Skip to main content

First friend-date

I spent time today with a new friend from my neighborhood, and right now I'm basking in the glow of a good first friend-date. I feel happy to have a new friend. Sounds so corny, doesn't it? She's easy-going and down to earth, we both have young kids, we have similar tastes in books and movies and music, so conversation is easy. I like her sense of humor, too; she's intelligent and there's a spark mischief in her smile that is just fun.

We joked about today our "first date" -- you know, the first time you get together as a twosome and try to get to know each other -- and as much as we were joking about it, it really did feel like a first date...mentioning snippets about our personal lives in that off-hand, quick-summary-of-me sort of way that says this is who I am, like it or not; giving small compliments; laughing at one another's jokes. And then when we parted company, I had a moment of "oh, I hope she liked me!" and "oh, I hope I didn't say anything embarrassing or offensive!" (I wonder if this is the reason that men don't really form new friendships after a certain age, because it feels too much like dating and that just makes them nervous.)

When we moved here last year, I had immediate dreams of making connections with people and really putting down lasting roots. I wonder if that's why I get so excited when I find a new friend in the neighborhood...and I wonder if this friendship will be like some of the ones that my grandmother has with the mom-friends who she got together with for play time with her kids, who became the grandma-friends she played bridge with every month, who became the old ladies who still call her every Saturday afternoon to chat -- 55 years after their first friend-dates.

Wouldn't that be nice?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A boy and his cat

Our backyard is a decent size and backs to woods. Every time a visitor steps onto our back deck, friend, family, and neighbor alike, we hear "What a yard! You need to get that kid a dog!" Apparently this is the natural progression here in Suburbia: house + yard + boy child + dog = happiness. Now, it's one thing to hear about our need of dog from friends or family who know us, but coming from neighbors and relative strangers it gets a bit old. My first response is always, Why do you think so? Which makes people hem and haw because they don't want to insult me by saying what's really on their minds: Because you're depriving that child of a human sibling , and he needs a friend . One problem: We're not dog people. I mean, we like other people's dogs, and I often think having a dog would be a major motivation to walk long distances regularly and get myself into shape. But a dog is like a toddler who will never grow up. They are needy, and they bark and poo...

Ottomania!

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about ottomans. A ridiculous amount of time, actually, given the number of other things I truly should focus my thoughts on. I find, though, that when the world outside gets scary (and scary is a truly relative term these days) I turn to online shopping for things I don't really need. Actually, it's more like online browsing; I rarely purchase. I spend hours searching for, oh, erasable colored gel pens or standing desks or all-natural curly-hair gel or the perfect black sweater. (Yes, these are things I've fixated on over this winter; I still haven't clicked "buy" nor settled on any of them.) This week, it's ottomans. By the way, my girl  BrenĂ©  Brown would call this behavior numbing . I'm okay with that. Because online browsing is way less detrimental (so far) than chain smoking, which is what I'd really like to do when the world is scary. It's a way to escape, to daydream, to focus on things tha...

Grown-up words and what to do about them

We know our children are little sponges who soak up all our words, actions, mannerisms. They are often parrots, but even more often they are fun house mirrors, amplifying and exaggerating our own idiosyncratic behaviors until we cringe, laugh, or hang our heads in shame. Yesterday while cleaning up his toys, Sweet Boy got frustrated trying to put one of his train pieces together. Instead of crying or raging like he would have a few weeks ago, he threw the toy down and yelled, "Oh, fuck it!" Oh. My. Lord. The air was sucked out of the room. We were suspended in time and space, frozen as our eyes met. I took a split second to consider my options: (1) Freak out and yell at him---scare him into never saying it again; (2) Ask him to repeat what he said, because maybe I heard it wrong and I don't want to overreact; (3) Ask where he heard that word, stuff his mouth full of soap, then call the offending child's parent immediately (a la The Christmas Story ); (4) Ignore it so ...