The best gift — friends

Thirty days have come and gone. And I’m still blogging. I’ve never exercised for thirty straight days, dieted for thirty straight days, or been really nice for thirty days in a row (just ask my family).

After a whole month of spewing wisdom and whatever, still no one pays attention to me. With the exception, of course, of my friends. ?

When I first divorced, friends expunged my closet of anything held together by paper clips, safety pins, or staples. They threw out the old maternity dress I wore on my bloated days, and another with fabric streaked with a spill of Magic Rocks’ secret growing solution during a quality bonding time with my kids. They discarded any outfit bearing a label One Size Fits Most. They sustained my depleted wardrobe with a supply of near new skirts and blouses, even a belt. It took a while to get accustomed to clothing fitting snugly at the waist and free from baby spit-up stains.

Leslie is my strong friend. She had a child with spina bifida. Each night she faithfully rolled a small Minute Maid orange juice can wrapped in a washcloth over the bottoms of his feet to prevent the toes and balls of the feet from curling towards the heel. She adopted more disabled children into her home. I remember when one of the boys with a trachea tube came in looking scared. With no disruption in our conversation, she grabbed him, threw him over her knees and rhythmically pounded on his back. Another time, sitting with my back to the window, she again never missed a beat. Obviously unaware of my visit, her husband, to pleasantly surprise her, ran streaking, beckoning her with his fingers to their swimming pool. I would have never suspected had it not been for her wide open eyes.

Sometimes my friends’ judgments were a little less than savory. I drove to George’s to deliver a sprig of broccoli (don’t ask) with daughter No. 2, CoCo, the green peace advocate. I knocked and heard “Come in.”

He stood at the top of the stairs, a towel around his waist. I clenched my teeth. His boldness astounded me. He took one step. “George, don’t you think…” I gasped as the towel fell. I flung my arm across my daughter’s eyes. That same quick movement I make across the passenger seat when I slam on the brakes. George wore a pair of swim trunks. Very punny.

I doubt my association with Charlotte who sneaked out of her house at midnight to meet up with a dark handsome Israeli terrorist, or Trish, who once tried to have sex with a guy on a motorcycle, while they were in motion, did too much for my reputation as a mother. I don’t remember, but I don’t think the motorcycle rendezvous ended well.

Valerie’s life-skill instructions well into the early morning encouraged me to do little things like bake twenty-six homemade pies from a prolific lemon tree or knit matching sweaters for the whole family, first after shearing sheep and spinning the yarn. Okay, so the lambs and spinning wheel part is a joke.

Then there’s, Sue Trueblue. A friend for all seasons. She’s the one who tells it like it is AND my co-contestant of our personal on-going reality show called So You Think Your Day is Bad! We loved losing. Our goal — to lose three days in a row. Most days, we tied.

My friends kept me going when I doubted I had the strength.

I am so excited to make new friends while posting on my blog. My followers are actually in double digits now, coming from faraway places where I previously knew no one — like Kansas and Kentucky. I admit the number is in the lower double digits, but the most people who had ever listened to me before was three. I would have said four, but I know for sure my four kids never listened to me all at the same time.

I almost made new friends in Mexico. I guess they searched Google for chichotas and found my How not to parent post. Bet they were disappointed to find out I was referring to the San Onofre nuclear power domes. They never came back.

I even have a follower in Germany. My husband always looks at me like I speak a foreign language. I just didn’t know it was German.

Thanks for visiting. Keep coming back. Friends are the best.