the ghosts of parties (and people) past

My twenties were a hopping time.  Erik and I went out a lot.  We went to parties, we went to the bars, we hung out at friends' houses and apartments.  We whooped it up.  We would drive to the Twin Cities and back in one night because we HAD to be there, to hang out and socialize.  It was where to be, where the Cool Kids were.

And then in 2007, he stopped drinking, so we stopped going.  No one really missed us.

It was a wake-up call to realize that all that interaction, all those friendships we'd thought we'd nourished with our presence and participation dwindled into nothing, maybe a random internet fragment, but certainly not an effort on their end to come to see US to hang out with US.

I've had a lot of time to get over it in the past three years.  And I 99% am, except at times like these, when all these parties are going on and we're not there anymore.  I remember those parties, how wild they were, how everyone smiled and didn't fight and it was awesome.  We were adults interacting, not kids with something to prove.  So when I see the pictures from now, I get twinges.  Of what good times we had, the connections we made...  And yes, there are some people whom I still miss greatly, whom I still talk with, who are amazing beyond time and space apart and I still adore.  But we don't have the same lives or the same drives.  We weren't meant to be primaries but rather peripheries.

It used to sting.  I used to get so mad and hurt and rejected.  For all the effort Erik and I put into going down there, we got just about squat in return.  But that may have been partly our faults, too.  We tried to fit in a place and world we just didn't.  It was fun for a while.  It was a LOT of fun for a while, actually.  My memories will always be fond.  Everyone always made us feel welcome enough, were curious enough, but sometimes things are finite.

And now we have Boo, and we have forged on ahead with our own lives.  We have immersed ourselves in being parents, of hunkering down and hanging on.  We have become content with what we have instead of searching it out in an almost desperate way.  We have grown up, as much as we can for this moment in our lives.  And we have amazing friends and have amazing lives.  For now, this is where we need and want to be, and it is sweet.   

approaching two

Last night cemented another way in which Boo is growing up.

He woke up around 3am crying and screaming. This wasn't the normal "ignore him and he'll fall back asleep" stuff. This was him, standing in his crib looking at the door all freaked out and waiting for someone to ease his fears. So I went in there and changed his diaper and brought him to the rocking chair for a bit of cuddles. He was shaking like a leaf, a mixture of fear and chilliness. I turned the fan off in his room. I think I'll be taking it out of there soon.

As we sat down, he burrowed in close, tucking his arms into my robe and snuggling under his blanket. Gradually he relaxed, and I could feel his body sink heavier against mine. We hit the point where I asked, "Are you ready to go back to bed?" and all I could see was this little hand sneak out and point at the crib. Because I wanted to prolong the sweetness of the moment, I delayed a bit, enjoying the feel of his small body, the sound of his breathing... A minute later, I asked again if he was ready, and again he pointed.

As I settled him down, his face started to crumple. I kissed him and told him I loved him, and he bravely helped me with his blanket. I brought him his little Scout, and Boo clutched him fiercely. Still, that sad face remained... So I dug under his crib for the pacifier that had fallen out of his mouth sometime in the night and gave it to him. That seemed to help, and so I stroked his head and told him I loved him one more time (because I don't think you can tell a child too many times that you love them) and bid him good sleep.

I heard a soft whimper as I entered my bedroom and took my robe off to crawl back into bed, but nothing after that. He slept well and woke up in a wonderful mood, and we had our morning snuggles and sillies. But the thing that will linger in my mind is the look on his face, that bravely trying to not dissolve into tears but to help instead.

THAT is my son. THAT is who Finn is. And I freakin' love him with all my being.