{"id":5935,"date":"2012-09-07T09:30:37","date_gmt":"2012-09-07T16:30:37","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ruffledfeathersandspilledmilk.com\/?p=5935"},"modified":"2012-09-08T17:32:34","modified_gmt":"2012-09-09T00:32:34","slug":"looks-like-we-made-it-after-all","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/ruffledfeathersandspilledmilk.com\/?p=5935","title":{"rendered":"Looks Like We Made It After All."},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>The kids and I went to a friend’s art show last night.<\/p>\n

I know, shocking, right?\u00a0 I didn’t even realize I had kids who were old enough to go to an art show without ripping the paintings off the walls, rubbing their fingers on all the canvases, and saying things like, “This is cute, but I’m pretty sure I’ve done better.”<\/p>\n

They even got dressed up to go.\u00a0 Well, by “dressed up” I mean the boys had to wear khaki pants and a clean shirt.\u00a0 Although Pretty came down looking like she was a middle schooler.\u00a0 She is<\/em><\/strong> a middle schooler but I usually don’t notice because I still think of her as that chubby cheeked little 4 year old, dressed like a homeless person in that old Peaches ‘N Cream green striped dress.\u00a0 We got it from Goodwill and it had a rip in the sleeve and a stain on the front.\u00a0 But she wore it every day for weeks at a time and I can still see it flowing out behind her, 3 sizes too big, as she clutched a bottle fed baby goat under her arm to take to preschool show and tell.<\/p>\n

My, how times change.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

But it wasn’t really the change in my kids that was so shocking.\u00a0 No, it was the change I noticed in my friends.\u00a0 When I first moved here, Big was barely walking, Pretty was a nursing infant, and Middle and Little hadn’t even been invented yet.\u00a0 And all of my friends were carrying around packages of similar size and weight.\u00a0 Some of us had our kids in car seats or strollers.\u00a0 Some of us carried them in slings or baby backpacks.\u00a0 But all of us stumbled into the park or the coffee shop or each other’s kitchens, our hair hanging in greasy strands, our eyes bleary and blood shot, our swollen and tortured bodies unrecognizable, muttering in unison,<\/p>\n

“Can you freaking believe this sh*t??”<\/p>\n

Then we would gather around, sipping life-sustaining coffee, and griping<\/span> whining<\/span> discussing all the things they never told you about in those stupid “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” books.\u00a0 I mean, I didn’t need to know 1\/2 the stuff they told me about my placenta and a few more tips about how to make my husband get up and take a turn with the nighttime feedings instead of laying there, snoring away, while the fruit of his loins was screaming at the top of his lungs down the hallway.<\/p>\n

We rejoiced over first steps and first solid foods and first poops on the potty and first lost tooth and, especially, the first weekend at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.\u00a0 We consoled each other when our kids wouldn’t sleep through the night and when they were covered in repulsive rashes with Third World names like Fifth’s Disease or Hand Foot and Mouth and when they were getting bitten at preschool, or when our kid was <\/em><\/strong>the biter at preschool. We laughed and we cried and we commiserated.<\/p>\n

Together we unraveled the mysteries and expectations of motherhood.\u00a0 And the things we couldn’t fathom (The Teletubbies<\/a>?\u00a0 Really?\u00a0 Were the creators of that show on crack???), we suffered through.\u00a0 Sometimes we didn’t think we were going to make it.\u00a0 It seemed like there was no end to the crying and the diapers, the tantrums and the bedwetting, the hitting and the bickering, the door slamming and the stair stomping.<\/p>\n

There were times when a good day simply meant that we had managed to resist the urge to get in the car and just drive off, never to return, leaving the children and our spouse (AKA The Man Child) to fend for themselves.\u00a0 We were proud when we had cut down on our screaming at the kids enough that at the end of the day we were only a little bit raspy instead of completely hoarse. \u00a0 We considered it a successful trip to the grocery store when an old woman admired our toddler trying to unstrap himself from the cart and smash his skull on the concrete while she cooed, “You’ll miss these days when they’re over,” and we didn’t tackle her to the ground, screaming, “What nursing home did you escape from, you crazy hag???!!!!”<\/p>\n

Those were the good days, people.<\/p>\n

But at least we had each other.<\/p>\n

Until one day we didn’t.<\/p>\n

One day we were no longer stay-at-home moms but dropping-off-and-picking-up moms.\u00a0 And volunteering-at-school moms (well, not me, God forbid, but some of us).\u00a0 And, suddenly, too-busy-to-meet-for-coffee moms.\u00a0 We became getting-on-with-our-lives moms.\u00a0 Which is at least reassuring proof that the old saying, “This, too, will pass” is true.\u00a0 Although I have yet to see the evidence of “You’ll miss these days when they’re over.”\u00a0 Just passing a pregnant woman on the street makes me feel queasy.<\/p>\n

Now when I run into my friends in town or see their status updates or sit next to them at a school awards assembly, I see that we are a new and different breed.\u00a0 We are now teachers and nurses and fitness trainers and financial advisors and EMTs and restaurateurs and authors and, of course, artists.\u00a0 Which are all new and different things from what we were before we had our children.\u00a0 And amazing accomplishments since all those years of child raising seemed to be draining us of every last brain cell and leaving us with the desire to do nothing except sit on the couch and stare at a blank wall on the random and infrequent occasions when our children were someplace else.<\/p>\n

There is <\/em><\/strong>life after children.\u00a0 Looks like we made it after all.<\/p>\n

Oh, there are still plenty of years before the last ones will leave the nest for good.\u00a0 But at least our children are now all at the age of reason.\u00a0 By “reason” I mean they can recognize a threatening glance from all the way at the other end of the church pew.\u00a0 Plus, they possess items of value (iPad, cell phone, plans for the weekend) that can be snatched away whenever they dare to bump up against parental authority.<\/p>\n

So I bought this great piece of art work at my friend’s art show.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Not just because it is the spitting image of one of our goats,\u00a0 Julia.\u00a0 Although it is.\u00a0 Not just because it will look fabulous in the room with this matching photo of\u00a0Middle and Julia.\u00a0 Although it will.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

But because whenever I look at it, I are reminded of all the years my friends and I muddled through together.\u00a0 I am reminded of all those coffee clutches and park playdates and preschool field trips.\u00a0 I am reminded of the amazing women who have shared my struggles and my triumphs.\u00a0 And I am reminded that we are all still becoming.\u00a0 Still reinventing ourselves.\u00a0 Still finding our joy and our peace.<\/p>\n

Thank you, Anna Kipp Waddell, for the beautiful art work.\u00a0 Thank you, friends, for the incredible ride.\u00a0 You know who you are.\u00a0 And see you all on beach weekend.\u00a0 Be there or be….talked about.\u00a0 \ud83d\ude42<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The kids and I went to a friend’s art show last night. I know, shocking, right?\u00a0 I didn’t even realize I had kids who were old enough to go to an art show without ripping the paintings off the walls, rubbing their fingers on all the canvases, and saying things like, “This is cute, but […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5935","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/ruffledfeathersandspilledmilk.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5935","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/ruffledfeathersandspilledmilk.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/ruffledfeathersandspilledmilk.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ruffledfeathersandspilledmilk.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ruffledfeathersandspilledmilk.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5935"}],"version-history":[{"count":51,"href":"http:\/\/ruffledfeathersandspilledmilk.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5935\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5991,"href":"http:\/\/ruffledfeathersandspilledmilk.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5935\/revisions\/5991"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/ruffledfeathersandspilledmilk.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5935"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ruffledfeathersandspilledmilk.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5935"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ruffledfeathersandspilledmilk.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5935"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}