So, our new neighbors are moving in. Neighbors as in "right next door" neighbors. As in "sharing a fence" neighbors. As in "my bedroom window looks into your bedroom window" neighbors. Those neighbors.
X met the husband yesterday and got some basic, useless information, because you know, X is of the male persuasion, a man. He got the ages of the kids (younger ones are nearly the exact same age as ours), found out the husband is a teacher, and that the wife's parents already live here. What he failed to dig deep for was the important bits of information about my 'potential new BFF. The facts that matter. Does the wife stay home? What are the genders of the kids? What are the wife's parents names? (so I can check with my grandma to get any Additional Scoop in case the parents are Old Olathe, the moniker my grandma uses when folks are actually from here.) Does the wife like chocolate? Target? Mexican food? The zoo? Parks? Red wine? Oprah, America's Official Girlfriend?
Speaking of Oprah, I watched the whole "secret lives of moms" thing. Overall, I thought the episode was a pretty "meh" and just a repeat of the usual Motherhood is So Hard theme (cue back of the hand to the forehead, then heave a heavy sigh.) Although, I do wonder if reading Erma Bombeck and Teresa Bloomingdale back in high school and early college may have clued me in to the fact that babies are babies quite stinky and motherhood is not all bliss? And another thing - are mothers really not taking showers? Really? Is this a joke? I do not get it. Even if Arun had to scream for 5 minutes, I still took my goddamned shower every single day. Even these days, I take a shower with at least one child outside asking if I am done yet.
The one thing that really spoke to me was when Cheryl Hines talked about how hard it is to not "be there" for her friends like she used to be able. I do hate that I am not a good friend any longer. Seriously, I am NOT a good friend and I hold no pretenses otherwise. And at this point in my life, I just cannot be. Good grief, ask Monkey, it took at least two (three? four?) phone conversations before I was able to get the entire story of her recent boyfriend breakup. And I felt terrible about having to let her go mid-conversation each time. And Average Jane has been in a band for so long now yet, I have not been to see a single gig.
Sigh. I could write paragraph after paragraph of excuses, but it is what it is.