Then it will be 11 a.m. on a Tuesday and he's in the grocery store looking at Lean Cuisine, Toto comes on the Muzak system and it's all over. He developed his story and got inappropriate and morbid (and lots of laughs). It didn't bother me that he was joking about this - I mean, it's his bit but it's real. He was brave enough to go on the comedy channel in front of a live audience and lay it out there. That's brave. That's cool, that's uncomfortable. Good for him. When do you hear a man offering up his deep, dark stuff to a crowd of people? Hardly ever. Unless it's a Dateline special and his PR people have insisted he do it to squelch some sort of torrid tale.
There are two things I learned by watching his story unfold: 1) How true about our demons/insecurities/anxieties as we get older. We have more distractions, more experience, but sometimes, they sneak up on us and manifest through a microwave meal or song on the radio or something someone said. And snap. You were walking along, feeling OK and then wham - there is that voice in your head or a feeling that takes over your being. 2) Even though that comedian was performing, you could tell that his joke came from a place of truth. It was authentic. The self-deprecating style he's known for has made him famous. The honest way he shared it with the live and TV audience showed me that he needed to. It was his therapy.
The bit I like to try out on new audiences is this: 'Hi, I am Jennifer - I'm really accomplished, interesting, efficient, in-shape and healthy, happy and sweet all the time. My family is perfect, my career is amazing, my house is as organized as an HGTV editorial spread, I go to church every Sunday, cook full meals every evening and my kids get to practices on time.'
My icky-sticky truth is this: 'Hi, I'm Jen. I know we just met and should keep it to niceties and appropriately conservative conversation, but I'm so exhausted that I don't have the physical energy or brain power to make chit-chat. I really just want to close my eyes, nod and sip this latte while you tell me about all the crazy shit that happened in your week; (you're a stay-at-home-heroine and I am a working-mama-maven and we always want to play Freaky Friday) then tap me on the shoulder when your done and I will respond with a similar recap, we can give prompts and adulate, 'uh-huh', 'amen sister' and 'omg, that happened to me last Tuesday!' Then I'll confess my obsession with Mad Men and Downton Abbey, and talk about them for at least 20 minutes. You'll catch me up on all the Real Housewives shows since lately I am in bed lately when they come on and my DVR is full of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and bad Disney XD Movies and pre-teen sitcom specials. When you ask what/where my home church is, I'll tell you that both of my children went/go to church day cares and know more about God than I remember and teach me new lessons daily. I don't get to our local Methodist chapel anymore, but I miss the contemporary services where I could show up in jeans, nurse a Starbucks and rock out to the amazing band and pastor who spoke to our generation. My belief in God is strengthened every time I go for a nighttime or Sunday morning run where the mist is still hanging in the air and magically my mind is clear, I am humbled and grateful to be able to have that quiet time with Him. Or see Jesus in the big blue eyes of my boys when we are reading Skippy Jon Jones before bed and praying. My believe is never stronger when I melt into tears because my little one looks up at the night sky and points to the Northern Star - 'Look, mommy, there's Papa.' Precious family and girlfriend time is my therapy and my church and I don't apologize for it. It works for me. What about you? Next, we'll share work war stories, complain about sports practices cutting into homework time that neither of us know how to do any more. Core math, and state testing, wtf? And although our loving modern-day husbands are rock stars, dads who coach and clean, too, they contribute at least 50% to the household and parenting responsibilities but we think our half is the more difficult set of chores and are mad at them but don't know why.'I read a post in the last few months where the blogger admitted that she too, had a tough time with the 'small talk' - weather, sports, vacations, etc... and wanted to dive right into deep issues with moms she just met that day at a kid's little league game. She was a premature, over-sharer. That's me. So I also hide behind my blog when I am chomping at the bit to share big, complicated stuff with new friends. Last week I met a new contact at a conference, they emailed when we returned and said, 'I enjoyed chatting with you, like your style, it's refreshing.' I knew it, I'm an over-sharer. Then then sane part of me said, 'Score! You were yourself and they did not run off.'
So that's it in a nut (job)-shell. I am a hot mess on the inside (my gooey center - everything can be compared to chocolate, OK?) I am usually over-caffeinated and sleep-deprived. I forgot about my older son's picture day a few weeks ago because now there are apparently two photo taking times during the year, fall and spring. When did that start happening? Big Kid was in his favorite college sports team shirt, his hair wasn't done and I fretted, but they turned out really nicely. Except that he looked 17 and my mind and heart flashed ahead to senior pictures - gah! I rebelled the system by only purchasing 1 sheet for $13. At least he wasn't the kid who's mom mixed up pajama day and picture day and sent him in a Sponge Bob sleep set... or something like that. It was on Facebook, so it must be true.
Gotta run. My next bit is in 20 minutes, lunchtime is over.
Messy Beautiful
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