Bridesmaids

I watched this movie for the second time and I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed it. I saw Bridesmaids for the first time in the movie theater on initial release. I don’t remember why I was turned off by it. The raunchy physical humor could have played a role. It seems to me that ‘bathroom humor’ shows up in a lot of movies lately and I don’t find embarrassment to the point of tears over bodily functions in any way funny – that’s just not my deal. In any case, once I got past that part of Bridesmaids, I recognized the beauty, strength of friendships, connection with characters and hilarity (nine puppies!) that was written into this movie. If I had more thumbs, I would give it a higher rating than two thumbs up.

What I learned through this movie, along with a conveniently timed personal experience, prompted me to write again. It might not have been noticeable, but I stepped away from blog posting for a short time. I was in a bad head-space and feeling sorry for myself. It happens. I can’t say I’ve recovered completely. I just want to say the following…

My son was having trouble finding the motivation to go to school. Somewhere along the way in his short school career, (he’s in kindergarten) he made the mistaken assumption that school is voluntary, that if he didn’t want to go today, that was okay. I fought the battle with him again this morning (“I don’t want to go to school!”) using a new strategy. I told him that he’s got an important ‘job’ and a critical role in our family. School is his ‘job’. I told him about the benefits of completing his job without complaint: weekend fun, vacations, dinners out, (important to a six year old!) etc. What I emphasized, however, is that his job and his role are important in our family – that he is important to his dad and me. That hit the mark. No more complaints this morning. Gee, and I wonder why the thinly masked frustration and veiled threats coming from his mom never worked in affecting change before today. Ah, parenting.

I saw the same theme expressed in Bridesmaids that I made with my son. No matter what you’ve done, no matter the choices you’ve made, you are important to me.

So here’s my call-out. Give me a little leniency on my first attempt – if I don’t write it, I’ll be sure to express it in person.

I’ll start with my bridesmaids:

Lacey, my sister, you are important to me. I can remember the day you were brought home from the hospital. I knew my whole life had changed. We were no longer a family of four, and while that took some time for me to acclimate, you fit in like you had always been there. Never missed a beat. You knew you were part of us. Now I can’t imagine life without you. You are everything I hoped for in a sister even though your sisterly role model (me) skipped out to college when you were only a child of eight. Your world fell apart and you kept on dancing. Never missed a beat. I love that about you.

Courtney, my sorority sister and friend, you are important to me. There was a reason we chose the same sorority, were assigned seats next to each other in pledge class, and lived in the same dorm hall freshman year – we were meant to know each other. Friendship came later. We had entirely too little time to spend together. However, I will always treasure your bright smile, your contagious laugh and your open heart no matter how long it is until I see you again.

Lesli, my friend, you are important to me. Many formative years we spent together from seventh grade to senior year, many more years we spent apart. When I pulled away, you let me. And you were there to welcome me back. I can’t count how many times I’ve thought, “I should call Lesli…” and neglected to reconnect with you. You were sitting on my shoulder. Even when I wasn’t physically talking to you, I was holding deep and meaningful conversations with you in my mind. You are that close to me still.

Suzy, my friend, you are important to me. Seventh grade was a huge turning point in my life because that’s when I met you, too. I had become accustomed to the nomadic ways of a frequent transient, but you wouldn’t allow me to bounce too far without reaching out to catch me. Our friendship would start again as if we never were apart. That’s amazing. We survived high school through sarcasm and you taught me the rest of life can be lived using the same truths – always look for the funny side of things.

On to my family:

Jeff, my friend and my love, you are important to me. It was like we’d known each other all of our lives when we had just met. I still have those moments of clarity with you – or clairvoyance, or psychosis, whatever, it’s all good. We’ve gone through a world of experiences in our short thirteen years married and I can say without any hesitation that I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. You are a part of me and yet separate. You are the rock I cling to when the seas get rough. You are the reason I’m here and placing one foot in front of the other. It’s all for you.

Drew, my brother, you are important to me. You’ll probably never read this, but I’ll put it out into the universe anyway. You shared most of my childhood, you share a different version of my memories and all of my crazy relatives. Even though there are miles between us, I want you to know that you will always share a part of my heart.

Mom, you are important to me. You’re right about everything. There, that wasn’t so difficult to write. I never knew about the commitment and pain that a mother goes through for her child long after her labor ends until I became a mother. You were right – I love that child more than the breath in my body. I can’t imagine the strength it took for you to let us go out into the world we cannot control. You are the strongest person I know. But it’s not a ‘steel magnolia’ strength, it’s pure steel. Fired and refined – our foundation. I reflect you in some ways yet I am distinct. If I resemble you, I pass it off as smoke-and-mirrors because I know who you are beneath the glittery exterior. And I know I could never aspire to be as beautiful as you are both inside and out.

Dad, you are important to me. As a child, I saw you as Superman. As an adult, I know you as Every-man. You are more real to me now than then. I share your genetics, your temperament, your stubbornness, (at times) and your natural sense of direction. I also share your perfectionism, your need to make everything ‘right’. It’s all a balancing act. You were the first to teach me how to walk the tightrope of life. And when I needed you, you were there. Present. Slogging through the muck and mire to help. That’s when I knew you were Superman – able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. You will always be my hero.

More to come – stay tuned.