16 years ago. 16 years ago this week, in fact. 16 years ago I met each of them.
One was the sweetest girl I’d ever met. I think she was wearing a blue dress as she took me on a tour of what would become my home away from home. She let me borrow her deodorant on our meeting. After I told her I feared I had BO. True story. She was smart. Sophisticated. Always thoughtful. Gorgeous. Always liked. And one of the most organized people I’d met. Through college, I learned that not only did she seem like the sweetest girl. She actually is. And one of the best mamas I know.
One was the fun, crazy, smart, wild and free girl. The one all the boys were drawn to. The one who made all her classes seem easy because she never seemed stressed and always pulled good enough grades. She made everyone laugh. Always. Always. She was the one every girl liked and wanted to be like. Although in the trio of the three, it’s hard to say one was actually more well-liked or respected than another. But now I know that her sense of humor never changes. And her deep commitment to being genuine and being herself continues to be my favorite thing about her. And. She’s one of the best mamas I know.
One was the tall, put-together scholar. The one who I could really never understand how she could possibly stand being friends with a girl as whimsical as I was. The one who had every duck in row. Could speak perfectly. Could command a room with a look. Always was appropriate. But was more fun than I ever would have given her credit for when I met her. And now she continues to be my friend who reminds me that you can’t please everyone and you don’t need to. And she happens to be one of the best mamas I know.
And then, the one that I met later. When we each had one baby boy. We then got to know each other better when we each had two. Then three. But she got me with the fourth. And the girl. She was the happy-go-lucky but crazy wicked genius level girl. The one who lets everything roll off her back. The one who I look to for notes on chilling out and living the type of life you love. I’ve pretty much never seen her frazzled. And she’s one of the best mamas I know.
They’ve been my Omaha tribe. Them and a couple others. That extend to a bigger group. A group of women who, like these, I could write not just a paragraph on, but a chapter, at least. They don’t know it but the ones in the crew are the ones who proved to me that real connections are the best. Pajamas and unwashed hair is real life. And that complaining about our children in no way means we don’t love them. It just means we’re honest.
I am at the point in my life where I like myself. I like my choice of mothering (in general) as it works for our family. I like my attitude. I even, for the most part, like the body I’m walking around in. So I don’t really long to be like celebrities or whatever. But these women, these women and others. Some who know one another, some who don’t. These are my tribe. The women who I would hold hands with at chemo. The ones whose screaming babies I would hold. The ones who I would text and say, “I am over it!!” They are the women who exemplify so many attributes and characteristics that I would count myself lucky to pick up via osmosis just by breathing the same air they breathe. My circle. The ones who I strive to be more like in an effort to become a better friend, wife, and mother.
And every time we get to be together, whether a portion or all of us, I am reminded of how long they have put up with me. How many times they’ve hugged my tears out of me. How many times they’ve said, “I get it.” How many times they’ve asked what they can do or how they can help. And how I’ve gotten to hold their babes. How I’ve seen most of them on their wedding days. How I’ve gotten to listen to their laughter with mine about life, love, and other mysteries. How I envision being old, wrinkly, cranky, and 87 years old with all of them laying on a beach, making fun of all the fun we’ve had. And how I hope that we’ll all always be here. Not in the same city, necessarily. But here. For each other.
I am a lucky woman for many reasons. And of that, I have become increasingly more aware this last year. But among my luck and my blessings, this tribe. This sisterhood. These women. And the other women who I’d count among a different definition of friendship. All different. Yet all supportive of each other. Happy for each other. The smart ones. The beautiful ones. They’ve all become these mothers… Whether to their own children or to mine or to family… They’ve all become these adult versions of the girls I first met and they are totally people I’d love to be.
And I’m lucky that I feel like I just keep meeting women who fit those parameters. Women who are real. Who are beautiful souls. Compassionate humans. Whether through work, school, blogging, or motherhood… These are women whose buckets I hope I fill as much as they do mine. And who I hope to know for as long as the earth shall keep me.
Do you have a tribe? Do you have a few separate circles? Do you have women who make you better? Who make you not jealous but happy? Who bring you up not drag you down? Who remind you of all the good qualities that exist in humanity?
If you do… Call them. Text them. Love on them. Listen to them. And let them know that you know how lucky you are God put you in the same place at the same time.
Friends are in your life for a reason, a season, or a time… But those you’d count among the very best if you had to forget the rest… Your real sisters and life-earned sisters… Some your age, some older than you, some completely opposite… Your tribe… They are usually there for the long haul. For the reasons, the seasons, and the times.
Be thankful for them. Every day.
