The Marijuana Tales...another blast from the SV Moms Past

Remember the first time you found your parent's bong?  Okay, that didn't actually happen to me, but when I asked my sister what she used for her illicit habits, she said "mom's bong."  She just found it one day, and the rest is history.  Well, my kids are carrying on this potentially dangerous tradition.  Last I night I stumbled across my sewing box, although that's a pretty generous term, considering I haven't opened this box in four years.  The contents consist of an old address book, couple safety pins, container of buttons and a package of needles, so I thought. This pretty much reflects my sewing activity.

I left the box out in the living room, praying that it would distract my kids, giving me an extra ten minutes of sleep.  It turned out the box also included my tiny little gold pipe, a remnant of my post-divorce day.  Yes, I was hanging out with a bunch of Oracle computer programmers, seeking inspiration, relaxation, and just good, not-so-clean fun.  As usual, the kids came into our bedroom fighting over some little thing.  After hearing the standard "I got it first," "he took it," "give me that" refrain, I saw a flash of gold and immediately suspected that's what it was and wondered if I ever got rid of the matching tiny bag of pot.  "It's called a nozzle, mommy," proclaimed my son, and that was the end of that.  I think I can safely put off the drug talk.

The "evil" weed and my family have a pretty funny history.  We're not so much "anti-drug" as drug-resistant, seemingly too geeky to know where to get it, and completely inept at smoking it when we succeed.  Although we did fire a babysitter once after my dad discovered she was growing pot in the backyard, oops.  Whereas my husband can show up in pretty much any part of SF or Mexico and be sought out as a buyer, my friends and I once tried for the entire summer before starting college to get high and never succeeded in "scoring."

The absolute funniest story concerned my grandma.  She lived in SF and had a very liberal doctor, who told her to smoke marijuana for side effects from chemo.  The doctor prescribed pills but said they wouldn't work nearly as well as the real stuff. I'm not sure if medical marijuana was even available, or it might be that my grandma didn't want to go that route.  So my mom took it upon herself to find some for my grandma, "I think it would make a good Hanukkah present" was actually how she put it.  She called me and I started my effort to get some, but I wouldn't be visiting from back east for a while.  My high school brother would have no problem on that front, but got in so much trouble for so many things he wasn't about to confess to access to drugs.   She managed to get this giant bong from somewhere, with unicorns and like 4 tubes coming out.  She finally resorted to asking her secretary, who happened to be an African-American woman with a son at Berkeley.  The secretary immediately started to explain that just because her son was black and at Berkeley did not make him a druggie.  My mom was persistent and desperate, said she had not made assumptions - just had exhausted all her other very limited options.  The "deal" was made, and although my mom thought there was barely enough, she did her best.  My brother told me later it was actually a pretty substantial amount of highly potent buds, but mom was remembering the giant bags of low quality stuff from the 70s.

The final chapter of the tale was explained in utter hilarity by my grandma.  My parents driving up to her apartment in SF, bong and buds in hand.  My mom knew Grandma would never smoke alone so she'd decide they would all do it together, and didn't want to wait for me (her only responsible child at the time).  Sitting around with this big bong, dad getting a bit silly, mom yelling at him about something or other, and my grandma, not smoking an ounce.  So much for that treatment.  It was very sad that not only did the chemo have terrible side effects, but other medications totally killed her taste buds, and my grandma loved her food, so we really wanted this to work.  I'm glad she kept her sense of humor until the end....... and we were all grateful that she found a doctor who was willing to defy the law to help her patient.

"Contrary to general belief, I do not believe that friends are necessarily
the people you like best, they are merely the people who got there first. "
Peter Ustinov

A recent post on Silicon Valley Moms really hit home for me. I've read a couple posts about how making friends these days is like dating. Here's what she said.

It's just like dating. You dance around each other, wondering who's going to talk first, who's going to make the first move. You're terrified to start; what if she hates you, what if she doesn't feel the same connection? You're scared to come off as needy, desperate. That fear of rejection, of ridicule, is exactly the same as it was back when you were single and it was a mate your were seeking. It's just easier to smile, move on, and imagine the what ifs. In my mind I have a ton of great friends. In real life I have a plethora of missed connections.

It seems like lately I can't even get a "date". I've been in playgroups and playdates and I'm really not sure why, but I often feel like the third wheel. Sometimes it's like my job or house is not cool enough. Or the mom's have two calm kids 2-3 years apart and there I am chasing my two boys who want to explore every inch of their house. Several times I've gone to playgroups and there will be women there who are already friends, with kids of the same age and same sex, maybe neighbors, and it's like I just cannot compete. We might meet for occasional playdates, but there is little opportunity to really develop a friendship.

I remember joining several mom's groups after the kids were born. I met some great women at the new mom's support group, but I lost touch after going back to work. And several times I would volunteer and they'd ask if I had a friend to bring along. "Uh, that's why I joined and am volunteering. I was told it was a great way to meet people." Perhaps is was trying to cram in too much at one time...socializing the kids, volunteering, getting a break and "finding friends" at the same time.


I know I'm fortunate in that I have my parents around for backup babysitting, but while I wish it could be otherwise, they are not people I want to voluntarily hang out with. I work full time, but haven't made many friends at work, and my husband works a lot of the weekend, so that doesn't leave much free time to really hang out at my leisure. I've been to mom's nights out and met some great women, but again they are often already friends and seem to live close enough to just visit on short notice. Lately it's all I can do to get the kids out of the house before noon on a weekend , much less remember to arrange a playdate for them with friends who don't live close by. I've also started a networking lunch with fellow alumni, but again it's hard to find time "after hours" so to speak.


I'm not giving up. I'll be looking for a house soon and really want to choose a neighborhood where maybe they'll be some parents with kids in my son's school or I know already. I hope I'll "stumble" into one of those relationships where 10 years down the road we'll be the ones telling people how we met the week I moved in, our kids clicked and we've been friends ever since. Fortunately my boys have built in friends (each other), and seem to make them fairly easily, unlike what's happened to their mommy.