Supermodel
Friday, March 27, 2009 I met her four years ago. We were both pregnant. She, with her sixth and final child, me with my third, and "What was I thinking?" child. I'm four years older than her. She'll be 39 in late May this year. One week later, I'll be 43.
In many ways, we are different. She is a member of a church that I am not. She and I have contrasting opinions on politics and a variety of social issues, although we've found more common ground than people might think.
I drink wine, she does not. She cooks with it and will send one of her children to our home to retrieve a brown paper lunch sack concealing a plastic container of Chardonnay or Cabernet Sauvignon for one of her recipes. I say to the helpful and obedient child, "Be careful. Don't open the sack or spill. Your mama needs this for her recipe."
In this woman, who is so different from me, I have found a kindred spirit. There are portions of our days, weeks, and lives that are not compatible, yet she pulls me. The few common threads we share are strong ones.
I have friends who I've known and loved much longer than Supermodel. Friendships that require less struggle and no suppression of thoughts. Supermodel and I have had teeth clenched, tongue biting, nose snorting, heart-pounding conversations, and stare downs. Yet, she pulls me.
Three years ago, I recall standing in the doorway from our kitchen to our garage. Chris was away on business. Toddler Child was nine-months-old, and I was exhausted. Supermodel had tried to phone me a few times within a couple of days, and I hadn't answered her calls. Our garage door was open because the older boys were playing outside. I opened the kitchen door to the garage and saw Supermodel several feet away in our driveway. Our eyes met, and she said, "What's wrong?"
I said, "It's my _____."
She took what seemed like two steps, reached her long and loving arms towards me, and I sobbed as she held me. She just held me. She didn't try to explain it or fix it, she simply soothed. I'll never forget it.
Among other reasons, this is why I call her Supermodel.
Reader Comments (20)
(For how long would I have to run on the treadmill to look like that??) :-)
On a different note, I want her legs!
ps I want her legs too.
And then of course I just like people who are different because they're entertaining. It's good to mix it up.
And I want her legs too.
Rachel - Very boring! I want her legs too!
Christy - Thank you. I think it's safe to say, we all want her legs.
Kate Coveny Hood - Your comment is a post in and of itself. Lovely thoughts!
Connie - Supermodel doesn't always read my blog, but I hope she does, because she needs to hear from more than me how pretty her legs are.
Lady Fi - Thank you!
And wow, what a body...you're right to call her Supermodel.
You two must be turning heads in the gym...
It sounds to me like the common threads are much stronger than the areas in which you disagree. And if you ask me, that's a good balance.
Please tell Supermodel that if her legs go missing, it wasn't me.
Deidre - You're nice. We don't quite turn heads (we're old, remember?) but we're battling the bulge with discipline.
Pam - I want them too! Unless mine grow... no dice.
Bobbi & Mama Bird - It's very nice. Thanks.
Joan - Ha! Great comment. Thank you!
Beautiful insightful writing, as always, Chris!
And I will try to remind myself (again,) that tall lean gorgeous legs aren't the be all and end all. Still, wouldn't mind trying them out for a day! :)
I'm glad to know that you have a friend like that. I have a post in my head about one of mine. You've inspired me to write it up.
XO
I loved this post, Chris, and understand what led you to the question you recently asked on mine. There is a dynamic in difference that can be beautiful as long as one is trying not to change the other.
She left her high-powered insane job, ditched her twin toddlers and six-year old (to her understanding husband), sat in horrendous traffic, pulled off long enough to grab wine and chocolate.
She didn't even ring the doorbell. She came in, opened the wine, and sat with me on the couch as I screamed at the universe. All the while saying nothing other than "do you need more wine?"
Thanks for this reminder girl.
bitch.