Other Mothers

Ryann started Kindergarten this year.  It has been a much anticipated milestone in this house.  She has always loved school, loved the friends, loved the teachers and the learning.  She also super loved that all of her preschool classrooms had multiple toy phones.  I think the lack of toy phones is the only downside to Kindergarten.  

In our little tribe of “friends who have become a family of sorts” there are three other kiddos starting Kindergarten this year, too.  One in each family.  Each kid started “big school” at a different school last month.  Many months ago the moms dreamed up “Kindergarten dinner.”  We wanted to take these soon-to-be Kindergarteners out for a special dinner, just them and their moms, to celebrate this big milestone. 

A few weeks ago four moms and four five and six year olds met at Portillo’s for Kindergarten dinner.  We ordered hot dogs and hamburgers and chicken nuggets (and a few chopped salads) and moved a few tables together for our feast.  As we’d finalized our plans the week before I’d wondered if Portillo’s was the right choice.  Should we have done something more “sit-down” and grown up to celebrate the big occasion?  After watching their squirrelly excitement multiply with proximity to each other I knew we’d made the right call.  They may be "big kids" but they’re still unable to sit still when they all get together.  We gave each kid a chance to share about their schools and classrooms, what they loved, who they sat by, what the best part of the day was.  They excitedly found similarities in each other’s school lives (“I go to the library too!  You have recess??  Me too!”) and they all reported that they liked their teachers.  At the end of dinner there was a lot of coordinated hands in the circle “go teaming” to the shouts of Kindergarten!  (Five and six year olds are so funny!)  At some point in the meal they’d started planning the band they were going to form and, outside of Portillo's, the drive through line was treated to four raucous kindergarteners singing/playing four different songs on imaginary instruments.  I predict their first record will go platinum. 

In this little Kindergarten cohort there are two boys and two girls.  Finn and Grayson were born just a few days apart in August.  Nine months later Ryann was born and six weeks after that came Caroline.  I’ve known their moms since high school, but it was when these guys were babies that our tribe fully came together and we started meeting intentionally and regularly.  Charity and her family had just moved back to the area and Kelly and her family came into the fold all around the same time.  For the whole of Ry’s life she has known these three women.  Finn, Grayson and Caroline have been her constant playmates.  They’ve celebrated each of her birthdays, she knows the ins and outs of all their homes and their families.  Outside of her siblings, these are the kids that are closest to her, her people.  And their moms are her second moms.  She knows Lauren will pick her up and give her the biggest hug when she sees her, Charity will stop everything to hear about her day and Kelly will cheer her on in whatever she does.  

At one point in the dinner Charity told the kids she was really excited that there were four amazing kids going out into the world to be brave and kind and loving and that we wanted to mark that with our little celebration.  I added that I wanted each of them to know that there are four moms here who love each of them so much and who will be cheering them all on every step of the way as they go out into the world. 

There’s been lots said about the need for a village.  Jen Hatmaker calls them “bonus moms” in her new book and writes a more beautiful tribute to them than I ever could.  Whatever you want to call it, a tribe, a village, bonus moms, second mothers, the experience of other people loving and caring about my kids has changed me and shaped my kids lives in incredible ways.  I am so incredibly thankful for these women in my kids lives.  Thankful that I get to be in their kids lives.

At the dinner we decided that this would be a tradition for the (many) kids we have coming up behind these four.  (Between the four families we have 12 kids…so far.)  This is the only year that each of us have a kid starting kindergarten, but we decided that in the future all four moms will attend the Kindergarten Dinner, even if we don’t have a kindergartener that year.  Because we want all our kids to know that all the moms care about them deeply, that we’re here for them, that we’re cheering them on, rooting for them, eager to celebrate their successes and help pick them up after the losses.  These kids have a tribe and I’m so happy to be a part of it.    

New Kind of NYE

It was a full house.  Eight adults and ten kids ranging from age five to three months.  One lake house with lots of rooms.  It was a full house. 

We spent New Year’s Eve at a friend’s lake house this year.  It was a gathering of our people.  The ones we are “doing life with,” so to speak.  I packed cozy clothes and my new Ugg slippers along with enough food to feed an army and two pack and plays.  We were gathering for just two nights, but time together under one roof is precious and I anticipated it with much excitement.

For two days kids ran around in every imaginable kind of costume.  Batman sparred with Olaf, princesses played with chefs.  There was fort building and movie watching.  There were snowball fights and crafts.  It was exactly the right space for my little family this exact moment.

On our first morning there we woke to a milk container that had mysteriously shattered in the refrigerator overnight.  This is when eight adults are at their best.  We worked quickly and efficiently and in no time that fridge was cleaned out, wiped down and put back together.  And then we all had champagne for breakfast.  It was supposed to be mimosas, but no one brought orange juice and after all we’d been through we felt like champagne for breakfast was justified.

For two days the adults enjoyed conversations that happened lazily over coffee and picked up again during lunch.  We were interrupted but able to find the plot again because we had the time and space to do it.  We talked about what the year ahead held.  We laughed together a lot.  We blasted my “dancing in the kitchen playlist” while we prepared a happy hour feast and danced to the songs of our high school and college days.  We had fun together.

On New Year’s Eve we fed kids dinner early.  While they scarfed down frozen pizza and clementine oranges we nibbled on appetizers and enjoyed some beverages.  Then we busted out hats and funny 2016 glasses and had ourselves a dance party.  Toots was in her element spinning and rocking out to the KidzBop Pandora station. My little Red showed off her dance moves, dropping it like it was hot at one point.  We had fun with our kids, twirling and singing and laughing.  Thanks to the magic of Netflix we played the Carebears countdown and rang in the New Year at 6:59pm, hugging our little people and toasting with sparkling cider. 

And then the kids went to bed and the grown ups got to take our time savoring a meal and connecting around the table.  For a little while we checked in with how we were “really doing” and shared a glimpse of what’s going on behind the chaos that is raising little people.  

And because of those little people who would be awake and ready for action at an unsuitable hour we ourselves watched the East Coast New Year’s countdown and rang in the New Year at 11:01pm.  And then we promptly went to bed.

I’ve never been a big NYE person.  I love the idea of it.  The romantic notion of beginning a new year with celebration.  I like the idea of champagne and gold, glittery dresses and dancing.  But I’ve never gone so far as to shell out a hundred bucks for a ticket to a party at some hotel or bar.  My best New Year’s Eves involved dinner out somewhere fancier than the local Chili’s with people I really love and watching the countdown on TV. 

It was a little different kind of NYE this year.  There meal was homemade and there was not a high heeled shoe in sight.  This year the best part of New Year’s Eve was the dance party with our little people.  Laughing with our friends who understand so intimately just what this crazy stage of life it.  It was a different kind of NYE, this one that revolved around our kiddos.  But it may have been my favorite one yet.

We’re in a new phase of life, this season of four kiddos five and under.  There will be less meals out and more game nights in with our kids.  Less time away and more time together.  I’m ready for it, excited even to start creating the same kind of family memories I have with my own family.  And I’m thankful for this tribe of people who love my kids as much as their own and are willing to ring a new year in with chaos and laughter and little people.  Our family is better because of them. 

It’s been a month since we kicked off the New Year with these friends but I’m still so thankful for the ways in which it set a tone for our year.  It was everything I needed as I closed out one year and began another.  It was equal parts family and friends, thoughtful and fun, challenging and light.  It was a different kind of NYE.  It was just what we needed.  

On November and Being Filled

On the morning of the first of November I woke up early and began to prepare brunch for fourteen adults and three and a half kids.   The bacon sizzled filling the whole house with its glorious smell.    I made blueberry crisp with Greek yogurt, goat cheese scrambled eggs and three pots of coffee.  Sarah J brought pumpkin bread and Sarah R a crust less quiche.  There were mimosas and bloody marys, coffee cake and oranges.  We used every one in my eclectic collection of mugs, which gave me a profound sense of happiness. 

Most of the morning was spent in my kitchen, around my island and then my kitchen table.  We laughed and sipped coffee and I realized that brunch may just be my favorite type of gathering to host.  As our friends began gathering their things and saying their good-byes Marty commented that this whole morning was “good for his soul.”  All I ever want is for my home to be good for the soul.

*******

We sang happy birthday and Tommy blew out candles on an icing-less birthday cake a few days later.  A simple birthday dinner with his parents and sisters was one of his nicest.  My mom and sister joined us for dessert and I watched from the doorway between the dining room and kitchen as all the different conversations happened before me.   I watched my husband in his element, surrounded by the people who know him best, thankful for this place for everyone to land.  

*******

A few days after that a different, larger group gathered for my brother’s thirtieth birthday.  His birthday was still a few weeks away, but he, along with many other relatives, were in town for my dad’s memorial service and it seemed as good a time as any to celebrate him and this milestone birthday.   With everyone around I wanted to gather us as much as possible.  I’d planned to keep it simple that night.  I knew it would be a hard weekend as we approached the anniversary of the worst day of our lives.  I ordered beef sandwiches and chopped salads from Portillo’s and let everyone else bring appetizers and booze.    That night I was in our bedroom nursing Red when everyone seemed to arrive at once.  I came into my kitchen to a whirlwind of plates, food, greetings and fullness.  Full kitchen, full home, full heart. 

We sat in my living/dining room in a large circle for hours that night laughing full belly laughs.  Long running inside jokes wove in and out of the conversations.  Some of our oldest and closest family friends, the Dunns, stayed last telling story after story of our shared past, reliving them new as adults. 

Something special happened that night.  Something got put back together a little bit in my living room and for the first time in a long time I had hope for my family.  Maybe we weren’t broken completely.

*******

The next weekend my living room turned into a filming set as my house church/small group/supper club contributed to a promotional video for a book we’d been reading.  Once the interviews had been conducted and the “B-Roll film” shot the cameraman left and I found myself eating chili-mac around my table with the people who have in many ways carried me through this past year.  After dinner we continued our conversations utilizing the open layout of my living/dining room combo while some sat on the couch and others stayed at the table, everyone fully engaged in one long conversation.

And again I marveled at how important it is for me to fill my home with my people.  When we first looked at this house with our real estate agent I stood in my dining room and looked across the expanse of this great room and imagined my people in it.  I could see it.  Could see the very scene that now lay before me in real life.  This home was meant for my people.

*******

Our single greatest endeavor in the art of opening our home came at the end of the month when we welcomed 25 people in for Thanksgiving dinner.  There were a million reasons this last party should have been a disaster.  I’d never actually cooked a turkey or any of the traditional thanksgiving foods for that matter.  Tommy and I decided to invite whoever was around from each of our extended families, which meant that our large gathering consisted of quite a few people who don’t really know each other.   And on top of all of it I wasn’t quite sure how my immediate family would be feeling that day; the holidays, Thanksgiving being the first of a long six weeks or so of merriment, have a way of heightening grief I’ve learned. 

On the morning of Thanksgiving I found myself in a state of panic, worried I’d mess up the turkey, worried no one would interact naturally with one another and it would be 25 people crammed into my house in varying states of awkwardness with only my over-done turkey to keep them occupied.  In this moment I needed my dad.  I needed my buffer of a father who could connect anyone and make everyone feel comfortable.  I needed my dad.  And so I threw up the same desperate prayer I’ve been praying for weeks.  Redeem this Lord.  Redeem even this.  Please.

We pulled out the leaf again on my dining room table and set our large card table next to it.   I put on the new table clothes and used my most colorful cloth napkins trying to create a lovely space that would make people feel comfortable without going too crazy because table settings aren’t really my forte.  I set my timer every thirty minutes to baste the turkey and prepared everything I could ahead of time, all while pleading with Jesus to do his redemption thing.

And miraculously he did.  People arrived, strangers forged connections, laughter reigned.  For weeks afterwards people let us know what a nice time it was at our house on Thanksgiving.

*******

I don’t share this to regale you with tales of my hostess-ing prowess.  I’m actually not naturally a very good hostess.  I constantly forget to offer people drinks or take their coats and I can never seem to remember people’s dietary need and preferences.  I’ve made meat for vegetarians and pizza for gluten-frees.   I tell you this because November was supposed to be the worst.  November was supposed to be a dark month filled with dark days and dark memories of what had happened a year before. 

Instead November was a whirlwind of opening my home to pretty much every cross section of my people.  It was a steady cycle of laying out glasses and table settings, piling coats on the coat rack, serving meals, loading the dishwasher, lather, rinse, repeat. And something happens to me when I do this simple act of welcoming my people into my home.  It fills me up in the simplest way.  It floods the darkest parts with light.  I can’t explain why, or how, but having a home filled with people is good for the deepest parts of me.  November was supposed to suck.  But it didn’t.  I didn’t plan on filling my November with all these gatherings; it wasn’t until mid month that I really looked at the calendar and saw what had happened.  But I don’t think it was coincidental at all.  It wasn’t an accident that during the month I needed it most I was already set up to do the thing that makes me whole.

I want to encourage you to do whatever it is that puts you back together.  For me it’s filling my home with my people.  Maybe for you it’s painting furniture or creating jewelry, writing, or going to movies alone.  Maybe it’s dancing or dinner with your most favorite person or holing away and reading alone for hours.  Whatever it is, do it with reckless abandon.  Let these acts put you back together when you’re finding yourself at the end of yourself.  Do the thing that fills your inner darkness with light and don’t apologize for it.  We need to do the things that make us whole, even when, especially when, we don’t think we have time for it.

November was supposed to suck.  And it didn’t.

Book Draft

Book Club met for our annual book draft last night.  You know how I feel about my book club.  They are awesome.  Last year we started doing a January book draft in the same vein as a fantasy football draft (sort of).  We all gather with our book recommendations and set about plotting out what we will read for the next year.  After too many months of not reading the book because we couldn't get it from the library in time or finally managed to decide on a book about a week and a half before our next meeting it was really great to have the next eleven books mapped out.  This year the ante was upped when Sarah (our resident elementary school teacher) brought home her chart paper and markers, color coordinating our book suggestions.

I love a good book list and I'm super excited about the books we picked for this year.  I'm not sure anyone will care about what we've settled on, but in case some of you made a resolution to read more in the New Year thought I'd share the results of the 2015 book draft.  Without further ado, here's what I'll be reading this year.

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr- This one was on a number of people's lists and I'm excited to start off with some fiction.  For some reason I find myself gravitating towards fiction less and less, which bums me out because I love a good story.

Small Victories by Anne Lamott-  I've got a couple of Anne Lamott books on my nightstand right now.  Whit said Small Victories was a "love letter to your soul" and really, who can argue with that.

Unbroken by Lauren Hillenbrand- Obviously there's a lot of buzz with this one with the movie coming out recently.  We decided to try a "couples" book club with Unbroken and include our husbands, fiances and boyfriends in on the action. (By the way Tommy, you have to read this book and come to a special book club in April.  I mean, only if you want to.)

We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler- This recommendation came with the rule NOT TO READ ANYTHING ABOUT THE BOOK BEFORE YOU READ IT.  So we're doing that.  All I know is it's a thinker with a strange premise.

Yes Please by Amy Pohler-  I love Amy Pohler. I loved Tina Fey's memoir "Bossy Pants,"  I can't wait to read this one.

The Art of Stillness by Pico Iyer- This is a short book that came out of Ted Talk by Pico Iyer.  It seems mindfulness, stillness and being present is the mantra of 2015 and I'm pumped.  I need more of it.

Plenty by Yotam Ottolenghi-  Yes my book club is reading a cookbook.  Cause the thing we love more than books?  Is food.  I'm actually really excited for this one.  Our plan is to spend the month trying out recipes and coming together to make a huge meal with the best recipes.  Sign me up.

The Memory Garden by Mary Rickert-  This was one book that until last night I'd heard nothing about, but it sounds like an interesting story with secrets, friendship, history and a garden.  And again, yea fiction!

The Secret Place by Tana French-  Tana French spins a great tale and her's take place in Dublin (my favorite).  This one also involves a boarding school which is a fascinating back drop for this life long public schooler.

The Invention of Wings by Sue Monk Kidd-  I'm hoping to read Kidd's non-fiction book this year as I heard I might connect well with it's spiritual journey themes.  This novel takes place in nineteenth century Charleston and chronicles the thirty-five year friendship between a young white girl and the little girl who is meant to be her handmaid.  It sounded fascinating and beautiful.

Where'd You Go Bernadette by Maria Semple- I've actually already read this one.  It's a really funny and thoughtful tale of a family trying to find its way back together.  I love the way Semple tells the story- through letters and emails and faxes and receipts and the occasional narration of the young teenaged daughter.



Last year we coined the phrase "Books to ROO" (Read On your Own) for books that looked great but didn't quite make the cut.  I have a few that I plan to ROO this year as well.

Columbine by Dave Cullen- Unbroken beat out this one, but I'm interested in reading it anyway.  I was 16 when Columbine happened and I think it would be fascinating to read about it now, as an adult.

I am Pilgrim by Terry Hayes- This one was deemed a little too long for our monthly gatherings but it generated a lot of excitement when it was suggested.

The Dinner by Herman Koch- I wanted to read this one because I love books that give you different perspectives on the same event.  I always think it's so fascinating how two or more people can see the same thing completely differently, in this case a dinner party.


So there you have it.  This is what I'm reading this year (among other things).  What are you excited to read in 2015?

For Amy, On Her Wedding Day

I met Amy almost 9 years ago.  I remember one of our first conversations, on the corner in Tribeca where our church met.  She carried her guitar case and told me about her recent time living in Australia.  She had beautiful red hair and was living the office worker by day/ musician by night New York life.  I knew instantly that I liked her and that maybe, just maybe, she’d be my first New York friend.  As a native of Nebraska she shared my Midwest sensibility but as a fellow 20-somethings living in New York City we shared the same sense of adventure and dreaming that people who moved to New York after college carry with them.

She became the first of my New York girls, a group of women who changed my life and loved me so very completely.  During my first year in the city Amy was at times my only friend but throughout the course of that year we built community.  First it was with Aimee and Bob and Ben.  Then, at the beginning of that second year Amy and Aimee and I began a little “small group” of sorts, joined by Rachel and April, Kim and Becca.  These women were my family in the Big Apple.  They were the best things I took with me when I left.

Amy was always the start of it all and the one I continued to return to over the years.  She was the one to stand up for me at my wedding and the one to show up for my dad’s funeral.  She is beautiful, inside and out.  An incredibly talented singer and songwriter, Amy wrote the song she played at our wedding that I still cherish to this day.  She loves others so well.  She cares for her people, works hard to keep in touch with the friends she’s made around the world.  She shows up when she needs to, listens well and doesn’t judge.  Amy is the kind of friend everyone should have- loyal, loving and true.  I’ve been so blessed by her love and friendship.

Today is her wedding day.  Because I am 38 weeks pregnant and her wedding is in DC, I am not wearing the beautiful gray bridesmaid dress and standing by her side as she says her vows like I wanted to be.  Instead I am home, thinking about my sweet friend and what this day means.

I’ve walked with Amy through the past nine years as she’s courageously opened her heart to the wrong guys or the right-on-paper guys or the almost enough guys.  I’ve watched her take chances and put herself out there in big, brave ways.  I’ve watched her get hurt and heal and grow.  I’ve always known that Amy was a gem and that someday the right guy would see all that I’ve seen.  I knew if she was patient enough and continued to open her heart even though it had been mishandled before, the guy that was worth it would finally show up.    

And he did.  Her future husband knew instantly what I’ve always known; this is one you don’t let get away.  He was honest and up front and played no games.  He cherished her and valued her and took her aback with his straightforwardness.  And he himself is as much of a gem as she is. 

Today, on her wedding day, I want her to know how proud I am of her.  She had every reason to close her heart and stay small and safe.  She could have chosen not to take another risk, to let heartbreak and wrong guys jade and harden her.  But she instead chose the more difficult path of vulnerability.  She chose to stay open.  To take a chance.  To continue to love big.  I’m so very proud of her for this choice. 

She chose to stay true to herself.  To not compromise for the wrong guy.  She chose to wait for the one who loved her for her.  I’m so thankful she did.

Today, on her wedding day, I hope she knows how loved she is.  I hope she knows how many people are so excited for this day.  I hope she knows that we all cheering to know that she is marrying someone who is worthy, who values her in all the ways she deserves to be valued, who is an equal partner. 

Today, on her wedding day, I pray that she can feel all the joy, love and happiness that surround her.  I pray that this day, the beginning of the journey, is one that is filled with laughter and joyful tears, and enough certain happiness to sustain her through the eventual hard times every marriage encounters.  I pray that she knows she is surrounded by a community of people who are rooting for her marriage, committed to support it along the way.  I pray that my sweet friend knows how loved she is.

Happy wedding day Amy.  I am so very sad that I can’t be there.  But know I am thinking of you all day, loving you from afar and cheering for you in spirit.   This is a happy, happy day.

My Tribe

I was the first of most of my friends to have a baby.  Forging the way to motherhood had its difficult moments, but all in all was not really that bad.  I did, however, struggle with the whole “mom friends” thing.  Those of you with small children know that you need people, other adults, to hang out with during the day or else your brain will turn to mush and you will pounce on your poor introverted husband the second he walks in the door to talk all about what that crazy monkey did today on Curious George.  Poor introverted husband just wants a few moments to decompress, but as he’s the first adult you’ve had contact with all day, that’s not happening, amiright?  Enter the mom friend.  Someone you can walk to the park with and talk about real grown up ideas and not feel bad about the saggy diaper your kid is sporting.

The problem was I already had really great friends who just weren’t moms yet. My wonderful, compassionate, hilarious friends weren’t accessible during the day, as they had jobs to go to and non-yoga inspired clothes to wear, but they were amazing friends, nonetheless.  It seemed sort of silly to try to make a whole bunch of new friends, particularly when the only thing we had in common were little tyrants that now accompanied us everywhere.  I hated trying to force connection based on similar life stages so I decided to just wait it out.  Eventually at least some of my friends would have babies too and I’d finally have some adults to hang with during the day.  The only real friendship that came out of this waiting period was Kate who lived two doors down.  Both of our kiddos are born weeks apart and she doesn’t really feel like a mom friend because we would have been friends whether or not kids were in the picture.  It just so happened that we came across each other pushing newborns all around town in an attempt to keep our sanity.  We would continue to provide sanity saving comfort to each other for the next few years until we both moved off the street that made us neighbors.  

At any rate I am finding myself in the glorious stage of life where some of my friends have now become moms.  And we live close to each other.  For the past year or so, I’ve had a few mom friends in particular with whom I’ve been doing life.  It’s amazing, this mom friendship thing.  We know each other’s schedules.  We plan outings to help break up the monotony of the week.  We understand the monotony of the week!  We understand how a day with a small child can be so insanely, whiplash inducing crazy, while also being so incredibly, mind-numbingly boring.

I got into the car after an outing with these friends and our kids feeling full to bursting.  We had spent the morning catching up and sharing hearts all while continuing to do the parenting thing.  And, as we’ve all grown particularly close over the last year of doing life together, our kids were all interchangeable.  One friend pushes mine in the stroller, I help her kid go potty, we all dole out lunches and sippy cups and snacks.  She makes sure mine doesn’t run into the street, I watch hers while she pees.

I love that we take care of each other’s kids.  That their kids feel like my kids.  I love that it doesn’t matter who’s watching whom- I know it’s covered.  Our kids look forward to seeing each other, squealing with delight upon sight.  They feel comfortable with not just each other, but with all the adults.  These are familiar faces they know and love.  These are safe people they see every week.  It feels like a tribe, these friendships.  Like we’re all raising our kids together, that we’re invested in the lives of all these little ones, not just the ones we birthed.

My tribe will only grow from here, as I have many more friends not quite ready for kids yet, and many future babes to know and love.  I’m thankful for it all, but particularly for this sweet season of doing it day in and day out with women whom I knew and loved before kids and know and love even more now as mothers.

For Whit

The Thirtieth Birthday Tour continues!  As my friends and I turn thirty I'm trying to honor some of them with words.  You can read a few others here, here and here.  Today, on the eve of Whit's birthday I toast her with love.  Happy Birthday friend.

Unlike my other college roommate, Sarah, I remember exactly when and where I first laid eyes on Whit.  Bid day, freshmen year of college.  I was on cloud nine because I’d been invited to join my first choice sorority.  It was the only one I hoped to claim membership to; the reason I continued on to each next stage of the rush process was because they kept asking me back.  I saw Whit across the big ballroom of the Union where we picked up our bids and waited to be picked up by our new sisters.  She was wearing a long red cardigan sweater, the thick cozy kind I always envisioned myself wearing.  She had really smart looking glasses (long before every hipster wore glasses as part of "their look") and Keri Russell curly hair.  It should be noted that for all of high school the television show Felicity encapsulated everything I dreamed of becoming in college.  There was Whit, looking exactly like the cool, independent college girl I dreamed of becoming.  She looked like someone who read high literature for fun, discussed feminism and justice while drinking beer and smoking cigarettes.  She looked like she belonged in college.  I was still wearing overalls and pigtails and couldn't wait for the next Harry Potter book to come out.  I did not belong in college.

I watched her for a little while that day because she intrigued me so much.  She was crying.  Not uncommon as many people ended up in houses they did not want to be in.  At one point I got close enough to see her nametag with her future sorority on it.  Chi Omega.  My house.  I had two thoughts in that moment.  Why is she crying, doesn’t everybody want to be a Chi O? and Man, we’ll never be friends.  She is too cool for me.

Oh how thankful I am to have been partly wrong about that last one.

Whit was too cool for me, but somehow in the course of that first semester of college we became fast friends.  We lived in the same dorm, in instant unifier when you are a college freshman.  Said dorm was an incredibly long trek from our sorority house, so there were many opportunities to get to know one another walking back and forth from various sorority functions.  Whit fascinated me.  She was funny and smart.  She had unique tastes all her own.  She was deep and thoughtful and sensitive, but would still throw herself up against the coffee shop window, startling the poor soul trying to study on the other side just to make me laugh.  She was in so many ways the kind of person I wanted to be, but knew I could never quite pull off.   

In Whit I found a friend so completely different than me in so many ways, but yet also so beautifully similar.  On the surface we couldn't have been more opposite, but there was something in her core that felt like family to mine.  I couldn’t understand why she would want to be friends with me, but I was always so, so thankful she did.

Over the years Whit has been the kind of friend who shows up time and again.  Half the time I can’t even remember my anniversary but I always, always get some sort of a card or gift from her on July 7^th.  One year she found out where Tommy and I were going to celebrate and ordered a bottle of champagne for us ahead of time.  Monster was born at 5pm on a Sunday.  By 8pm, Whit was at the hospital.  With balloons.  She's been to first birthday parties and baptisms and all the other important moments in between.    

Whit has always had a tender, compassionate heart.  As her roommates we had to safely capture the bugs in our apartment and let them out into the wild.   Now she is a vegetarian, dog rescuing, composting, green thinking lady.  She speaks for the trees and the animals and anyone else that need a voice.

Whit creates fun wherever she goes.  Last month in Nashville she showed up with coordinating fringe tops and cowboy hats for us to wear.  In college she had a bin of weird, crazy costumes and we wore those things out more times than I’d like to admit.  We were both English majors at U of I and our advisor gave us the (poor) advice take Entomology 105, the study of bugs, as our “easy” science credit.  The class was intensely hard; I pulled my only all-nighter for the last exam.  Whit wore a spider costume to the final.  When you are friends with Whit some sort of hilarious adventure is always just around the corner.

My sweet friend has been a “go-to” for me for 12 years now.  I can always count on her for a solid conversation that makes me think, lets me vent, spurs me on or joins in joy.  She is thoughtful and wise, witty and silly.  For 30 years this girl has been bringing joy and love into the world.  She was everything I instinctually knew she would be when I first spotted her all those years ago.  And also so much more.  She has continued to grow and change, soften and learn over the years.  Her friendship is a time capsule for some of my most favorite memories and deepest secrets.  I am so thankful to have been wrong that day in the Union.  Her friendship and the things it has taught me have profoundly changed my life.  There is no one quite like Whit.  And I don’t think there ever will be.

Happy 30^th my love.  You are treasured.   

What Happened in Nashville

I had been praying for weeks that the time would be both sacred and irreverent.  The Thirtieth Birthday Tour was born in book club over a year ago.  A trip to celebrate the big 3-0.  A trip to celebrate the 12 years of friendship between us.  A trip to make memories for the years ahead. 

In our early dreaming stages it was to be an epic adventure, eight women and an RV from Chicago to Nashville with cowboy boots and coordinating fringe.  In reality it became six women in a rented mini van and two more joining via Southwest Airlines.  Playlists were made and old mix CD’s dug up from the early 2000’s in preparation.  Cowboy boots were packed and the coordinating fringe became a realized dream (thank you Whit).

These eight women were my people in college. Miraculously we have maintained connection throughout the years since we parted ways after graduation.  While some have moved away and some I still see every month at book club, I always look forward to any amount of time with all of them.  These days that only seems to happen when someone gets married.

In Nashville we enjoyed extended quality time together.  We enjoyed staying out late and sleeping in.  We ate weird food at weird times and drank beer out of plastic cups in dive bars.  We hopped in and out of every Honky-Tonk on Broadway, accumulating more stamps on our hands than a twenty one year old on her birthday.  We resurrected our college selves.  Shedding our wife and mother skins, our career and “grown up” coats, we lived, for just a few days, like we were back in the responsibility free days of our youth.

And it felt good to resurrect my college self.  In the eight years since graduation I’ve moved so far from the rhythms and modes of that world.   At its core college was, for me, about my friendships.  I’d forgotten just how much fun it is to have inside jokes created out of the random moments of simply being together.  Or to get ready for a night out in a room full of other girls, sharing jewelry and shoes and curling irons.  Or to poke random guys’ butts in bars and feign ignorance when they look around confused.  (What?!  As a married, thirty-year-old youth pastor and mother of two I certainly would never do that, but I can imagine that it would be a lot of fun.)  It felt good to organize my life around my comrades, even for just a weekend.

These days life contains responsibilities and work schedules.  We’ve married new best friends that don’t want to share clothes with us and wouldn’t look good in them anyway.  Peers are still an incredibly important part of the picture but they’ve shifted away from that center spot they once held during our years dedicated to higher learning.  This is a necessary part of moving on in life but that doesn’t make it any less of a bummer when you realize the adjustment has happened.

By far my favorite, favorite part of the weekend (aside from the 18 year old kid giving me a high five for being hot) was the time we spent on Saturday night celebrating and loving each other with words.  Whit had created a lovely way for us to do this with a writing prompt for each girl.    There were a few simple prompts: five words to describe so and so, when I first met so and so I thought, I’m so proud of so and so because, etc.  We spent six hours on Saturday taking turns sharing these prompts for each person.  For someone like Tommy that is an uncomfortable amount of feelings time, but I loved every minute.  I loved being able to look these women in the eyes and tell them who I’ve seen them become, what they mean to me, and why they make me proud.  I loved hearing what others treasured about each person.  I loved honoring that unique and precious point in time where our paths intersected and we changed each other.

My best-loved prompt was “_________ has taught me so much about…”  It stirred something in me to hear what we’ve all taught each other.  Some lessons were all encompassing, taught by one’s character.  Some stemmed from specific, defining moments in the friendship.  They all reminded me that friends are life’s most important teachers.  This truth is evident in my life.  My people shaped and continue to transform who I am as a person.  I learn from them everyday.  It is what I celebrate most in women.  At our best, in our most vulnerable and profound moments, we are the very best teachers for each other. 

What happened in Nashville was that, for a few days, we lived as though we were eighteen again.  Our independence was high, our responsibility low and our friends were the most important part of our day.  We remembered who we were before we became who we are.  As the eight of us enter into this new decade it felt good to pay a little homage to the twenties.  The twenties are hard and strange and sometimes very awkward.  While I’m excited for my thirties, for the freedom I feel in my own skin, I know I wouldn’t have gotten here without enduring my twenties.  And I know that surviving the past twelve years wouldn’t have been possible without my friends.

coordinating fringe ya'll

For Sarah

My friends and I all turn 30 this year.  It’s a big milestone.  I’ve started honoring some of the fantastic thirty-year-old women in my life with words of love here on the blog.  Today is Sarah’s birthday.  Happy Birthday Friend.

I met Sarah freshmen year at the University of Illinois when we pledged the same sorority.  I’ve searched all the dusty corners of my mind trying to remember exactly when I met her or the moment when our friendship solidified but I can’t quite conjure the memory.  I have a vague sense that it began during shared phone duty in the pine room of the Chi Omega house, but I can’t be sure.  It’s as though Sarah has always been there: a constant and comforting fixture of my college experience and beyond.

Because when I think of college I think first of Sarah and Whit.  The three of us found each other freshmen year and spent the next four years being inappropriately and probably obnoxiously obsessed with each other.  We lived together in the Chi Omega house for a year and a half and spent our senior year in an apartment with two other Chi O’s, Sarah A. and Ash.

Sarah grew up in a small, one (or maybe none?) stoplight town outside of Rockford.  On a farm.  With cows.  Her background was fascinating to my suburban upbringing.  Despite her small town background, or maybe because of it, Sarah strived to get the most out of the experiences the world had to offer.  She sought out those that were different, always wanting to learn about lifestyles and worlds different from her own.  She knew there was a big world out there and she was not about to miss any of it remaining comfortable with the familiar. 

In college Sarah was that perfect combination of driven and carefree.  She worked harder than anyone I knew, joining a million different activities, all of which would be major resume boosters.  I didn’t know what a resume was and consequently spent time doing activities that did nothing for me career wise.  Meanwhile Sar occupied herself as president of our sorority and something called SAA.  I’m still not really sure what that was about but I know she got to meet really important and famous U of I alums and the university president and plan big university events.  Clearly Sar was a big deal.

But she was also wickedly funny and always up for a good time.  All my peeing your pants with laughter memories involved Sar.  Self-deprecating, generous and witty, Sarah brought life to the party.  She may have been Madam President of Chi Omega but that didn’t stop her from breaking into fraternities to steal composite boards and feigning ignorance when their president called the next day.

Sarah taught me what loyalty looked like in friendship.  I don’t know that I’ve ever met anyone as loyal as Sar.  It was the source of many of our fights.  I was always caught up with doing whatever was “right” or more often whatever reflected best on me.  Sarah always did whatever made her the best, most loyal friend.

She is still just as loyal.  And generous.  Sarah would give you the shirt off her back (and did numerous times in college when my clothing choices made me look like a third grader).   She is still just as loving and funny and driven as she was 10 years ago.

In college Sarah had a plan.  She was going to take over the business world.  Every internship, club, or class was a step towards the direction of a high-powered career in marketing.  After college that plan culminated in the kind of jobs with the kind of salary she had always wanted.  Her drive and work in college paid off and shortly after graduation Sarah found herself living the dream.

But Sarah found it wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as she’d expected.  Sure they pay was good and the success felt nice, but the hours were long and they took her away from her friends and loved ones- the things that really mattered to Sar.  She began to think about what she wanted her life to look like with kids and it didn’t include lots of hours making money for people who already had a lot of money.  So Sarah did something huge.  She gave it all up and went back to school to be a speech therapist.  To spend her working hours helping kids who need to find their voice. 

I have watched her maneuver this career change profoundly impressed with her courage and sense of self.  It takes a lot of bravery to turn your back on the path you’d spent your whole life planning for.  It is daring to walk away from something that’s defined you, particularly when you’ve been so good at it.  It takes grit and guts to leave behind the comfort ability and financial security that kind of work offers.  But Sarah did it anyway.  She took bold steps in a new direction.  She took stock of what was most important to her and built a new life around those things.

I’m really proud of this sweet friend of mine.  As a mom very familiar with speech therapists I know Sarah will be awesome.  And while her future clients may be a little less connected or high profile than her former ones, I have no her impact will be even greater than before.  She will help these kiddos find their voice and enable them to go out into the world and succeed at whatever they desire. 

Happy birthday Sarah!  I’m so thankful I’ve gotten to call you friend for 12 years.  Here’s to many, many more.

IRL

Once upon a time I started a blog.  Then I cloaked it in CIA level secrecy.  My own husband lost access to it when he casually mentioned the URL address to friends one night.  (It was so casual that they promptly forgot it, but Tommy got locked out for a good 6 months.  Eventually I let him back in, but not without a strict lecture about how the writing I put on the World Wide Web was private and not for the public to see.)  My blog was really just a more official place for all the random thoughts in my head to call home.

As I started dipping my toes into the blogging world I continued to keep my own work under lock and key.  I never included my blog address in any comments I left others, even refusing to leave comments at all if it automatically linked up.  I wasn’t ready for anyone to read, judge, or evaluate my thoughts.  I knew I wasn’t a professional writer.  I knew I wasn’t saying anything life shatteringly profound.  The writing was clumsy and awkward, I posted maybe once every other month, and none of it ever connected really.  I wasn’t writing for an audience, just me.

Over time I got more comfortable sharing my blog with a wider audience.  It was an audience of strangers albeit, but an audience nonetheless.   I never shared my blog with anyone I knew In Real Life though.  Friends knew that I had a blog but it’s name and address remained top secret.  While I’d reached a point where I didn’t care if some one in California came across my site and thought, “meh, she’s not a very good writer,” I wasn’t ready to chance my friends reacting that way.  I didn’t want everyone in my real life to think that I walked around imagining myself as a Writer with a capital W.

There were other reasons for my secret World Wide Web life.  Online I could write my truths as I experienced them without any accountability.  When my thought truths were shared with people who never saw me in real life there was no one to contradict them with my actual reality.  I could talk the talk online without anyone knowing if I also walked the walk.  Sometimes our talk and our walk doesn’t match up, not because we are choosing hypocrisy but because we just haven’t seen aspects of ourselves clearly yet.  I know there are ways that I see myself that don’t match up with how people in my real life experience me.  Exposing my writing meant getting comfortable with this contradiction and (life-long) journey to match my perceived self with my actual self. 

Finally, I didn’t want offend or hurt someone with my writing.  I don’t post anything I wouldn’t say aloud to my nearests and dearests but I am keenly aware of the one sided nature of a blog post.  If I’m expressing my opinion about a topic in person I’m able to read your face, to pay attention if something in my words sting or if I’m not being clear and adjust accordingly.  I can’t do that online.  Writing on the Internet puts it all out there and hopes for the best.  Or sometimes just the last word.  On the Internet the priority tends to be to communicate clearly and captivatingly the author’s opinion and perspective.  In a real life conversation there is give and take, room to communicate in love and truth with peace being the ultimate landing place.  The last thing I’d want is for someone in my real life to walk away from a blog post hurt and angry with me.

But over time my secret online life became public.  I shared specific posts I’d written with a few friends, and a few more found me on their own.  Then, when I needed to host a dinner party for a blog post I was told that my friends’ attendance came with a condition.  There would be no dinner guests if the URL address of my blog were not shared. Then things got really real when my two old friends Abby and Catie shared some of my posts with their friends.  My online presence was no longer a secret.   

And so the doors of my corner of the Internet have been flung open and people I know IRL now know me online too.  And I’m not gonna lie, there have been moments where my insecurities have gotten the best of me and I’ve started thinking up names for a new even more secret blog.  But on the whole, I’m so happy to share this space with the faces I see day in and day out.  Their support has been so encouraging and life giving.  It’s allowed people to know me more deeply and intimately.  It’s given me a reason to keep writing (what up 2013?  It’s only June and I’ve already written twice as many posts as any other year!).

I thank you for reading.  And today I share my misgivings asking for grace.  Have patience with me if my self-awareness hasn’t quite reached my reality yet.  I’m growing and stretching and sometimes it takes a while.  I promise to be as honest as I am able, to never put up a front and to admit when I’ve been wrong. 

And if I’ve written something that leaves you stung or hurt or judged- please tell me.  Let’s talk about it.  I can only do that face to face with you real life friends.  If something isn’t clear or you have questions or concerns, my heart is open- please ask.  This space, this Internet home of mine is only worthwhile if it opens dialogue, brings connection and infuses the world with more love and grace.

All this of course extends to readers who I’ve never had the privilege of meeting.  (Are there any of you out there?  I’m never quite sure if anyone besides Tommy is actually reading this.)  Feel free to email me or leave a comment.  Start a dialogue.  The Internet can bring out the worst of humanity (as is evident by the Cheerios commercial backlash) but I’m also convinced that it can be used to foster the best in us too.  My hope is that this space does that, and you feel free to dialogue and question and push back when necessary- in grace and love of course.