Edgy Mama

Me in early 2005

So, I just realized that I started this bloggie three years ago today–with a dead dull post about the problems I was having starting the blog.

In three years, so much has changed and so little has changed. Blogger is now owned by Google. I’m about to move to Wordpress anyway. This blog has gone through three templates. One major redesign. One minor.

I’ve transformed from at-home mom typing with a three-year-old in my lap to having both kids in full-time school. One of the nice things about having kids is that they change so much in such a short time–it makes the years seem longer. When I think about the lisping three-year-old who was attached to my right thigh, and I look across the room at the little boy reading actual words and jiggling his first loose tooth, I’m wowed. My girl child now reads novels and does multiplication in her head. Double wow.

I’ve gone from occasional part-time work (head hunting, freelance writing, nonprofit consulting) to having two consistent weekly freelance writing gigs, including a column that arose from this blog. I still have an entire unedited novel in a drawer and 15,000 words of another on this laptop. I’ve got some newish short stories that I haven’t pimped hard enough. But my writing muscle has been stretched, exercised, strained, massaged and pushed. This makes me incredibly happy.

I have darker circles under my eyes, more wrinkles, bigger triceps (not because they’re drooping, but because I’ve worked those babies), and slightly more drag on the behind. My trick knee has gotten trickier. I’ve given up on dropping my last five pounds of baby weight gain.

I’m still in the same house, in the same town, with the same fam–plus Biscuit the Dorkie Poo, who joined us in May. And I’m still blogging. Some of you are still reading. One of the biggest changes in my life has been the incredibly cool people I’ve met and friends I’ve made through this bloggie. You guys are what’s kept me here and kept me writing.

So happy blog day to me and to you. What’s changed for you in the past three years? Will we still be here three years from now? Talk to me.

I was talking to my Dad tonight about the past week, and, after a few minutes, he said he’d had enough. What with the cat getting run over and attending the memorial service for a young mom, it’s been one of those.

Houdini gets a bit better every day, though he’s still rather pitiful. Mostly, he sleeps in his bed in the crate, occasionally maneuvering himself slowly and painfully into the litter box. When the sun hits the screen porch, I take him and his bed out there, so he can sleep in the sun.

The memorial service was both wrenching and lovely. The highlight for me was Melissa’s husband’s eulogy. His theme was “community trumps tragedy.” As angry and sad as he was, he still found solace in the outpouring of love and support that his family has received throughout Melissa’s illness and death. Even so, the tragedy part still sucks. But the service felt like one of those novels that wrecks emotional havoc, but, in the end, leaves you with a glimmer of redemption that makes the experience worthwhile.

As Dad says, enough about that. If you want to read what I wrote about Melissa just after she died, it’s somewhere in my September archives. I can’t seem to link to previous articles within my blog. If you can tell me how, please do.

All this, plus trying to find the right summer camp for my girl (see next week’s column) has got me thinking, albeit not very clearly.

Firstly, I’m going on beer fast until Thanksgiving, because I can feel myself sliding into drinking a beer or two per night for relaxation purposes. How is this relevant to the above? I love beer, but too much is not healthy for my mental clarity or my waistline.

Secondly, friendship, and what it means, keeps popping through my be-fogged brain. Out of the blue today, my girl, who was reading “Friendship According to Humphrey” by Betty G. Birney, for the eighth time, said, “Mom, let me read you this.”

This is what she read aloud to me:

“A person can have many friends in her life. Even if you move on, a friend can be forever. At least in your memory.”

I’m not sure why she wanted to read this to me. She didn’t say. But, particularly after the memorial service, it made me happy.

I also received an e-mail yesterday from an old friend with whom I’d reconnected at my high school reunion last year. Over a year ago, this friend quit her job, sold her home, and she and her 18-year-old son went on a trip around the world for a year.

She wrote a beautiful story telling about an evening spent with a woman named Gloria in Swaziland. She said, “As we parted ways with Gloria that evening, she said to us, ‘I will not tell you goodbye as I know we will cross paths again. People who connect with each other have paths that intersect many times.’”

This also made me happy. Thus is life. Sorrow, pain, and angst mixed with joy, community and friendship.