While the children were happily munching their snacks at H’s
fourth birthday party, blue marshmallow pops stickily and rapidly disappearing,
J woke up from his nap. I excused myself, and headed off to quickly get him up
and fed so I wouldn’t miss present opening. As I washed my hands after changing
him, I got the following text. (Please note that I am not responsible for the
poor grammar.):
I am so ready to go. This is boring and the momma are weird.
The blood drained from my face and every party planning,
living-up-to-other-moms phobia I have flooded into my chest with a whoosh as I
read this text, sent from one of the moms in the next room, at my daughter’s
party.
Was this really just sent to me? Surely she meant it to go
to someone else? What mom was she calling weird? Should I say something? Should
I let it go and be the bigger woman?
It was too rude to let pass. I had also spent too much time
carefully cutting bathing suits out of scrapbooking paper, making tissue paper
puffs, and crafting a swimming pool cake complete with teddy graham swimmers.
The children had all been playing wonderfully; they liked the craft I’d pulled
out of thin air two nights earlier when it was clear that the thunderstorms in
the Midwest would make our kiddie pool too cold for swimming; no one had
complained about our snacks. The text came from a woman that I’d been friendly
with all school year. I had thought we were friends—not besties, but more than
just acquaintances.
With shaky fingers I sent her back a message saying, “I
think perhaps your last text went astray.” I am non-confrontational. I expected
her to either ignore it or to somehow explain herself. I still felt sure that
she had sent me this message by mistake. By what explanation could it be justified
to send it to me on purpose? Immediately, she wrote back and asked if she could
come talk to me. She came into J’s room while I nursed him. I could go into the
attempted explanations, but it’s not worth the space. Suffice to say she
apologized, and I thanked her for doing so.
As you get older it’s harder and harder to make friends. As a
mom especially, I find myself talking to women on a regular basis whom I know
only as Susie’s Mom, and with whom the only connection I share is the
commonality of our kids’ ages or extracurricular activity. I spend lots of time
talking about kids and parenting, but rarely do I discuss myself. I almost
never talk about the fact that I play two instruments or that I used to
ballroom dance or work in corporate communications. I don’t discuss my favorite
authors, bands, or the latest piece on NPR.
On the other hand, I’ve never heard anyone on a playground
or in line to pick up kids discussing in depth, life-long-friend making topics.
I hear the same banal, “How’s your day going?” conversations that I’m having
myself. Yet, I always feel as if these other moms have somehow created the type
of friendships I’m looking for. I wonder when they find the time, and why they
never invite me along. Is there some secret handshake I have yet to learn that
would give me access to coffee dates at Starbucks and lunches out? My own
newness to the area and my penchant for seeing the best in people leaves me
open to false friendships from the type of people who smile at your face and
sneer at your back. Every time I run into someone like that I’m shocked because
it’s just not how I operate. What you see is pretty much what there is to see.
With a smile plastered to my face and a raw hurt in my
heart, I rejoined the party. It wasn’t my day. It was H’s day, and no matter
how I was feeling, I wanted her to enjoy herself. After the cake had been eaten
and the goodie bags handed out, I showed my husband the message and shared its
aftermath. I realized that this woman, who had taken my daughter to school and
whose daughter I’d watched in return a few times, was in fact a virtual
stranger to me. Despite countless 10 minute conversations, I know almost
nothing of her actual life or character. I don’t know her favorite anything or
how she met her husband. The relationship we had (which is now very much over
from my viewpoint), was based on the fact that we happened to be in the same
place, at the same time three days a week to get our girls from
preschool—nothing more.
