Last night I called my old friend Stephanie and invited her and her kids to come with us to the park. Her response surprised me. "Thanks for not giving up on me as a friend. I just get caught up in my own little world. I'm a sort of decent neighbor, but a rotten friend." I thought this comment was really funny because in my mind--we're best friends. Doesn't our Christmas card exchange mean anything to her?

Since having the girls, my view on friendship has had to change. As a mother, it takes nearly all I've got to navigate my children through the rapids of raising them. It is impossible to maintain close friendships with anyone except the ones I bump into along the river. In fact, my closest friends right now are the ones who help drive the car pool.

From talking to other moms, I think that this is normal.  A new neighbor recently commented what a difficult time she was having making friends.  She said that for years her friendships were created out of planning playdates and sitting by other moms at highschool football games.  Now that all of her kids are gone, she can't remember any other way.   

But I have a plan. Just as soon as I get Anna (my baby) safely to shore (in about 2025), I'm going to schedule a big reunion. I'll invite my best friends from high school that I swore to have weekly barbeques with, my best friend from college who was the maid of honor at my wedding, Stephanie who I only see about once a year, and all the other friends I still love but can't keep track of. Dripping wet from the rapids, we can collapse together in some big comfortable chairs and say, "Wow, wasn't that something?" And taking out a few pictures from our wallets, we can pick up our friendships right where we left off--as if nothing has happened. Of course it will be a lie, because everything will have happened.

But until then, even though we never see each other, let's not say we're rotten friends. Instead, let's be content knowing we're all out there--somewhere--paddling really hard.

(c) 2008 Carrie Finlinson