When we moved to the small city where we’ve raised our three boys, we knew no one except our wonderful realtor. Z had recently turned one, and my husband and I decided we would have to be more extroverted than normal and introduce ourselves to parents at the playground, grocery store, wherever. The morning after we moved in, we decided to go for a walk. Around the corner from our house (three houses down, across the street), we saw a dad with his own young child. We went over, introduced ourselves, and a friendship was born. Those two toddlers were born only eight days apart. Seventeen years later, they will be starting college eight days apart. For the first five or six years of their lives, they were besties. Their younger brothers grew up together; the youngest two still walk to school together every day. They are all like family to us.
I raised my littles with J. We spent most days together with our babies, alternating between her back yard, my front yard, the neighborhood playground. We celebrated all the milestones together, heard their little voices go from sweet babbles to actual words, watched the faltering first steps turn into full-fledged sprints. We fed our littles so much Annie’s Mac and Cheese, added broccoli so it felt healthier, cut up carrot sticks, cucumber wheels, apple and orange slices. We shared the bittersweetness of delighting in their growth and feeling wistful about the littleness they kept leaving behind. I don’t know how I would’ve raised my babies without her. Together, we figured out both how to mother and what this new identity meant to each of us. We shared so many other things besides being mothers. We both worked for the federal government, though in different sectors; we loved to read and had similar taste in authors; we had similar political views; we are both oldest daughters with the many things that brings; we even share the same birth month and year and got married in the same year. Perhaps most importantly, we both recognized the dual functionality of sunglasses as both protective eyewear AND a handy headband. It’s hard to imagine finding a more perfect, first friend just around the corner.
My husband and I decided to send our boys to the charter school a town over, and J and her husband sent their children to the public school. Though the kids remained close, especially the younger boys, those six and half years in the charter school put some inevitable distance between us. School becomes the organizing factor in your life, and we had different centers. Soccer games, birthday parties, walks kept us in contact, but having our kids move in different orbits meant things just weren’t quite the same.
When things went south with the charter school, the first person I called was J. I was crying and upset, walking around the city on my lunch break wondering how I was going to make things better for my child. With her usual calm, she assured me it was going to be fine. When I indicated I wanted to move the boys to the public school, she laid out the steps to do it. Within a few days, we had everything in motion for transferring the boys to the public school. Our children would be in the same school buildings, have the same teachers, administrators, and staff supporting, educating, and caring for them.
Of course, things couldn’t return to those early days of parenting, when we both had more time at home and our children’s lives were simpler. But there was something so relieving about sharing the same habitat for our children again. To not need explanation or context for who the significant people were in our children’s worlds because they were often the same…or at least known to each other.
Parenting requires that you are constantly learning, adjusting, changing, and adapting. What worked for one child will most likely not work for the next one. Just when you think you have figured out a way to communicate effectively, to work with your child, something happens. Hormones gone wild because puberty. A friend upset. A girlfriend. Bullying. Difficulty at school. Parenting isn’t something easily navigated. And it’s even harder if you are trying to manage it alone. Dr. Suniya Luthar, a psychology professor at Arizona State University, has spent her career studying what moms like me need to function well. What she found: Moms need friends. Good, reliable friends who both see and love each at their core and who provide personalized comfort when they are distressed.1 I have been lucky enough to find those friends, throughout my parenting journey. And J, my first mama friend, has always been right beside me as we figure out the current phase, the next hard thing.
J’s oldest child starts college in a few days. We have gone through the parent side of the college process together. Sharing with each other the excitement of the college tours, the delicate process of checking in about the application process without inciting the teenage ire, the excitement of the acceptance emails, the decisions. All the feelings associated with graduation, with the counting down of months, then weeks, and now days until college starts. Eight days after J drops her child off at college, I will be doing the same thing. We will have each other in this new place. I will be overwrought, tearful. J will be practical, matter-of-fact, reminding us both we will be strong. And I will be grateful, as always, that she is here, walking this journey of motherhood with me.
As Lori McKenna sings, I'll walk with you. Even if it's uphill.
Thank you, J. May our children know friendships like ours.
Luthar, S. S. & Ciciolla, L. Who mothers Mommy? Factors that contribute to mothers’ well-being. Developmental Psychology, 2015; DOI: 10.1037/dev0000051
Photo credits: Dana Giuliana
Oh this is so lovely, and lovingly written. You do magic with words, Rachel.