I posted a new status on Facebook the other night: Jennifer (Name redacted) "ponders the age old question 'What's for dinner?' and wishes there were another age old question to ponder."
Which prompted a discussion with 18 comments. I don't often get 18 comments on anything I post. I guess because that dinner question is a dilemma we all face.
I don't think I've written about it here, but my friend Careless and I were pretty tight in the early years of our marriage and child-rearing time. Quite often we would talk on the phone in the afternoon while our littles were napping.
Often, one or both of us was uninspired, we were both poor, and we craved time together. Fortunately we liked each other's husbands (not in an inappropriate way) and the husbands got along, too. It helped that they are both geeky types who enjoy woodworking and building stuff. And beer.
So we would engage in a conversation about what each of us could theoretically contribute to a meal and whose house was cleaner, and we would come up with a game plan and let the husbands know we were having a dinner party.
(Which, let's be clear, at our house was eating at the coffee table in the living room while seated on the floor with the littles tumbling around at our feet. I have a dining room table now but I shudder to contemplate getting rid of my giant square coffee table. It rocked. Anyway, it was never fancy but the company couldn't be beat.)
All of that explanation to share with you the single post on Facebook which honestly made me tear up:
Careless posted, "I've got a bag of salad ... what do you have?"
In one sentence she invoked all of those toddler/baby stressed days, the simple fun of spending time with friends and sharing food, the fun of listening to 80s music and her husband's commentary, matching every song, it seemed, to a girl he dated. We didn't have a lot of money but we were RICH. That friendship saved my life. That girl was my rock. That family, well, they are MY family.
And that, my dear blog reader, is why I cried over a bag of salad on Tuesday.
And I smiled. In fact, I am still smiling.
Careless, you are one amazing woman, and I am so glad you are my friend.
Oh -- I have chicken breasts and banana bread. And my house is clean. Come on over, anytime.
Mom, wife, daughter, sister, friend. Scrapbooker, family historian, reader, cook, photographer. Volunteer. Political junkie. Springsteen fan. Loves deeply, strives daily to be a cheerful, kind and generous person. Fails regularly. Snarky, judgy and more than a little blunt. Some people don't appreciate my style. If you're one of them, that's ok. Get your own blog.
I have had a very tough week and now I am crying reading this! Good friends like that are invaluable. We have this kind of relationship with our next-door neighbors and collaborate/share meals several times a week. I don't know what I would do without them
ReplyDeleteSo now I get to cry over a blog post? That was the sweetest blog post ever, and I miss you so terribly, I ache. I LOVED the husband love (not in an appropriate way), and am drop dead serious about the proposition I made the other night.
ReplyDeleteWhere do you see yourself retiring? I need to start looking for properties that have side by side houses, with grass big enough for grandkids Easter Egg hunts, a vegetable garden, a shared woodworking barn far enough out of our hair that we can cause trouble and they can listen to their bad 80's rock and discuss copping-a-feelsky with what's her name. I can't think of a better arrangement.
You, too, are my family and I think about you every day. I love you! I have
I cried today. My childhood BFF moved away from home to start a family with her husband in Texas. She has two little ones now, and has lived there for more than five years. I know she will never come back here to live. And that is OK. Well it's not OK, but I have come to peace with it. I was home in Dodge Center today to visit my parents and do wedding stuff, and I made time to stop in to visit my BFF's parents. We chatted like adults (apparently I am one now), and we joked about me cracking open a can of pop and only drinking two sips, and leaving the rest of it on the kitchen counter (according to my fiance, I still do this--whoops!). I left there and before I knew it tears were streaming down my face. I love my life now, but I missed the simpler times of my childhood.
ReplyDeleteAnd now that I have written this all in a comment on your post, I think I need to write an actual blog about it. I might need to link this post as inspiration if that's ok?
PS--I am crying again. Ugh.