I called Lori back last night after a weekend of phone tag and when she picked up the phone, not only was I greeted by her usual sardonic tone (which always cracks me up), but by Matteo’s grunting (which was sort of funny too). Unfortunately, his grunting quickly turned into a hissy fit (which was not so funny).

Here’s a tip to all you people with kids out there: when you have a fussy, crying, or otherwise cranky kid in your arms, or even in the room for that matter, please, for the love of sweet Hay-Zeus, DON’T PICK UP THE PHONE…either to make or receive a call. Seriously.

People on the other end can hear the kid wailing away and it makes for a very uncomfortable (and slightly irritating) situation. Not only are our ears ringing (it’s like having the kid crying right in your ear…actually, it’s more than “like that,” it IS that), but we feel anxious about what the heck is going on on the other end of the line. Is the kid going to survive? Are you paying attention to anything I’m saying? Are you going to crack? It’s all very stressful, I’m sure for you as well as for us, so just make it easier on everyone and don’t pick up the phone. Let us leave a message and call us back later, when you’re more in control of the situation and we can do what we’re supposed to do on the phone: talk.

And that’s what Lori did after I said I didn’t want to hear Matteo cry in my ear anymore. She called me back after he had gone to bed and we had a conversation (or what passes as a conversation when the two of us are involved). Of course, by then she had decided it was time to pot some plants and I could here the rustle and crinkle of the damn bag of soil in the background. But it was still better than a crying baby. Trust me.

Knee-slappin’ funnyI learned a new word today: breeders. Well, it’s not a new word to me but how it was used was new to me. And it sent me into a giggle fit.

Apparently, “breeders” is how some childfree people refer to those with kids. Now, I’m not one to generally poke fun of other people. Self-deprecation is much funnier and gets many more laughs at a party. And if I were to make fun of someone, it wouldn’t be with name calling. That’s way too easy. I’m a writer and I’d rather ramble on and on. Why use one word when you can use a mess of them? (Or, as Jed Bartlet in The West Wing said, “In my house, anyone who used one word when they could have used ten just isn’t trying hard enough.”) But every once-in-a-while, a single word can be a show stopper. “Breeders” just says it all, doesn’t it? (Insert knee slap here.)

Yes, it’s a little cynical. Yes, when said with some contempt in the voice, it can sound like an insult (which was, indeed, how it was used when I first stumbled across the word). But it still is funny, and I can’t wait to call Lori that the next time I talk to her. She’ll see the humor in it too. You see, no matter how different our lifestyles are, no matter how much folly and material each produces for our witty exchanges, in the end we respect each other’s decision regarding whether or not to have children. I’m appalled by those, on either side, who don’t.

Breeders. What a hoot. I can only imagine what Lori’s comeback will be. And that thought, my friends, also gets me laughing.

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LORI’S RESPONSE:

The first thing I think of with the word BREEDERS is that terribly ugly t-shirt my husband insists on keeping.  I think he got it at a Breeder’s concert circa nam (he has some strange crush on Kim Deal formerly of the Pixies).  It’s a little too small, a little too faded, and a little too “trying to hold onto his misspent youth”.

My second thought is “Hell yeah, I’m a breeder!  With these hips and tits, it’s almost a sin NOT to be.  I mean, why wouldn’t I?”  Insult, contempt, whatever…it is a super fun word, and although I can be considered a breeder…I like to take it a step further…I think of breeders as those crazies who have 4, 5, 6 and more kids.  Or maybe they’re just plain stupid.

I have a confession to make. I can be a bad friend sometimes. For the most part, I’m pretty good. But every once-in-a-while I slip and my insecurities pop up and I hold back from doing what I know is a good thing to do.

For instance, when I stumble across a website that may be of interest to a friend, I pass it along. Just this morning, I emailed my girlfriend Stephanie with a link to these awesome ceramic creations by the artist Laura Zindel (which came via Sparkletopia) who does some pretty cool stuff with images of insects. Steph loves bugs. I support her in this passion of hers (even though it’s a little weird) and therefore passed on this info when I discovered it.

But I’ve been holding back when it comes to baby stuff and Lori. I’ve come across cool products or websites or books or events and I just can’t bring myself to let Lori know about. Now, this hasn’t been happening 10 times a day and it’s not life altering information that would change her destiny. But there’s been three or four occasions that I’ve seen something that I thought may be relevant to Lori and consciously said to myself, “Nope, I’m not going to let her know about it because I don’t want her to think I’m okay with her having a baby.”

Can you believe that? I’m so about me. I’m evil and going straight to hell for such thoughts and actions. But that’s okay because Steph has told me she’s going to save a seat for me next to her down there. Of course, I’ll have to sit next to her and her bugs, but that’s what I get for being a bad friend.

So I’m sorry, Lori. I’ll pass on “mommy finds” from now on…as long as you’re fully aware it’s not an endorsement! And to put words into action, here’s something to start with: RookieMoms Blog. The bloggers can be a little sappy sentimental, but they can also be very, very funny (as was the case with this). Hope you enjoy!

Who’s going to take care of us when we’re old?People say the darnedest things (and I include myself in that observation) but nothing tops the list like comments made to me after I tell someone, “I choose to be childfree.” Some of the responses have been classic. Some of them could be considered offensive. Some are just plan funny. Take a look for yourself.

Things People have Said to Me When I Tell Them I’m Childfree

• Who’s going to take care of you when you get old?
• Why are you married then?
• Huh.
• Lucky duck.
• Oh, you’ll change your mind someday. [This one I’m getting less and less as I get older and older!]
• So you want to focus on your career?
• Awesome.
• I guess we shouldn’t ask you to baby sit for us then.
• How many cats do you have?
• How do you find purpose in your life then?
• You must get to travel a lot.
• Why?
• Do you really hate kids that much?
• I bet you’re the coolest aunt.
• That’s okay. There are enough people on this plant anyway.
• Childfree? (Insert laugh here). I like that. That’s a good word. I’m gonna start using it.

I got it because of the mice. It was that or clam shells. And clam shells just weren’t going to do. Besides, it was pink too. And she looks so good in pink. I know this because of her ears.

I’m not one to go all crazy when it comes to cat things. Quite frankly, obsessive cat people drive me up the wall the same way obsessive kid people do. But Mira’s cat collar had broken and she needed a new one. And if she was getting a new one, then I was going to be picky about what it was going to look like. That’s why I got the one with little gray mice on a pink background. Why the hell would you get a cat collar with clams on it? What do clams and cats have in common, besides beginning with the same letter?

So Emmett and I were on a mission when we were standing in the pet section of Target and I spotted something else. It wasn’t like I was there just to browse and see what I could bring home for Mira, our three-year-old cat. I don’t normally buy cat toys for her. She’s not that type of cat and I’m not that type of cat owner. Mira’s perfectly fine with chasing bird shadows all day long. In the evening, she loves to play fetch with the cap from a water bottle. (Yes, I said fetch. Like a dog. I toss, she runs after it, she brings it back to me, we repeat about a dozen more times.) Despite her tendency toward simple entertainment, I had been wanting to get her one of those cat towers for a long time. She likes to be up high, she likes to look out the windows, and she likes to be under or in things. A cat tower just makes sense. And that’s how the Jungle Safari Tower ended up in our shopping cart. It was next to the cat collars and it was on sale. You just gotta love Target sometimes.

From the Target shopping cart to the trunk of my car to the west wall of our front room, the Jungle Safari Tower made its way into our lives. Less “jungle” and “safari” like in appearance, it stands three feet tall and is simply a series of platforms and cubby holes in an L shape. It was, however, more jungle and safari like when it came to assembling it. With the ubiquitous wordless, pictorial directions in one hand and 73 parts spread out before me, I began the task of turning U.S. engineering and Chinese manufacturing into a tower of fun for my cat. As I was putting what I hoped to be Part A into what looked like Part B (but which also looked suspiciously like Part E), I started to giggle. And then I giggled some more. And then the giggling turned into laughing. “This is so much fun,” I said to Emmett as he wondered over to see what was so amusing. And I really was having blast…not in a “this is a fun task” kind of way. I mean an “oh-my-gosh-Mira-is-going-to-love-this-I-can’t-wait-for-her-to-see-it-I-wonder-what-section-she’s-going-to-love-the-most-oh-look-at-how-cool-this-tunnel-thing-is-it’s-perfect-for-Mira” kind of way. Even when it turned out that Part B was indeed Part E and I had to disassemble half the Jungle and start over—twice—the pleasure of the entire experience never faded.

As I joyfully watched Mira explore the Jungle Safari Tower that night (while wearing her new collar, of course), I realized that this is how my parents must have felt when they bought, assembled, and gave my brother and me presents for Christmas or our birthdays. I suspect it’s how most parents feel when they are able to give the gift of fun and play and experience to their children. It is a robust feeling. It comes from the unguarded place in our hearts. It is very real and present. I know. I have felt this many times. And I don’t have kids…“just” a cat and a husband.

The Santa Fe Four: Nan, Barb, Heidi, and StephI have just gotten back from an extraordinary girls’ weekend in Santa Fe, New Mexico with three of my dear friends from Minnesota. Despite being my friends for years, none of them had met each other before, except in passing at a party or two. Even though I was the only common denominator in the group, it didn’t matter. Within minutes, we were all acting and talking and playing like we were old friends picking up right where we left off. It was one of those occasions that you know is going to go really well but you had no idea it was going to be so perfect. I had no doubt Steph, Nan, and Heidi would get along splendidly. They are, after all, long-time friends of mine for a reason. But what I didn’t expect was a constant euphoria. By the end of the trip, I was giddy. As I boarded my plane and headed back to California, it was more than just happiness that filled my heart. There was pride in there too. “Damn I have amazing friends,” I thought to myself. And just then I realized that it was no accident that these women have been in my life for so long and that they would get along so well. Strong, giving, funny, independent, smart, energetic, loving…this is just the tip of the adjective iceberg when it comes to describing them. Many friends have come and gone in my life, but with these three, I have chosen to keep them close to my heart and soul because, quite frankly, I admire them.

Nan and me hiking in Santa FeIn the group, Nan is the only one with kids. In fact, besides Lori, she is my only other FWK (friend with kids) that I actively and willingly hang out with. The thing with Nan is that you wouldn’t know she’s a mom because when you get together with her, she is present. Very present (and usually, like me, with a drink in her hand!). She’s not lost in thought about her kids or distracted by them, whether they are with her or not (and despite the fact that one of her kids has life-threatening allergies and could accidentally die at any minute). She seeks out her own time and continues to have her own identity, without neglecting her role as a mom. The two exist, separate and independent of one another, yet both are strengthened by each other. Not many women with kids can pull that off, especially when, like Nan, they are also trying to foster their career. I’ve always said that if I were to have kids, I would hope I could be a mom like Nan. Except I would be taller.

Doing the Happy Dance in Santa FeHere’s the other thing about Nan: she has never made out motherhood to be mystical or magic. At least not to me. Maybe she thinks it is, maybe she doesn’t. But if she does, she politely (and appropriately, I might add) keeps it to herself. She’s never she said to me, “You just don’t know what love is until you’ve had a baby,” or “No one can love a child as much as a mother,” or “You just don’t understand because you haven’t had a child.” She’s never once said she doesn’t remember her life before her kids or that she couldn’t envision her life without them. And she’s also the only FWK who has never suggested that Emmett and I should have babies because we’d make good parents. Yet, when I see her with her kids, it’s obvious she loves them like no other. When we talk about them, there is a visible shift in her demeanor and a dramatic change in her eyes. She loves her kids, make no mistake about it. I have no doubt she really enjoys being “Mom.” But she really enjoys being “Nan,” too.

Pillow Talk with Barb and NanNan is Nan, has been and continues to be, even after getting married and having kids. She may have evolved as an individual when she added “mom” to her life resume but at the core she has remained the same. She can hang out all weekend in Santa Fe with three childfree ladies and not miss a beat, not pine for her kids and hubby. She will roll her eyes right along with the rest of us when someone’s kids act up in a restaurant, and she will poke fun of the mom at the pool with fake, pointy boobs. We can tease her about the strange relationship between mothers and their sons and she won’t get defensive. She will have one last drink with me at our hotel bar after coming back from a long night of bar hopping…because that is what we have always done. She will excitedly suggest that we do another girls’ weekend, and when I toss out winter as a time frame, she will say, “What about the fall?”

That’s my Nan, the gold standard for all FWKs.

I learned on this trip that not only do I have the best friends on this entire planet (I really, really do), but that it is possible for Lori and me to have a serious and longstanding friendship just the way Nan and I do. My fears and concerns about Lori becoming a FWK were assuaged somewhat, in large part, because Nan was a reminder of what that type of friendship looks like. And while Nan and Lori are vastly different people, there is a chance that Lori may turn out to be one of those “cool FWKs” that I can, and want to, keep in my life.

I’ve been going back and re-reading earlier Dually Noted posts and one of the common themes in both my and Lori’s writing is time—finding it, using it, not wasting it, savoring it, carving it out, claiming it as our own, how much of it to keep private and how much of it to share. It’s been an interesting journey, these past four months of Dually Noted. I’ve surprised myself in many ways and I’ve been surprised by what Dually Noted has given Lori and me…more time together.

While Lori and I hung out prior to Dually Noted and Matteo, it was not nearly as often or as consistently. Dually Noted gave us (or probably more accurately, ME) permission to work more purposefully on integrating our two lives, one childfree and one with kids, into the space reserved for friendships. I don’t demand a lot of time from my friends. It is not quantity that is required. But it is quality.

Still, I can’t help but acknowledge that, because Matteo is a “good baby,” I’ve had large quantities of quality time with Lori since he was born. It started out with her maternity leave which (forgive the pun) gave birth to Tuesdays with M-Lori. Since Lori went back to work, we’ve started a new version of Tuesdays with M-Lori called Micromovement Mondays. Tuesdays with M-Lori was about satisfying our basic and immediate needs of just hanging out, of taking a break from the real world. It was like summer vacation from school. Micromovement Mondays is about satisfying our longer-term goals. It’s more like working on a college J-term project together except instead of focusing on one subject for one month, we’re each working on three projects over several months. We still get to play sometimes, but only because it is part of the creative process that will help us with our projects. Well, and because that is what Lori and I do best…we play well together.

So in a way, Matteo has brought Lori and me closer together by giving me the one thing I want most from my friends: good times. And Matteo has forced Lori to be more conscious about making sure she sets aside time for herself and her personal growth. For a little guy with very few hours clocked in this lifetime thus far, he sure has been busy. I think I’ll start calling him Mr. Time with a Bottle.

Okay, it’s official. I’m in love with Matteo. That little fella is adorable. But here’s the bigger news: I don’t mind being around him. Or him being around me. Yes, it’s true. And I’ll admit this as well: Matteo is deserving of the title, “Good Baby.”

As I mentioned last week, Emmett and I headed over to Lori and Sal’s for a Memorial Day gathering. Usually when Emmett and I have a full day together (as in Emmett not having to go or call into work), we’re not too keen on sharing it with others. Especially when kids are involved. But Lori and I needed (and wanted) to get together for our Micromovement Mondays anyway and Emmett supports me in my creative endeavors…and so we went.

It was a typical get together for the four of us—there was lots of eating and drinking and making fun of Sal (it’s just sooooo easy to pick on him!)—except this time Matteo was there. Generally when kids are around, you KNOW they are around. But Matteo just sort of blends in. He’s not fazed by the commotion. He’s not bothered by being moved indoors and then out and then back in again. He doesn’t really care about being on a lap or on a blanket in the grass. He can be held over your shoulder or on your hip. And the entire time he just smiles and entertains himself. And spits up. Sometimes he makes a funny noise. But for the most part, he just goes with the flow.

At first, I wasn’t sure if my perception of him being a “good baby” was because I was just used to him. All those Tuesdays with M-Lori and subsequent outings may have left me a bit more, dare I say, tolerant of him…or just better able to put up with the commotion that inevitably surrounds kids. Or maybe I can tune him out like most parents can tune out their loud and obnoxious kids while everyone around them is shaking their heads and wondering, “Can’t they hear that? Don’t they see what’s going on?” But on the way home, Emmett said something that made me realize it wasn’t just me: “Yeah, he isn’t too bad.”

My always perfect niece and nephew!He isn’t too bad. For Emmett to say that is pretty big. The last time I heard him say anything remotely that complimentary about a baby or a kid was with my niece Madison. And he HAS to say stuff like that about her around me. It’s my Madison. But when it comes to friends’ kids, I give him all the freedom he wants to think and say what he likes. And apparently he likes Matteo.

I’m not sure how Matteo, at only six months, has developed this calm personality. His father, Sal, is the opposite of calm (hence the making fun of him at our gatherings). It’s obvious Matteo has inherited a little something from his mother besides his nose and cheeks. Or, it could be that he’s taken a queue or two from her and is learning the art of chillin’. Maybe he was just born under the right moon and the planets were aligned just so. Mama Stone (a.k.a. Lori’s mom) once told me, after I asked her if Lori turned out the way she thought she would, that kids come out the way they are and parents pretty much just have to work with what they got.

That goes for parents’ friends too. By association, CFFs end up having to work with whatever little creature their FWKs bring into the world. Sometimes it’s worth it. Sometimes it’s not.

I know that Matteo is only six-months old and there’s still a lot of personality brewing in that little heart and soul of his. I know he hasn’t even begun to crawl and we have yet to hit the terrible twos. I know that the unimaginable teen years are closer than anyone cares to really acknowledge. But the fact that I’m even thinking about Matteo at those stages in his life says something—I may be interested in sticking around to see how they unfold. It may just be worth it.