Wednesday, August 26, 2009

The Girls

"Sometimes I'm sad I'm a man. We're just so far behind," Dominic told me the other day.

I told him that even at almost twelve, at least he knows that, so he has somewhat of a leg up.

I love men.

There are oodles of amazing ones in my life: my husband, my two sons, my dad, my four brothers, all kinds of firefighters. I'd take a bullet for any of them.

But when the $#!+ hits the fan and the cards are down, it's the girls who save me.

I was tired. Worn out. It's August, right, you know what I mean: we've had the kids around all summer. Every day. All day long. The kids are restless. And bored. It's hot.

This is where empathy only from other moms comes in.

I found it when I snapped. Well, almost snapped. But snapped enough.

And while my man was out rescuing victims of smoke inahlation, and motor vehicle accidents, and cardiac arrests, my girls were rescuing me.

I'll tell you: I've never gotten such great support. From my best friend since kindergarten, who lives in Davis and offered to come up if I wanted to take off for the weekend with some of my other girls. From my friend since second grade who lives in the Bay Area and took one look at me and really saw me. From my three sisters who took my side and straightened my hair and sent me back into the world. From my aunts who have shared their struggles and successes, and my daughter who made my bed and picked me sunflowers. From my girlfriends here in Oregon who have made me go swimming, and walking, and to Costco. Who have made me laugh. And have let me cry.

And then there's my doctor. A woman. Who listened for an hour and a half to the tragedy I've put up with for the last eleven years, since my mom died, through six surgeries and the death of Dave's mom, and Reesie's quirky birth, and Dave's knee blowout and year out of work, to how I've been unable to get a good grip after Daney's seizures last winter. To how I'd had enough.

Things are changing, getting better. I'm working on it.

This is an honest blog. A place you might not always find a deep belly laugh, but a place where you will find reality, however that exists in cyberspace. And there's someone here to tell it like it is, the good and the bad, and to spill it all with a woman's heart.


Anonymous said...

Jennie, I love your blog, its honesty and writing from your heart. I feel sort of like a snoopy surrogate mother to you, but I'm not there to give you a hug. Next time I see you, don't be alarmed if I hug you.
Carol (Christy's mom)

Jennie Englund said...

Carol, I'll be ready for your little squeeze!