Last week before my son returned home, he experienced a few days of what is known as the Sophomore Slump. (you can read all about it here) When morning came around after the infamous text and phone call, the blur of not sleeping left my vision (both internally and externally) a bit clouded. To regain my bearings, I did what many of us do, and I used a lifeline. I called a friend.
These are the women in my life that know me, understand me, and accept the good/bad/ugly in me. They have my back; they are my wingmen (women).
They got my 6.
These are the women that I can go to with anything. Anything.
These are the women that won't judge, scorn, ridicule, or talk behind my back. Ok - they may talk behind my back AFTER they've said it to my face.
They listen to the woes of my world without comment, without suggestions, without reference to their own sagas.
And I try to do the same for them.
These are the women that call me out when I am anxious, ridiculous, overly-sensitive, uptight. You know, all those flaws that I realize I have but forget. These are my friends that remind me to let my kids live -- and I am the one they call who informs them when something is dangerous.
Because sometimes, you need that spotlight from another angle to light up the truth. Sometimes, it's that friend saying, "oh my gosh, my son acts the same way" OR "no, that doesn't sound right" that helps you navigate the potholes of teen/college parenting, of (mid)life in general.
Sometimes, it's that friend who complains about a personal issue, a particular hormonal issue (yes, I'm talking about perimenopause - do you have a problem with that?) that is just what you need to hear when the way your husband breathes is becoming especially annoying. Or, when your hot flashes rise from back to chest, engulf your face with makeup melting heat and you are drenched - she is there with a tissue, a glass of ice, or a clear path to the freezer.
They got my 6.
These are the women that you call when your child details his/her sketchy weekend plans, and you need confirmation that NO, this is NOT a good idea. Because - let's face it - none of us want to be featured on Good Morning America as THOSE parents that allowed their child to do THAT. (pick the most outrageous plan your child has proposed, and you get my drift.)
These are the women you have bounced the rules off of for the last 20 years.
Are we all going to the 1st-grade birthday party?
Do they pack a lunch for this field trip?
Who is driving?
Is he a good driver?
What's the curfew?
Why isn't there a curfew?
The stakes get bigger as they get older. Classes, College, Drinking, driving, drinking and driving, smoking, vaping... what are the rules?
All I have to do is turn to my friends.
Not that we know what's best or even that we know what we're doing. But we are in it together.
These are the friends whose kids walk in my house with a single knock. Their shoes are in our lockers. Sometimes for days, their shoes are in our lockers. (I never understood how they go home without shoes)
Got Your 6 Girls are the friends you text with a new haircut picture. Can I pull off a pixie? Really? The ones who will tell you if a dress is too tight. The ones who let you borrow dresses when yours are too tight. These are the women that will clean my kitchen at midnight after a party - after I've gone to bed. (I know, it's pathetic)
These women are my tribe.
We are each other's biggest fans. Supportive and encouraging, honest, and real, standing at the ready.
Love and Luck,