Maturation

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

Dear goodreads friends I met at Borders/new girl at church/facebook friend/neighbor/parent at kids school/Paris,

I am no longer the friendly person that I once was.  I used to love to invite people over for dinner and in fact have had epic arguments with my husband about how much time to spend with people who aren't my closest friends. I have always enjoyed spending time with people and for some reason I have always gained energy from being with others--the more the merrier.

Now, I am totally saturated with keeping my kids entertained/working with their school/fixing our computer for them/cleaning my home/moving/national school reform/facebook/staying on top of my finances/maintaining a relationship with those who do care enough to call or email me periodically/playing angry birds with my son/helping make valentines .

As my kids get older they are more fun to be around/want to talk more/more interested in learning/more needy/more angry and I find that they are taking over my social life/fun time/vacation interests/movie choices and I actually LIKE it.

What has happened to me that my favorite people to hang out with are my children?  When did I get to the point that the people who give me the most energy are the fruit of my loins?

I finally understand my bff/favorite former freighbor/visiting teachee/friends, who never seemed worried about needing new friends, and why they love their families soo much.

Does this mean I am aging?  Have I outgrown the days of wanting to travel abroad/spend time with friends so much that I was willing to leave my children behind?  Is this a happy/unhappy side effect of the travel that I do for work?

I apologize that when we talk the only thing I have to say is about schools or my children.  But for me, what else is there?

I am wondering if this is a phase or if I am going to be sad and lonely in 4 years when my son gets his driver's license (which, incidentally is not going to be treated like a thing he has to earn, he is getting that sucker on his 16th birthday and he is going to drive everyone everywhere) and will look around and see I don't have any friends left?  

I am not happy about this.  I want to go to Europe/throw parties/have you over for Sunday dinner/make new friends/keep the old/have a girls night out weekly.  But instead I find myself browsing redbox to see what movie my kids would like/planning fancy breakfast treats for fun/volunteering to teach in their classes/making entire family decisions based on their happiness.

I remember this quote from Thomas S. Monson (quoting Ann Campbell) about a mother's view of her children:

You are the trip I did not take;

You are the pearls I cannot buy;

You are my blue Italian lake;

You are my piece of foreign sky. 



When I first heard this quote I always thought that it was a sense of sacrifice--that I raised children instead of the travel and luxury of life so they should be thankful.

Now I see that this poem is really about the fact that being with my children is what give me the deepest satisfaction.

But when I do need you again, when I find myself in a phase where I am not utterly consumed by motherhood, will you be there for me? Will I forget how to make new friends?  Will I recognize myself when I only want to see my existing friends?

Until then, just know that I fantasize about being my old self, about the kinds of foods I would serve you, the conversations we might have and the books we would talk about.  It isn't you, it's me.

Sincerely,

Overbooked

*I am writing this post so that when I find myself friendless and alone in Utah, I will remember that there was a time that I felt that my family was enough.