It never fails...

You can plan a play-date.

Set up the play tent.

Outfit it with tea party stuff.

Buy new water colors.

And even glitter glue.

But ultimately, the kids will have the most fun blowing up 2 old balloons that they found under the bed, and letting them go in each other's faces, yelling "Who farted?" about fifty million times.

Snippity Snapshots

My gal pal just sent me some very sweet photos of Soph.  As I, her mother, haven't seen fit to take any pictures of her in the past 4 months, I'm sure glad someone else has.

The first two have a bit of a story behind them.  Soph's two best friends are dare devils.  She is not.  So when they thought up the awesome plan of towing one another behind the Barbie Jeep in a bike egg, she immediately said, "Woah girls.  I'm going to need my helmet for that one!"

Here the two of us are at the Montessori Mothers' Day  party.

And this last one is just a day at the park early in the spring.

In further news, I made plans for her birthday party today.  Even if I only invite kids who invited her to their birthday this year, I'm going to end up with about 15.  Plus grandmas, and great grandmas, and other genetic hangers on.  We've officially outgrown ice cream at Grandee's.  So I bit the bullet, reserved a pavilion at the city park, and ordered up a bounce house.  It's too pricey, but I'm hoping that the grandmas will contribute to the bounce house in lieu of buying her more crap.  If any of y'all are in town on August 9th, join us for some sweet, sweet, bouncy fun.

Sunshine and Butterflies

Ok, Ok.  I've been on a bit of a downer the last few posts.  Sorry.  My plan is to cowgirl the hell up and forge ahead with a spring in my step and a song in my mother effing heart.

To that end, here is a (shortish) list of things that make me glad.

1.  Budweiser "Real Men of Genius" ads.  I know.  Lame.  And it's number one on the list.  But that is some funny shit.  My particular favorite is "Mr. Cellphone Holster Wearer."  Because I totally know that guy.
2.  Avocados.
3.  My tomato plants.
4.  Thunder storms.
5.  Punctuating phrases with periods.
6.  Joe Strummer.
7.  Californication--the TV show, not the song.  Watch it.  It has tons of heart.  Well, and tons of boobs.  But an equal amount of heart and boobs.

Wonk

I've been doing better in general the last few months.  More with the exercise.  Less with the snacks.  More with the positive outlook.  Less with the self loathing.

Enter this week.

Things have been down right wonky.  I'm talking cookie dough, pizza, Maui Sweet Onion Kettle Chips, in bed half the day, not washing my hair, seeing a wookie every time I look in the mirror wonky.

And I wish I knew why.

Something tipped.  Something that was causing me to feel the need to take care of myself and be productive and positive has gone awry.
I
n my head I list possibilities.  My first day back at school is August 7th.  (There is simply no August in summer vacation anymore.)  E has switched jobs (I think I can safely say that now that he's officially told his old job.) and is working both for a short time.  The house is for sale (because not having a yard is an issue).  But really, I don't feel actively upset about any of these things.

What I feel is tired.  What I feel is apathy.  What I feel is hungry.  What I feel is afraid.

You know, it might have something to do with being taught, the whole time I was growing up, that the apocalypse, the actual end of days, was probably going to happen in my life time.  The "Second Coming" was always coming, and you had better have all your ducks in  a row.

So when the world begins to feel unbalanced, I start feeling like I should start hoarding water and gas and, shit, I don't know, cracker snacks.  Gas prices go up, and I immediately feel like the whole basis of Western society is going to fall to bits and I'm going to end up running through burning streets, clutching my daughter's hand, dodging bullets and searching for a cave or something to wait out the last great battle in.  (With cracker snacks.)

I read about the economy failing, and my stomach decides that digesting itself is a reasonable response, as we probably won't be able to afford bread soon.

Some Mormons in recovery spend a lot of time focusing on the guilt that the church built into their lives.  For me, it's the fear.  And I don't really know how to deal with it.

So if you should see me at the grocery store, buying flats of canned goods and sacks of flour, just give me a big hug, and reassure me that the end, isn't in fact, nigh.  That things get sketchy, and wonky sometimes, but that it will be OK.

A quick Soph said

I'm determined to not throw away ANY produce.  It's so damn expensive.  The nectarines were getting a little past, so I decided to make smoothies as a snack for Soph and her pal as their afternoon snack.  A little banana, nectarine, ice, milk, wizz in the blender.  I was feeling pretty proud of myself when I presented them both a nice cool, frothy, healthy treat.  Until Soph squealed.

"Jesus mom what is this?  A bubbling vomit swamp?"

(Note to self.  WAY less with the Jesus, or we're going to be ridden out of town on a rail.)

A word about yoga

Sophie has yoga camp today.  She LOVES it.  I signed her up at the studio where I used to take yoga but stopped several months ago.  Because, as I came to find out, I fucking hate yoga.

Ok.  That was a little strong.

Thing is, I used to really love it.  Sure I'd feel a little uncomfortable (read: like a beached whale) sometimes, but generally managed to push through it.  Not so much anymore.

It's a lot of little things, I guess.  The phrase that goes through my head about 80 times whenever I go to a class, "Why don't you shove it up your perfect little enlightened ass?" kind of sums it up though.

See, WAY back in the day when I was still going to church, people would sit around, talking (read: bragging) about "feeling the spirit."  It's a Mormon thing.  And I'd sit there feeling like shit on a stick, because I wasn't feeling it.

Enter the yoga folk.  And their cleansing breaths.  And their flowing energy.  And I find myself back there on the pew, wondering if they are full of sparkly, enlightened bullshit, or if I'm somehow inherently flawed because I'm not getting it.

Add being surrounded by teeny bendy bodies, while mine is neither teeny, nor bendy (I have boobs people.  Laying on my stomach and trying to raise my legs is uncomfortable and embarassing.  And don't even ask me to turn upside down until there have been some serious, serious advancements in the field of boob support, because I'm likely to be smothered by my own tits.)

Yeah, yeah, I know it's not a competition, and that I'm suppose to modify and blah, blah, blah.  Also, it hasn't escaped my attention that the root of the problem is (possibly) ME and not a centuries old practice embraced by millions.

But I still fucking hate it.

Melt Down

Sophie is currently in the middle of a full fledged melt-down.  She's on her top bunk with the covers pulled over her head wailing about how no one likes her, her mom isn't nice, she isn't nice, her life is too hard, etc.

The impetus for this Sophie melt?  I bought the wrong hair clips at Walgreens.

The real story behind the tears?

I have my theories.

The main one is that it is just too, too fucking hot.  So hot.  By 10:00, it's 90 degrees and climbing.  She wants to be outside and run around and go to the park and ride her scooter.  But 1/2 a block down the road the reality of the heat sets in.

Also, she's bored out of her mind.  There is only so much I can do.  We invite friends over.  Go swimming, bowling, do crafts--but ultimately, there are hours to be filled.  We have no yard.  She has no siblings here during the week (and Janz isn't much of a playmate when he is here on the weekends.  What 14 year old boy wants to entertain his spoiled 5 yr old sister) and even an imaginative and resourceful little mind runs out of things to do after weeks an weeks.

A sub-category to the above is that she's bored with me.  And frankly, I'm bored with her too.  Ok.  Let's tell it like it is.  She's driving me bat-shit crazy.  I'm about done meeting the wants/needs/desires/requests/ of my daughter.  Every time I hear "Mama?" "Mom?" "Mommy?" I know that it will be followed with some THING she wants/needs/desires/or is requesting of me.  And guess what?  I don't wanna.  I don't want to get anything down or put anything up or open or close or listen to or watch or do or undo.  Anything.

It's not her fault.  It's not really mine either.  It just is.

So she watches too much TV (well, movies because the satellite is out) and I read too many books (Let's see, this week I've blasted through  The Good Fairies of New York, Gossamer, Dragonbait, Good Omens, and another book of short stories that I can't remember.).  I sometimes reassure myself that back in "olden times" when people couldn't go outdoors, they would sit around and tell stores, and that we're basically just doing that, although our stories are watched and read instead of listened to.  But really I know that's bullshit.
I'd take her up the mountain, but there's always that one thing smack in the middle of the day that prevents it. 

Today it's kid's yoga at 2:30; tomorrow I'm going to work at the jewelry store.

Excuses excuses.

Sweet, sweet summertime

(This entry is also posted at www.missuzj.com, my new blog address. I'll be simul-blogging until the end of the month, and then will be posting exclusively at www.missuzj.com.)

It's so hard to post anything lately. It just seems like I have nothing to say. Tales of play dates and laundry aren't particularly engrossing.

The summer days are drifting away one at a time. Soon it will be July 4th, and then it's a quick slide down a steep hill to the school year.

Soph and I are having a really nice time together. She has swimming lessons every day at one, and while she still isn't actually swimming, she's getting close. Hopefully by the end of the summer we'll be able to go to the pool without packing the floaties. We've hosted several play dates, and I just love to spy on her and hear what she says to her friends when she thinks I'm not listening. Of course, the last time I interrupted her to tell her it was time to clean up, she was chanting "bippity bobbity boo" under her breath. When I left the room, I heard her say, "Crap. She didn't disappear."

No major mishaps so far (knock wood) other than a little run in she had with a ceiling fan. We were at a party at some friends' house, and I NEVER have much to drink when I'm being the "primary care giver," but E wasn't drinking and I was introduced to Sr. Mojito. Damn. Anyway, she climbed up on a bunk bed (unbeknowst to me) and there was a ceiling fan about 2 feet above it (!!) and she stood up and got clocked in the forehead. It could have been way worse, but I felt/feel pretty freakin' guilty for not paying better attention.

We've started reading short chapter books together at bed time. After blasting through a couple of Disney Fairies books (not as bad as you might think) we've started reading the Ramona books which she gets a pretty big kick out of. I enjoy reading them to her, so it's win-win.

I'm still Weight Watchering. Actually, I'm down 20 pounds, but have gotten pretty complacent the last few weeks. I need to step it back up. Thing is, getting skinny is a little scary. The fat is there for a reason. Not 100% sure what that reason is--that would be way to thoughtful and introspective of me--but as it started coming off, I did feel a little bit of panic.

I did notice, after a weekend of cocktails and cheese and s'mores and no exercise at the family cabin, (aside--the next time you are making s'mores, put a flat rock just close enough to the fire to warm it. While toasting your marshmallow, place a graham cracker on the rock with your chocolate on it. The chocolate will get all melty, and from there, it's just food porn. I'll let you use your imagination)that I felt tired and cranky--like I did when I first had the Epstein Barr diagnosis. So--wait--eating well and exercising makes your body feel better? Oh. Why didn't anyone ever tell me that before. ;)

Comment Whore wants to know:

How do you like your roasted marshmallows? Flaming? Golden? Do you have a technique?

Talet Show Video

(This entry is also posted at www.missuzj.com, my new blog address. I'll be simul-blogging until the end of the month, and then will be posting exclusively at www.missuzj.com.)

Remember the South Elementary Variety Show? Sophie had such high hopes for her "performance" and then some serious stage fright turned her sweet solo into a dubious duet? (Alliteration strikes again!)

I finally received the video from the PTA, and after 2 hours of trying to figure out Windows Movie Maker and YouTube, I just may just be ready to share it with you.

Tuesday Redux

(This entry is also posted at www.missuzj.com, my new blog address. I'll be simul-blogging until the end of the month, and then will be posting exclusively at www.missuzj.com.)

One of the greatest things about updating the blog has been going back through old posts. I can't believe I've been doing this for 3 years, and I'm so, so grateful to myself for recording all of those "toddler moments" from when my girl was little(r). So, I've arbitrarily chosen Tuesday as redux day. I'll just pull a post from the archives, and have a look back at what Soph and I were doing around this day 1, 2, or 3 years ago. Lazy, eh?

Today's flashback is from 3 years ago.

6/19/05
THE CANDY MAN

I have yet to see the third, sixth, whatever it is, newest Star Wars movie. I'm not a die hard Star Wars fan, but I was disappointed by numbers 1&2 or 4&5, or whatever. No Han Solo (insert purring growl in appreciation of young Harrison Ford with a blaster), shitty directing, annoying amphibious creatures. Sophie has not seen any of "new" Star Wars movies, but, because of a strange connection she's made regarding Darth Vader, she's already his number one fan.

You see, the very first Pez dispenser that she happened to receive was Darth Vader. She knew nothing about his betrayal of the Jedi, or cyborg soullessness. All she knew was that if you lifted up his head--CANDY! And better yet, you can keep lifting, and the candy KEEPS COMING! That is why Sophie refers to Vader as, "The Candy Man."

So a couple of days ago, we were all sitting around, and decided to put in Episode 4--A New Hope--or as I prefer to call it, Star Wars. When Vader made his first entrance, Sophie was beside herself--not with fear, but with joyful appreciation. "Wook Mommy! Wook! It's the Candy Man!" She sat through the rest of the movie--enjoying Chewbaca, asking about Leah--but mostly waiting with baited breath for the appearance of the man who in her mind must be cousins with Santa Clause, or at least the Easter Bunny--The Candy Man aka Darth Vader aka Annakin Skywalker.

What's kind of odd about her camaraderie with Darth Vader is that she has this funny mannerism that we've been calling "Vadering" for about a year now. When she's particularly pissed, she'll hold her arm out stiffly, with her fingers spread and pointing straight forward and say firmly, "No Daddy!" (or Mommy or whoever.) We call it Vadering (as in--"Sophie just totally Vadered you") because it's like the thing Vader does to strangle that general guy in one or another of the movies. We know that she's especially pissed when we get a "Double Vader"--both hands out.

On another Sophie/Star Wars note, the other day she opened the fridge and dragged out a nearly full gallon of milk. I must have been comatose on the couch--because I didn't notice. Janzen walked by, oblivious to both Sophie and the milk, until she screeched, "Janzen--Don't put my milk away!" This, of course, clued both Janz and I into the fact that some milk intervention was needed. After I confiscated the milk, we laughingly discussed how Sophie had totally yet inadvertently tattled on herself. I said to Janzen--"She should have said, 'Move along Janzen. This is not the milk you're looking for.'" He thought this was so hilarious, he spent the rest of the day teaching her to say, "Move along. This is not the milk you're looking for."

Today's best thing about being a mom:
I should write more about my step-son. He's a total hoot. Plus, he is the most consciencious person with a Y chromosome I've ever met. Several times a day he says, "Boo (his nick name for me since he could talk) is there anything I can do to help?" I'm dead fucking serious. He says this. Then he helps. Folks--he's 11! Plus, we've started watching Monty Python together. We'll just be sitting around, and suddenly he'll say "Are you suggesting that coconuts migrate?" (If you didn't get that quote, we can't be friends--unless you go rent The Holy Grail immediately and watch it tonight.) It's pretty cool to have a kid (I think I can claim him as partially mine) who is also an incredibly funny and empathetic friend. (But of course, African swallows are non-migratory.)

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Getting a "Double Vader" just for suggesting that perhaps pulling the entire roll of toilet paper off the roll and putting it in the toilet isn't such a great idea.

What's a little wiping among friends? AND New digs!

Sophie's friend Audrey was over all day yesterday. (My favorite Audrey story--she used to pronounce her "s" as "t." So, the first thing she ever said to me was, "How do you like my Hello Titty lunchbox?")

At one point, I heard Sophie holler, "Audrey! Hurry up!" Audrey replied, "Wait! I'm going poop!" There was a pause and then Sophie offered, "Need a wipe?" Audrey said, "Ummm. Sure!"

Luckily, I intervened in time, and explained to Sophie that Audrey was perfectly capable of wiping her own butt, and that if she needed help, a grown-up would handle it.

In FURTHER and more exciting news, I'd like to invite everyone to change up their links and start visiting me at the all new (insert drum roll) www.missuzj.com!

E bought the domain name for me for Christmas, and has been working since then to set up/design/create a super sweet new blogging pad for me.

I'll be simul-blogging for a while, but plan on posting exclusively to missuzj.com by the end of the month.

Comment whore wants you to...
Visit my new blog home and tell me what you think.

A quick Soph said...

On the way out the door this morning...

"Mom. Are we real or are we in a book?"

A story I forgot to tell

I always take Sophie on our end of the year field trip to the Zion Ponderosa Ranch Resort. It's about a 2 hour drive over the mountain, and that girl LOVES the school bus. The resort itself is kind of strange. Think of that place on Dirty Dancing, subtract the dancing, and add a zip line, mini petting zoo, and mountain bike trails and you're kind of getting there.

Anyway, it has a killer pool, which is where we spend most of our time.

While swimming, Soph overheard some teachers discussing the very thick, very sad scars on the upper arms of one of my girl students. Mrs. X mentioned to Mrs. Y that the student used to be a cutter. I heard the conversation as well, but assumed Soph wasn't listening, or that it had gone way over her head.

Now I have to back track. Soph's end of the year pet peeve at school was kids cutting (read with an incredulous Sophie voice) in LINE. The injustice of said activity was almost too much for her to take. How DARE someone try to insert him/herself in a line and not go to the end. She was particularly upset that the cutting went unpunished by teachers and even worse, that SHE got in trouble for tattling about the cutting.

So, in my motherly wisdom, I taught her the scathing verbal daggers which we at Mississippi Elementary school would use to call out and shame those who dared cut in line. Ahem. "Cutter cutter peanut butter!" and "No cuts no butts no coconuts!" I explained that when someone dared cut, we would simply say one of these seemingly magical rhymes, and they would then procede, post haste, to the end of the line.

Back to the ranch. I'm sure you know where this is going.

The story ends with Sophie chanting "Cutter cutter peanut butter" at my student as she walked down the bus aisle and me not knowing whether to shit or go blind.

Yet another facet of the world that I am unwilling/unable to explain to my 5 year old. Yet another fucked up thing to add to the list of fears to postpone until my daughter is an adolescent. Yet another occasion where Soph's sharp ears and my half-assed parenting got us both in trouble.

Comment whore wants to know:
When was the last time you were on a school bus?

"My mom says bunkbeds are only for boys"...

... is what the little girl who just came over for the first time to play with Sophie said 10 seconds ago as she walked into Soph's room.

I have a feeling this isn't going to go very well.

UPDATE

The girls had a GREAT time. Great. Actually--it was a play date of 3. Sophie and 2 sisters, age 5 and 8. Playdough--sandbox--and the piece de resistance, a game apparently called "Princess Bum Bum." If you'd like to play, simply gather your friends, take turn calling each other "Princess Bum Bum" and then laugh until you're about to barf.

1st day of summer...

And I'm thrilled. And freaked out.

The entire school year, I excuse myself from tons of shit I SHOULD (a big word in my brain today) be doing, promising to do it during the summer. So here it is. The summer. And all of the shoulds are swimming around in my stomach making me feel like I'm going to barf up my two boiled eggs and a banana.

What I need to do is be grateful that I have a job that gives me this huge chunk of time. I need to look forward to days with my daughter and time to catch up. So why oh why am I feeling almost panicky?

Here's the brain dump of all the "stuff" I've been planning to do. Starting now. (It's probably boring. It won't hurt my feelings if you want to skip it.) Oh. The list is categorized for your convenience.

Cleaning:
Everything. Clean EVERYTHING.

Wipe down all:
walls
floor moldings
wood cabinets
plantation blinds

Dejunk/Organize/Donate stuff in
Closets
Drawers
Cabinets
Garage

Sophie's Room









THROW AWAY CRAP
Go through clothing and give away all sizes under 6
organize book shelf
wipe down bunk bed
put toys, etc. in new labeled bins

Sophie's craft table









Clean it--and make her keep it up, or throw it out

CLEAN MY CAR
because it is truly, truly repulsive. Don't believe me? Look.
































Health/Food
Plan menus for week
Go to the store once a week instead of 3 times a day
Establish a pantry
Increase walk from 45 min to 1 hr

School
Implement completely new filing system
Plan units for all 4 quarters
Help detention center with writing program

Misc
Start recycling. (No curbside here. Seek out options)
Go "up the mountain" at least twice a week
Limit Soph's TV to 1 hr or less every day
Grow Tomatoes
Have sex with my husband at least once a week
Help in Grandpa Cecil's garden enough to justify helping myself to produce at will
Keep toenails painted

I'm sure there are many, many more things that will come to me--but that's at least a start. In addition to the regular daily stuff, I'm tending one of Soph's friends every Tuesday and working for my brother at his jewelry store on Thursdays.

What the fuck am I doing sitting on my ass at the computer? I must begin. Now.


Comment whore wants to know...

What's your summer to-do list? And/or, click on either the picture of my trunk or Sophie's craft table to enlarge it. List everything you can see. Whoever can list the most items wins...something.

Last day of school

This is Sophie on her very first day of kindergarten.

And here she is at her kindergarten graduation program.

(I tried to include a video, but after 3 hours of Blogger trying to upload it, I gave up. p.s. Am I not an excellent French braider?)

I can't believe how the time has gone by, and how much she's changed. It's uncanny what a different little girl she is now compared to 10 months ago.

Frankly, making the adjustment from being the mom of a toddler to the mom of a big kid has been a little rocky for me.

In a lot of ways, it's great--definitely less time consuming. I can take a shower without rushing and listening with bated breath for a crash/wail. I can say, "Get your jammies on and brush your teeth" and she can do it on her own. I don't have to monitor bath time. I drop her off at school, and she walks in by herself. She can pour cereal and put on shoes and put straws in juice boxes and wipe her ass and find her crayons and pick up her messes (in theory). There are a million and five things that she used to need me for. That now she doesn't. And I love that. And I hate it.

I hate that now I'm on the outside of so many things. I don' t know what she's thinking. I can't always sooth the hurts because they are much bigger boo-boos. Kids have started their nasty kid stuff. Calling one another names. Forming clubs that leave others out. Commenting on size and shape. The world has begun to open up in scary ways for her. She's beginning to see the ugliness and meanness. Two of her great grandmas have died--and so questions about death--questions that I do not know the answers to--pop up a lot. (Although she did inform me that as Great Grandma Tee-Tee has been dead for a year now, she is up in the third level of heaven with George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Jesus now. WTF??)

She watches and listens and so many of the things that freak me about about life, the universe, and everything are beginning to freak her out. I feel guilty about this. I've tried to keep my fears to myself, so I don't know if it's me, or just life.

This is a huge topic, and swims around in my brain constantly, and I'm not articulating it very well. So I guess I'll stop trying for now.

Comment whore wants to know...

If you're a parent, how are you making adjustments mentally as your child(ren) grow(s) older? And/or, if not, what's one thing you wish your parents had done differently in your early elementary years?

Why I do what I do (plus an asshole in the peanut gallery)

SEA Graduation

I, of course, am LameTeacher. Having only 1000 characters to work with in the comments was quite a challenge, but I think that ultimately, my point was made.

Don't know why that apostrophe turned into a question mark, but it's really pissing me off.

The end of an era

Soph has been attending the local Montessori school for the past 3 years. A week from Thursday, and that chapter of our lives will be closed. It makes me sad. That little house has been such a big part of our lives, and it's been so great for her. I feel so confident in the foundation she's built there, and know the rest of her education has a very solid place to rest. She has had the same teacher--the most steady, straight forward woman I've ever met--for three years. I don't think she'll ever have that kind of educational stability again.

BUT

I will not be one bit sad to have that extra three hundred smackaroos in the bank every month.

We're also coming to the end of her first year of kindergarten. She climbed in bed with me VERY early on Sunday morning (2ish) in tears because it had really hit home with her (at 2 a.m.???) that she had only 2 more weeks with her beloved Mrs. Wood. I swear to God--this woman was genetically engineered to teach kindergarten. Soph spent literally an hour talking about how much she LOVES Mrs. Wood. I love her too, and will miss her as well, but I will NOT miss Utah's crappy half day kindergarten. Two and a half hours is just barely worth the trouble.

On the flip side, I have her 1st grade teacher all lined-up (one of the MANY benefits of having a grandma as the school secretary) and I think Miss. Bagley is going to be great. She's a little young, but seems very with it. Also, she is so kind to Soph already. In fact, she (Miss Bagley, not Soph) is getting married in a couple of weeks, and sent Soph her very own invitation--which has a special place of honor on the refrigerator.

As for me, I'd give myself a C+ at best this year. My teaching wasn't awful, but I hit a bit of a wall. I'm just ready for the summer, and a chance to go through all my shit, and start fresh next year.

Comment whore would like you to please...

recommend a nice gift for me to give Sophie's teachers at the end of the year. They have both been such a blessing to her--and to me--and I want them to know that they're appreciated.

I hope I'm just depressed.

Really. I hope it's just me. I hope the world isn't really a big shit sandwich ready to explode. And all the bees are disappearing. And I'm terrified for my daughter's future. And people do terrible things to their children. And there's just really no hope. None.

God I hope it's just me.

Koooooodie? Aaaaare you?

When Sophie was three years old, she thought my dear friend Kodi lived in our back yard. Kods lived around the corner, (alas, we have both moved) and basically, when we were in the back yard playing, she was a fixture. So much so, that when Kodi wasn't present, Soph would wander around, looking behind bushes and furniture calling out, "Kodi! [Where] are you?"

Now though, we live on opposite ends of town, and I'm lucky to see her once a month. This blows. In fact, I'm beginning to worry a bit about if she's not ok, or if maybe I inadvertently said something stupid and hurtful and don't even know that she's upset with me.

We did go through a phase when we were first neighbors when shyness got the best of us. I'd call her, wanting to hang out, but for some reason not wanting to really ask. So our conversation would go something like this….

J: Hi. What are you up to? (I hope she says nothing and that she wants to come over.)

K: Oh. Not much. Just watching a snake show on TV. (And I'm kind of bored. I hope she invites me over.)

J: Ok. Well. I was just kind of bored and thought I'd call. (Ok Kods. This is the part where you say you want to come over.)

K: Oh. I'm glad you called. (Ok Becca. Now's the part where you ask me to come over.)

J: All right. Well, I'll talk to you later. (Rats. I guess she doesn't want to come over.)

K: Ok. Bye. (Rats. I guess she doesn't want me to come over.)

I thought we were past this phase. We've even laughed about it together, making fun of how insecure we both are, and why, sometimes, it's hard for adult women to make friends.

But now—it seems like we don't even call. And that makes me sad. Why is it sometimes hard to pick up the phone, send a quick email, or whatever when time has passed between friends? Am I the only one who struggles with this? I don't want to be a pain in the ass if someone is busy, or hibernating, or whatever, but on the other hand, I don't want to be neglectful.

So, I'm going to finish this post, and call my friend Kodi. Or maybe just text her. Because I'm a weirdo.

Comment whore wants to know…

Do you ever feel insecure/shy with your friends? Do you ever wish they would sometimes call and say, "In case you were wondering, I still like you. In fact I love you. I think you're smart and funny and clever and even though we don't see each other very often, you're still my friend"?