One of my closest friends is named D. That isn’t her name, but I haven’t asked if I can out her here on this non-anonymous webpage, so D she is. I talk to D very nearly every single day.
We are an odd pair. She’s gorgeous and blonde and blue eyed and, well, swank. We’ve known each other since forever, since before I had kids. Since we waited tables together and would sit in my gold Mazda RX7 after work to talk and smoke cigarettes.
We haven’t worked together in many years, but we are closer now than we were when we saw each other all the time. We very, very rarely see each other. A handful of times in the past ten years. But, we talk. And talk. And talk. We are sort of like shrinks for each other, with the added bonuses of being free, talking for over fifty minutes at a time, discussing important things like shoes in total detail, and also discussing things you’d never tell your shrink at all.
D does not have kids. I don’t think she ever wanted to. I, obviously, have them. Boy, do I. I think for lots of women, that’s a friendship breaker for both parties. The woman who never wanted children might feel like she can’t relate to the ones who do, and women with children can feel the same right back. But, for us it’s a great thing. She knew me before I had children, which I like. I can talk to her for hours about things that have nothing to do with kids. I love my kids, but I also love many other things in this big, wide world. I have lots of other interests. It seems like (and this isn’t a bad thing) with my "mom" friends, we talk about kids pretty regularly. D and I bounce ideas off each other, we vent, we discuss our health issues in gory detail.
John is off work this whole week, so today, after I worked this morning, I got in my minivan and drove over the mountains and found D’s lovely little house. It made me drool. Did you know that if you don’t have kids you get to put really nice things wherever you want? Beautiful glass vases and plates and bowls, a zillion plants, and framed photos in stands on tables. I’d forgotten. Any nice things we have are packed away or so close to the ceiling that I can’t see them anyhow. Also, you get to have your underwear folded perfectly in the drawer and arranged by color. Maybe that’s just D, though.
It was great to get to visit. Now that the kids are getting bigger, I find time for more things that are just for me. It’s been a long time. Occasionally, when I go out on a Friday night or something, I feel a little bit of guilt. It’s silly, because I am not a martyr at all. I suppose I haven’t done things just for myself in so long that it feels funny to me. I came home today much later than I’d planned, but no one minded. I wasn’t met at the door by an exhausted husband and a cranky baby. In fact, John and Willow were cuddling on the couch watching cartoons, and the other kids were all playing with friends. It was okay for me to be off having some time for me.
I enjoyed the drive over and back, too. Me, all alone in the van with my ipod. The roads I took are pretty windy, to say the least, and I had fun cranking the music and pretending my van was a sports car.