Yesterday afternoon, I was sitting on the back porch while Jeremy shared a story with me. He had his back to the door and couldn’t see Brodie behind him, who was placing sticky, three year old hands all over my freshly Windexed door. I made a quick motion for B to move his hands and before J could turn around, B had disappeared. J then looked at me, puzzled, and asked, “Who are you talking to?” and for a minute, I think he actually thought I had lost my damn mind. After I explained that B had been there just a second before, he said, “Oh, I thought you were talking to yourself in the reflection. I was going to suggest that you get out more.”
Oh, Hubby. If you only knew how much I needed to.
When I woke up this morning, after I changed Baby E and stuck a nipple in her mouth, I grabbed my iPhone and opened every social media app on it. At 6:30 am, however, there isn’t usually a whole lot happening and I found myself totally bummed. I realized that I was feeling isolated and would have given anything to read about someone’s traffic jam or spilled coffee or tantrum throwing toddler. I just wanted to interact with someone, anyone, out there in the ‘real world.’ It then occurred to me that, while social media is great, it is not, in fact, the ‘real world’ at all. It was at that moment that the light bulb above my head turned on and I figured out that I miss people.
I desperately miss people.
I miss grumpy customers and chatty co-workers. I miss talking to the hung-over guy at the bar at 7 am as he drones on and on about his latest love-gone-wrong. I miss reliving my youth through my 20 something friends at work with no kids and laughing about their biggest problems being things like where to spend spring break or who’s going to feed my cats while I’m in Vegas for the weekend. I miss talking to the Barista at the Starbucks next door about business or the crazy homeless lady who won’t leave our complex. I miss the old man at the counter who says totally inappropriate things but no one gets offended because, well, because he’s an old man and he tips well. I miss telling stories that take an hour because we’re talking in between running food and re-filling coffee. I miss my boss, with her, “So, you wanna hear my story…” which usually involves a trip to the ER with one of her kids or some crazy fight she’s had with her husband.
Yes, yes Amanda, I desperately want to hear your story.
I really do love being home with my kids. They’re entertaining and amazing and really very easy to get along with. But, there are only so many conversations I can have about Power Rangers. And it’s not that Jeremy isn’t great company, because he is. On the weekends, when we’re lying around watching random marathons on Netflix or hanging out in the backyard joking about how much therapy our kids are going to need later in life, I’m not lonely at all. But, Jeremy works long hours so that I can work short ones. During the week he’s up at 2:30 in the morning. He goes to bed early and the hours that he’s home are often spent cooking, doing dishes, hushing babies, brushing teeth, disciplining crazy kids and getting ready to do it all over again the next day.
If I would have taken a normal maternity leave, I’m sure I would be in no rush to return to work but, the fact is, I’ve been off since February and I’m kinda starting to lose my mind. Add to that the fact that I’ve been at my restaurant for almost two years and it’s never really felt like work. I never really feel like I’m getting paid to be there but, rather, like I’m hanging out with a big, dysfunctional family and we happen to be
hospitable and serve strangers when they’re hungry.
I miss my dysfunctional family.
So, no offense Facebook and Instagram but, I’m kind of over you. I’m ready to have real conversations with real faces, faces that change with every silly story and grumpy customer. It’s not that profile pictures and status updates aren’t great but, I miss the voices that accompany, “So, this asshole…” and “Do you want to know what my husband had the nerve to say yesterday…” I want to be irritated with bad tippers and amused by whatever antics the cooks are up to. I’m ready for my feet to hurt from an eight hour shift, my apron to be full of cash and my belly to hurt from laughing.
I’m ready to go back to work.
July 12th can’t come soon enough. And I don’t feel guilty about saying that. Mama misses people. And that’s okay.
Happy Thursday, Friends.
go. do. be.