etc.
Hey, kidney stones are fixable. First birthday party pictures last a lifetime here people.

It's around 10am when we park at the ER.
Going into the ER, I notice at the check in window there is a woman around her late forties to early fifties with medicaid card in the left hand, blackberry in her right. She's speaking to the RN as though Nurse Betty clearly has a hearing impairment and only understands languages of the Southern variety kicked up four decibels to educate the hard of hearing.

"Yesss.that's what I had toooollld ya'll. Hur throat is 'bout half swollen shut. ALL SHUT! Hur right arm is numm. Yup...nummm and tingalin reeel bad. She's in pain too. And cudn't walk fur nothing in here either. Mmm-hmmm....she ain't feelin good t'all."

Well damn! Where is the gurney?!? Somebody get this poor thing a wheelchair!

I'm looking around knowing I'm going to see an angelic 12 year old sprawled out on the sanitized tile looking ghost faced and ashey while wearing a white choir robe mouthing church hymns because she wants to praise Jesus in her last moments.

I turn to the right and the only other person in the Emergency Room is a 17 year old Emo Avril Lavigne with a black box dye job, a black t-shirt with the ever popular swirlies in silver, and ripped black sweatpants that obviously didn't come in size dumb ass. Our sweetheart has taken her hair scrunchie and tied the pants tighter around her waist to reveal what now looks like a fabric nub above her ass crack.
Mom looks over at her never gonna be reformed Trailer Park sweetheart and says, "Any better baby?"
Pointing with her chipped star bright nailpolish, Pollyanna whispers, "Na....it hurts reeeeel baaaaad mama. Like, right heere."

I didn't have the heart to tell mama that the swelling and fresh red bruise is probably a hickey courtesy of Bubba's advances from Thirsty Thursday's at the night Owl.

Oh hell no.
I have 35 cupcakes to frost and decorate not to mention 24 balloons to get to a helium take and a fondant Chicago cubs smash cake to pick up....before the end of the business day.

I look at Brian and shoot a "follow me here" type stare.
"Listen babe....play it up cause she is NOT bumping us in the line." My sweet husband fakes a limp to the triage room. I knew he was in it for the team effort.
Two hours later with Percocet prescription in hand, we're out. Brian does in fact have a kidney stone that hopefully (and hopefully is apparently a medical term) will not block his urine flow until next week when we can make it to the Urologists office that was able to blast Brian's last stone.
Life, as always, was laughing at the plans we had made for the party which resulted in a detour trip to Statesville to drop off Daniel so his grandmother, aunt and uncle would be able to at least have one night of quality time with their newest family member.
Also on the agenda was leaning on my dad and sister's help to pick up said custom cake and begging my mom to make the cupcakes with my promise that I would ice them later.
All said and done, the party was a blast that Daniel will never remember (hell, Brian might not either with those pills) and another battle won in the ever on going Mommy Wars.
We triumphed over Emo.

And the pictures will be fabulous.

I'm killin' the Keebler

Years ago in college, you couldn't just introduce someone by their name.

"Hey, Michelle! This is Stephanie...I've wanted you two to meet! Steph is a junior, just joined Alpha Gamma Delta last year, is doing Communications and oh my gosh, is dating the hottest guy ever. No really, ever! Michelle's mom a detmatologist and they just got back from that awesome vacay to Ireland. By the way, LOVE that Coach... Ya'll would totally hit it off!!"

Okay...so none of the guys I ever dated might have been described as the hottest guy ever, but you get the point.

I used to BE somebody! I was defined by my whole person. What I lived in, who I hung out with, what I explored. Now??
I'm Daniel's mom.
Yup---that's about it.

I imagine if the same conversations were to take place now (and in fact, I've seen them happen in countless Piggly Wiggly's)
"Hey Michelle! Have you met Steph? She has a son about 2 months younger than your David. Michelle's son just got approved at that Tabernacle daycare. Can you believe what a waiting list they have? Oh wait....is that the Keebler coupon??"

So because Michelle and I have both managed to effectively use our uterus in the past decade, we should now be friendship soulmates for the rest of eternity? I don't think so, precious.
I used to be somebody. I used to have thoughts worth hearing. I used to be sought after for a friendly ear, a fun dinner, someone worth asking to the Piggly Wiggly for more than her damn Keebler coupon as incentive.
What happened???
I refuse to be lumped into the category of 'sweet mom', or 'makes awesome cupcakes' just to be tossed aside in some cabinet of blanket descriptions never to see the light of day again until we can toss 'sweet Nana with the gross underarm flab' in with my bio. I will get my own identity back. And sweet Jesus, I'm gonna tell you how I'll do it. Better yet, I'll show you.
One post at a time....