Making and keeping friends
the art of friendship
Parents were invited to the Halloween parade at daycare. My son was dressed as a bumblebee, although, he wished he wasn’t. He ripped off the hood of his black and yellow costume 101 times and clung to me for dear life. I attended alone while my husband went to work. Thank the good Lord I showed up without a costume on when I noticed that none of the other moms or dads came dressed up—my mom had suggested I borrow a pizza costume, but I forgot, and also, I wished I wasn’t a piece of pizza.
Daycare is new for us, so I went into this social event alone hoping to make just one friend. Please help me connect with just one person. Just one.
Making friends as a new mom has brought out all my old childhood insecurities. Motherhood has a way of digging up old versions of ourselves and shining them in the bright light, begging us to examine them closely under a microscope. Suddenly, she’s back in high school, eating her ham sandwich in the locker room bathroom because she can’t possibly walk into the crowded cafeteria and ask someone if she can sit with them. She’s that small freshman girl with her rolling backpack who wouldn’t dare speak to that cool girl in the hall, who can’t find the words to ask her dreamy upperclassman biology lab partner to explain how exactly all of this works.
So, instead, she stays silent.
Lucky for me (maybe?), my son made a scene. We naturally attracted attention. He’s still adjusting after a string of illnesses that have kept him home, so he spent the entire celebration crying and attached to me.
“Aw, how sweet,” the moms said to me.
“Mmmhmm…”
One mom next to me during snack time noticed his *cute* attachment to me and asked the golden question that will lead to all new mother friendships: How old is he?
This question truly opens the doors to all conversations. Next comes, when was his birthday? Has he started walking? How does he sleep at night?
If you’re like me, remember to reciprocate. I get so focused on answering the questions that I forget to ask them back and later I’ll come home and reflect, Gahh, why didn’t I ask them about their son’s favorite snack.
We chatted while our sons reached for more pretzels and animal crackers and goldfish. She asked if I would want to get the boys together for a play date, so we swapped numbers. Later, my husband asked if the boys were actually friends or if this was just a mom play date. How do you measure the friendship of one-year-olds? I mean, they sat next to each other at snack time. That seems like a good qualifier.
Honestly, I haven’t followed up with her yet to schedule anything. I think that’s the hardest next step of making new friends as a mom—a working mom, a stay-at-home mom—it doesn’t matter. Time. Where does all the time go?
***
One of my dearest friends came into town recently. We met at a café for a quick breakfast with another best friend. Loaded avocado toast led to loaded conversations.
We moved outside to a bench in the sunlight to finish our deep talk. Did we expect to spill our guts over poached eggs and lattes? Not exactly.
We accomplished both everything and nothing in the span of two hours. We all agreed that life isn’t black and white—there’s an overwhelming shade of gray that feels blurry and grainy on the best days. There’s not one way to parent. There’s not one way to be married.
Find your friends who stick around when you share the scenes that unravel behind closed doors. These friendships take time, and they are something entirely different than the mom who you met at the school social gathering who you could text about what snack to bring for the class party.
Old friendships take bumps and bruises and brokenness to form and hold together. They take vulnerability that can rub you raw as you choke out, Here are all my broken pieces right now. Can you help me put them back together?
The beauty comes in cracking wide open with old friends about everything that happens between the lines. So much happens that Google can’t answer for you. So much heartbreak and confusion doesn’t belong on this page, in this space, on the screen, in your hands or minds.
So much is sacred, best left to the imagination of the white space.
Give these a try…
This book, The Life Council by Laura Tremaine (find her here:
), is on my list to read. I’ve probably listened to every single podcast interview that she’s done about the book, so I’m going into the book with a lot of background info. The art of adult friendships has been a recent obsession of mine. One friendship philosophy that Laura shares is that friendship is work. It’s something we have to put on our to-do list to maintain. Check in with Susy about her doctors’ appointment. Often, we don’t want to hear that, but how true is that?Speaking of all those podcast interviews… Episodes 268 & 269 of
’s podcast, The Next Right Thing, are excellent conversations about friendships. Emily has been a gentle guide for me for several years. Her voice is soothing and a great one to listen to when you want to turn your attitude around. She speaks with Laura about her book and one thing that stood out to me in this conversation is remembering that not all friends will be instant “best friends” who are true “soul sisters” who know you inside and out. And not all friendships are meant to go that deep! Some are your “daily duty” friends who you sit in the bleachers with at your kids’ soccer games for just a season.I’ll leave you with a gem from
’s book of poems, What Kind of Woman. She gives us words for what we’re feeling about parenting, motherhood, marriage, friendship, and simply being a human in this hard world.
Girls’ Night Out
In restaurants we argue over who will
pay even though the real question is
who will confess their children are dull
or their marriage has holes at the knees.
We order french fries, salads, and brie.
Hold wine to our lips. Pull truth from
our bags that we kept all along.
She wonders—do you remember when
I cried in the cab. Wore that shirt
with the sleeves. Left him alone in the rain.
We do, we do.
, What Kind of Woman