Friend me

On Saipan, there was a phrase we used often. “Friend me.” “To friend” someone really means to befriend someone, but we dropped those pesky two letters, lazy peeps we are. In elementary school, where friendships were created and dropped in the same day, it was common to ask, “Are you friending me?” If a squabble arose, you would pout and complain, “She’s not friending me.”

Since having Nathan, it has become overhemingly important for me to find a mom-community. My sister-in-law suggested that I bring an extra twinkie to my parenting class since that was where she made all her friends. When I attended my birthing class, I scoured the room for my potential pregnancy twin, the one with whom I would friend (and more importantly, she would friend me) and our children would grow up together, communicating through tin-cans and string or flashlight morse code. But there was no such luck. During the diapering exercise, the woman next to me began to cry into her cloth diaper because her husband joked at how she held the doll up by its leg. I wanted to extend some comforting line, like, it’s okay, I’m sure you won’t really handle your baby that way, but she was busy emptying her face into the white fabric.

At one of the playgroups, I met a woman named C. who lives in my neighborhood. She invited me over for tea. It wasn’t long before I realized that we probably wouldn’t be meeting again. She was nice, but she was also weird. This sounds mean because she welcomed me into her home and made me a cup of soothing moments but still, she was weird. Not weird in that she would pop up with a question like, “Soooo, my husband and I are swingers, how about you?” but weird in that, she wrangled her toddlers using “grown-up” language like, “You’re overcompensating.” or “I know you’re doing that as a control method, but it’s not going to work here.” This shocked me into wondering how I’m going to talk to my son when he begins potty-training (you mean he’s really going to stop using diapers one day and I won’t have to employ the gun-to-the-head method? eeep!). I’ll probably say something like, “Yo little G. You best stop dropping it like it’s hot all over the carpet, yo.”

We’re just in different stages of parenthood, methinks. I’m just trying to keep my son from kicking his own poo. I need to friend someone like me.

I am not so good with this friend-making business. The last friend I made was Nathan, and though I had to give birth to him, we are friends for life. I am neurotic and self-conscious and believe that intially, most people hate me. Or think I’m weird and/or crazy. I am not up to date on trends. I do not have the accessorizing gene. I am lucky if I leave the house not looking like I rolled around in flour and walked out the door. Deborah Eisenberg wrote a short-story called “The Custodian” in which one of the characters had a face that drew everything into it and gave nothing in return. This describes most of the popular people I have ever known, the attention-consuming faces and magnetic personalities. I was told once that I have a radio face.

This is tangential information, but Deece was the most popular girl in junior high. She was so cool with her Doc Martens and good-lookingness (not a word, but, whatev). So I was very surprised that the most popular girl in junior high linked to me! Me! I thought, this must be a mistake! Doesn’t she remember my enormous eyebrows and Babysitter Club Book fanaticism?

Today I spent 2 1/2 hours walking with one of the moms from my PEPS group. I really like her. When we assembled our travel strollers, I told her that I hope it wasn’t too hot because the tank I was wearing had “Brewsky’s Bar and Grill” on the back and what kind of mom advertises bars? She laughed! I tricked her into thinking I was funny! Our pets have the same initials! We are both lazy! She is so cool, I am using my buddy the exclamation point! I hope she never stumbles across this blog and decides I am too dorky.

When I told her about the hassle of organizing the baptism, this conversation ensued.

“You need a priest, right? What other religions need a priest?”

“I think voodoo does. Maybe I’ll just baptize my son voodoo.”

My son peruses the Ikea catalog
Forget Baby Einstein flash cards, my son’s into the good stuff.

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Comments

  1. Mona, at least you joined PEPS. In Saipan, all I had were family members pouring coconut oil all over my child’s belly and lecturing me not to be to “delicate” with him.

    Hey, I was into Babysitters Club, too! Sooo not dorky, Mona! Or…did I miss that memo, too?

    Did you and Deece go to the same school?

  2. I don’t know what I would do without PEPS. Sometimes I think, how did women do this in the fifties or in the frontier days?

    Do you remember those scholastic order forms they would give out? That’s how I got most of my Babysitter Club collection. I had the Babysitter Club game and I even joined the Babysitter Club fan club.

    Yeah, Deece and I went to the same school but were in different grades. Her coolness > my coolness.

  3. “Yo little G. You best stop dropping it like it’s hot all over the carpet, yo.” – Mona, you’re freaking hilarious.

    Maybe you were thinking of my best friend Marj. She had the black Doc’s, mine were just the yellow ones ;o). I’m amazed that anyone would think that of me (thanks :)…Jr. High was the toughest part of my school haze, I mean school days.

    I love your website and when I stumbled on it, I couldn’t stop reading it (I’m sure you saw me in your stats). I think I thought of you as the most popular girl…I kept telling my husband, “you know that blog that I always read of that girl who’s so witty and funny…I KNOW HER…AND…her husband’s older than she is – just like you’re older than me, she went to SCS – just like me, I work right next to her sister….” and on, and on, and on. Even when I found out your due date…I just kept going. I was even kinda nervous to ask to link to your blog…lol.

    I’m a big dork.

    “I am neurotic and self-conscious and believe that intially, most people hate me. Or think I’m weird and/or crazy. I am not up to date on trends. I do not have the accessorizing gene. I am lucky if I leave the house not looking like I rolled around in flour and walked out the door.” That’s pretty much how I feel about myself.

  4. Thanks Deece. That’s so nice of you to say!

    I remember seeing you and Marj exchange one Doc Marten. You wore one yellow and one black and she did the same. Did I imagine this?

  5. LOL! Oh my gosh! I think that was a repressed memory you just unlocked. I can’t believe how weird I am…er, was…uh, whatever.

    And you might recall that we wore the same outfits or at least matching ones often – unlike the trading of the Docs, this, I promise, was not done on purpose. (Wow, that’s a lot of commas, I’ve always been a comma abuser.)

  6. Anonymous says:

    Thanks Deece. That’s so nice of you to say!
    Hey, I was into Babysitters Club, too! Sooo not dorky, Mona!
    http://www.pphr.info
    Or…did I miss that memo, too?
    Nice Baby.!!

  7. I don’t know what I would do without PEPS. Sometimes I think, how did women do this in the fifties or in the frontier days?

    Do you remember those scholastic order forms they would give out? That’s how I got most of my Babysitter Club collection. I had the Babysitter Club game and I even joined the Babysitter Club fan club.
    http://commercial-loans.loanspage.info
    Yeah, Deece and I went to the same school but were in different grades. Her coolness > my coolness.

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