Okay, that was almost Wordless. For more Wednesday photos, visit Wordless Wednesday or 5 Minutes for Mom. (And for great photos in general, visit my bloggy friend Jenny. Her pictures are always amazing!)
When you’re not turning 16, 21, or 40, no one pays much attention anymore.
Which is precisely why it is so very sweet when they do.
Last week I had one of those birthdays. I wasn’t turning an age of any significance, just 39, again.
The day before my birthday my girlfriend Lisa called and said, “Hey, Birthday Girl! I want to take you out for your big day. And you better call me back, or I’ll keep hounding you!” Honestly, can you ask for a nicer friend?
So I’m thinking it will be Lisa, and me, and maybe one other friend. I am shocked when I show up to 4 friends waiting to celebrate. (And, because we are mothers, one inevitably got the sick-kid-at-school phone call & had to run. But still, she came.)
So we sat there and talked. And laughed. And solved the world’s problems. And laughed some more. Well, at least we solved the problems in our school district. We kept laughing. You never saw three hours fly by so fast.
A few nights later I headed over to a different friend’s house for dinner. You may recall that a group of us get together every few months for dinner and fun. This was that group. I walked in, hugged everyone, secured my drink and began chatting about whatever it was I had to say. My friend Janet made dessert for the evening and while we were chatting I glanced over at it several times. It’s hard not to when Janet bakes. If you think you like carrot cake, I am telling you right now that you have absolutely NO IDEA how good it can taste. She is the master! And sitting on top of that pretty little cake was a “39” candle. I thought perhaps it was our host’s birthday, and she added the number as a joke. Eventually I asked, “Who’s birthday is it?” and she laughed, just as you probably are now, and said, “It’s yours!”
photo credit: bloggyboulga
I’ve written here before about friendship but I don’t think I’m quite eloquent enough to say how much these little gestures mean.
These are the things that count. These are the things I’ll remember. These are the things that keep me here, in the land-locked middle, in a suburb, in a place that once had no connection for me, but now pulls me in by the pure strength of these friendships.
The rest really doesn’t matter. The shoes are fun. The jeans are fantastic. But neither one really matters. The houses, the cars, the schools, the rest, it’s all fluff.
Girls that take you to lunch and bake you cakes?
Keepers.
No, no, no. That is not a euphemism for some weird bedroom trick I don’t even know about. Get your mind out of the gutter, people.
No, really, let’s talk seriously.
When you have a 2 year old and a newborn, I think a really fun thing to do is quit your jobs.
Okay, it wasn’t that fun, but that’s what we did. My baby was two months old, and hey, it seemed like a good idea. Sort of.
That was eleven years ago.
Fortunately, we were still able to eat and send our children to school as they grew. Life has been good that way. Also, the company my husband started after quitting his “real” job turned out to be a real company itself, with lots of employees, and photocopiers, and even conference calls. It’s a nice ending to the story, I think. Much nicer than, “It didn’t work out and we were hungry, so we went crawling back.” That would’ve been tough. And I’m sure this isn’t really the ending, but it’s been an interesting ride so far.
We sold the company a few years ago and everything was recently finalized. To celebrate, we flew west to thank the investors who helped us get this thing off the ground. The bonus: they are fun, and funny, guys, not at all the stodgy-old Wall Street types you might expect investors to be. Nope, these were some farm boys from Utah who worked hard and done good. Real good. They kept us laughing all night.
And when we weren’t eating swanky dinners with funny, smart, grown-up farm boys turned businessmen, we enjoyed our lovely hotel, and its fantastic spa.
We didn’t want to be those spa-like people, though, who forget where they came from, so we decided to keep things real with a little activity. A walk, maybe? Or how about a hike? 2700 ft up Camelback Mountain?
