Hallmark meant she cared...

I got a card in the mail today from a neighborhood woman. I told her about the miscarriage when she called to ask me to send out an email for a local organization. At the time, she was so sweet, telling me how sorry she was for our loss. We got off the phone and I felt comforted. Like she really got it. She meant what she was saying, and truly hurt for me.

The card itself was really sweet, too.

“Thoughts of you are gently wrapped in little prayers for heaven to smile on you, angels to watch over you, and happiness to fill your heart again.”

This was not the only act of kindness in my life. Today, for instance, I got a call from the mom of one of my religion kids. She apologized for taking so long to call, and wanted to know how I was feeling. I was so touched. My friends have been rallying around me, too. Calling, emailing, texting. “Just thinking of U today, Ka. Hope you are doing well.” I got that text around 7 p.m. this evening from an old, old friend.

In the past — when people I knew battled adversity — I always felt bad that I wasn’t doing MORE for them. What could a card do? What could a call do? Would my baked ziti really change anyone’s  life? I should have thought back to my first miscarriage in July 2005. (That baby, due January 2006, would be six right now.) Right after I miscarried there was a knock on the door. One of the people I consider a “bestie” was standing there holding a pint of Ralph’s Italian ices. Jelly ring flavor, which is a favorite. She looked really uncomfortable and told me she didn’t need to be invited in, but she wanted to do something to show me she was thinking of me. Later on, I ate those ices and cried over the baby I had lost. It sounds morbid, but I’ve never forgotten that small, kind act. I don’t think I ever will.

Anyway, the point of this rather depressing blog post is that yes, small acts of kindness and heartfelt sympathy really mean something. I feel more whole knowing there are, for instance, super-busy people who will drop everything in their Manhattan office, asking me where they can call me. And people who email me constantly, checking in and making sure I am okay. And I can’t forget my entire GROUP of writer friends who sent me their phone numbers and commiserated with me. Those who shared their own stories of loss and grief to let me know that they understood. That I am not alone. And what about the woman who only knows me through our kids — and hadn’t spoken to me for more than a year –  but offered to come over and help me clean up my yard so I could just sit and rest because I NEEDED my rest? How could I forget her? Or family member who texted me four simple words, “I am so sorry,” making me feel warm inside even while tears streamed down my face. (That one was especially meaningful since that particular family member has many, many more never-born babies than I do.) I was equally as humbled by the friend who constantly told me to drop off my kids or said she would come and pick them up as well as her husband, who knows how I feel about hugs but still wrapped his arms around me to tell me that he cares. Or my brother, who actually CAME to my house and hung out, which is something he rarely does. And my mom, who stopped nagging and just took care of me, bringing me meals and watching my kids. My in-laws, too, who raced to the hospital at 4 a.m. to bring my kids home and have been attentive and worried during the whole process.

Yes, this entire experience has sucked really, really bad, but it definitely brought me clarity. It shows me how many amazing people I have around me — more than I realized. It also showed me who I should care about, and who I needed to remove from my life. Finally, it reminded me that an act of kindness, however seemingly small, can be huge to the person on the receiving end. And for that I am glad. It was a true silver lining on what was really a hurricane-sized thunder cloud.

My focus outward has been brewing for about six months or so, but it became more pressing about a month or so ago after I took Little Girl to a Mommy and me class. It was a class that my mother usually handles since it takes place on a day that I work. That week, however, my mom couldn’t sit for me. She’s been dealing with a very close friend’s serious health issues, so I was without a sitter.

Okay, so it’s not like it was my first trip to this Mommy and me. I had been there before, obviously, and knew some of the women on a, “Oh, hi, the kids got so big,” level. On that day, as always, I spent the class running around after Little Girl. She’s like a whirling dervish. Afterward, however, when we stopped into Panera for a pumpkin muffin top I had a chance to socialize with some of the moms. (Little Girl, seeing her “friends” loudly expressed an interest in sitting with them, and their mommies were kind enough to extend an invitation.)

The next three hours flew by. Little Girl sitting with the kids laughing and having a ball. Me sitting with the moms feeling relaxed and included. I have no trouble admitting that I really enjoyed myself. (I’ll digress a moment here and explain that, unlike my time with Big Girl, I haven’t really had a chance to do a lot of baby/mommy playdates, something I really, really regret and miss. Besides the fact that I have been feeling a little lonely lately. Okay, digression over.)

The women were really nice. The kids were really nice. It was a lovely time. Then, when the women asked if maybe I wanted to get together again, I felt really warm inside. I was actually looking forward to the next week knowing that my mom would be at a doctor visit with her friend.

That week flew by, and it was time for Mommy and me class before I knew it. I spent that class thoroughly enjoying my little girl and her exuberance and love, all the while looking forward to lunch. Afterward, I went back to Panera taking a place at the table with those same moms again. Then something happened. About five minutes into lunch one of the women told me that she Googled me. Something to the effect that my mom had bragged about me and my work so much that she had to look me up. And oh, she read this blog. The other people at the table nodded in unison. Seemed like they all read my blog, too.

Immediately, I felt like I was standing naked in front of them. Quite honestly, I wanted to cry. (And I did once I got into the car.) I smiled my way through the rest of the lunch, but I was pretty miserable the whole time. Especially when they started talking about some of my more personal posts. No, she didn’t just look at my impressive clips. (Yeah, I’ll own that — not too many people write for Time, Woman’s Day, Parents, The New York Times, and the Wall Street Journal, among other pubs). She looked at this blog, too and in effect took a peek into my soul since it is, for the most part, me. Warts, crazy and all, it’s me. My failings, my fears, my shortcomings. They all had a front row view into my brain.

Now some might say, hey, you put it out there. What do you expect? People read what you write. To that I say yes and no. When I started this blog more than 300-plus posts ago I never thought about new-to-my-life people reading it. I assumed friends, who already know me and like me enough to tolerate my foibles, would read it. I assumed editors would read it. (I hoped they would, actually, because I think it shows people what my unedited work looks like, and that I know how to tell a story.) I assumed other parents or people who don’t know me would read it and find comfort, inspiration, and knowledge in it. But no, I didn’t imagine that, for example, people from my beach club would read it. Or people from Mommy and me. People who I view as potential new friends.

The neighborhood thing, well, that’s my fault. I put it out there on my Facebook page. I truly didn’t think that anyone from around here would be interested in what I had to say. I have a very specific slant, and didn’t figure anyone would bother to click through. Stupid, shortsighted, and obtuse of me, I guess. The Mommy and me people? Well, I use a different last name in those circles. Problem is, I didn’t count on my mother bragging about me. My mother, who shares my maiden name. But whatever.

The problem is that people who don’t know me as a friend assume things from reading this blog. Hard to explain, but it’s almost like they look at me the way someone would look at another public figure. The intimacy is there without the hours of work and mutual sharing that a friendship usually goes through. Hence, the reason I often feel uncomfortable and uneasy when someone who is not my friend talks about something private I have written about. And again, yes, I know if I have written about something in a very public way in a very public forum, it’s not private. But in my mind it is. And now I am going in circles, aren’t I?

Back to the Mommy and me incident: That afternoon I sat in my car, called my husband, and bawled. It was ruined, I said. I couldn’t be friends with those women. It was too PERSONAL, I wailed. They seemed so nice, but how could I grow a friendship when they already had all the dirt on me? My ever-patient husband tried to calm me down telling me that it was okay, and that they obviously liked me even after reading the blog. Little Girl told me she loved me and that I shouldn’t cry. Still, I drove home brushing tears from my cheeks.

And that brings us to today. I’ve been thinking about this and thinking about this. I absolutely love this blog. I love disseminating information. I love the catharsis that comes from spilling my soul onto the page. I love getting emails saying that I helped someone feel better, or that I helped them on a greener (or saner) path. I don’t love knowing that people I meet think they know me after reading what is only a small part of who I am. And I hate it when good friends of mine — people I truly love and respect — apologize for bringing a plastic bag to our house, for instance, or reference something I’ve written about as absolute. In writing, there is absolute. Either you write it or you don’t. In life there are shades of gray, and I like that and live that way.

So what’s a girl to do? Well, I’ll be launching a new blog in a few weeks as well as giving this one an overhaul. This one will have more reviews, more news, more ways to make positive, healthy green changes. The name of the blog is changing slightly, too. It will become AsNaturalAsPossible.com, although this URL will remain up. In addition, another new, soon-to-be-launched blog will join it, capturing a year of my life in a way that’s more conducive to my social life. Yes, I will still be spilling who I am, but in a different way. (You’ll get it when you see it, I promise!) I’ll wait on announcing the URL until the site goes live, but it should bow soon. I can’t wait…

I started with my address book. We’ve got family in Florida, Michigan, and South Carolina, but that’s really it. I moved onto my virtual address book, asking my 391 Facebook friends to help out. My sister (thanks, Aunt K) and my husband did, too. My brother asked some of his friends, too. Then I branched out to all the PR friends I’ve got out there. Since I’ve written travel stories for the New York Times, Woman’s Day, Yoga Journal, and Executive Travel magazines, I reached out to CVBs (convention and visitors bureaus) I’ve worked with in the past. Thanks so much to the CVBs/PR people for Omaha, Woodloch Pines, Kripalu, South Dakota, St. Louis, and North Dakota.

After exhausting all those sources, I took to Twitter, which was, I thought, the only way I was going to get states like Alaska. I tweeted to my followers, asking if anyone was from Alaska. One of the folks I know suggested a woman named @Brrrgirl, who lives in Alaska and is a teacher. I tweeted her. She responded that she’d be glad to send my daughter a postcard. Then she direct messaged me that she was sending a book, too. I didn’t know what to make of that, but sure enough, a week ago Big Girl got a package in the mail from @Brrrgirl that had an adorable book, Recess at 20 Below, photographs, and a postcard. I was floored. This woman who doesn’t know me from a hole in the wall went out of her way to buy a postcard, take digital photos of her beautiful yard, and send my kid a book. What a wonderful, caring person. All those other people — the friends of my sister and brother, the PR people, my out-of-state friends — fall into that same category.

Every day we are bombarded by bad news — people killing each other, robberies, assaults, road rage, fights, neighborhood disputes. And yet I truly believe that acts of kindness like I’ve experienced over the past few weeks probably happen far more often. They’re just not interesting. Not newsworthy, which is why I’m telling Brrrgirl’s story. And thanking her — and my sister, brother, friends, and family publicly. You’ve made my week.

We did a bunch of stuff to keep busy and have fun. I had Big Girl put on a piano recital for us. We ate breakfast. We played on the computer. We played a board game (my new favorite, Discovery Garden Game by The Wonder Forge. We connected via Ooovoo.com with my sister and her son, who is good friends with my kids. That killed a few hours, but Big Girl got bored. She thought we should go outside. Okay, I thought. Let’s do it. We got all dressed up in our snow pants, hats, gloves, snow boots, and warm socks and headed out.

There are no kids on our block so we decided to walk around the corner to see if anyone was out. (TONS of kids around the corner.) Nope, no one was out. Then the husband of my former Daisy troop co-leader drove by. He stopped and said hi. I asked if his kids were out. Yes, he told me, his wife had his kids outside building a fort. So, despite the fact that I didn’t call ahead of time and wasn’t invited, I made an executive decision. I walked over to say hello.

When we rounded the corner I saw my former co-leader out there with her two girls — both really sweet kids. Big Girl, who takes the bus with them, was thrilled. She jumped right in and started playing. Me? I grabbed a shovel and started shoveling and chatting. Then the nice woman who lives next door to my former co-leader came out, too bringing her little girl outside to join in the festivities. Nothing exciting happened, but it was comfortable and relaxing. I really enjoyed chatting with everyone and watching the kids play.

Around 2:30 I realized that the baby needed to go down for a nap so I tried rounding up Big Girl. My former co-leader said that the kids were having fun so I should leave her. That she would walk Big Girl home when they decided to go in. And like that Big Girl got an extended playdate. (And I got to carry a screaming and crying two-year-old for three blocks in the snow. “I WANT MY SISTER! MY SISTER HAS TO COME HOME!!! Sheesh.)

Anyway, I realized once I de-stressed from the walk home that I really don’t do that enough — put myself into uncontrolled social situations. But I should. If I would have hesitated, I would have made all of us miss out on a nice afternoon. So what that I wasn’t showered, didn’t have any make-up on, and didn’t call ahead? There should be no rules on a snow day. Hope we get another one really soon!

I was surprised, however, when I got around to looking not at traffic or hits but at the content that got people to linger on the site. The stuff that people found and decided was worth a deeper dig. The story choices didn’t surprise me. (I really like the stories that made people stick around.) However, the fact that the the two categories — top traffic posts and top time-on-site posts — do not intersect did give me pause. Yes, that’s right. The posts that inspired people to stick around the longest were not the ones on the top ten traffic list. And even more interesting: Only one in five of my top posts has anything to do with being natural. Go figure, right?

Curious about what your fellow readers like to read? Here’s my top three posts in terms of traffic as well as the two stories that got people to stay on my site, on average, more than 22 minutes.

A post entitled Sunburn on a Cloudy Day was my most popular direct link. Lots of people Googled, “Can I get sunburned on a cloudy day?” and found my blog. It’s definitely worth a read, even in the winter since yes, you can get a sunburn when it’s 20 degrees outside. And of course my Southern Hemisphere readers (hi, Australia contingent!) should be thinking about this as they enjoy their summer months.

The second most visited post was Spanking: This Will Hurt Me More Than It Hurts You. It’s a story I wrote after talking to a new mom who was spanking her three-year-old. I was upset about the encounter, and shared my own spanking experiences.

The post in the third spot goes to Cereal Killers: Kellogg’s Methylnaphthalene Problem. Another post that got lots of hits in natural search. People heard about the Kellogg’s recall, Googled it, and found their way to my site.

Okay, here’s where it gets interesting. The post that made people stick around the longest is called Love Isn’t Complicated. I wrote it after an especially tender moment with my husband when, for a millisecond, I saw myself through his eyes. There are a zillion reasons that I love him with all my heart and soul. This post is just an example of one of those reasons.

The post that kept people around the second-longest is The Definition of a Friend. I wrote it when I was feeling especially vulnerable about — what else? — a newish friend. Upon reflection, the blog post ended wrong. I was fooling myself. I am still hiding some of the time. My darling husband confirmed this tonight, saying that I still hold back a lot. That, because I am afraid to disappoint or have people see me for who I really am, I still keep things surface-y. (Surface-y is my word. He explained it in a much wordier and nicer-sounding way.)

Okay, so resolution time again. I resolve to remember Joel Goodson. I resolve to put myself out there more. Putting this in writing is a huge first step since I know at least some of my friends and a few acquaintances read this blog. I promise to try and be less surface-y.

List aside, what was your favorite blog post this year? It doesn’t have to be my blog. Feel free to post your favorite overall blog post here. I love finding new people to read and follow. Just no spam, please.

Usually, they shuffle around until the bus comes. Today, as we were sitting there watching, it looked like the kids were feeling very rambunctious. The six or seven kids at the bus stop started an impromptu game of chase. Everyone except for my kid, who just stood there. A stranger seeing it unfold might assume my kid is lazy or uninterested in such games. But me and Little Girl, well, we knew better. Little Girl called it before I did, actually. Watching her sister’s body language she said, “Mommy, why my sister sad? Look, Mommy. She’s so sad. Awww. I love you, sister, I love you!” And in my head I agreed. I could see the shyness and uncertainty taking over Big Girl’s body. She desperately wanted to be running and laughing and playing chase, but she was too afraid. No one had asked her to play. She didn’t feel confident that she would be accepted, (as I know she would have been) so she stood there feeling bad about herself. Thankfully, the bus came a minute or so after the game began, and Big Girl boarded the bus along with everyone else.

As much as that moment squeezed my heart, I didn’t say anything to her when she got home. Not sure what I could say. Gee, Big Girl, I get it. I feel exactly like that sometimes when I’m in social situations. Paralyzed. Terrified. Shy. Afraid to do or say the wrong thing. Afraid that the other “kids” won’t like me. Even though I know that I’m being silly, all those thoughts go through my head. It’s so funny because in a work situation I know I kick a lot of ass. I can (and feel like I just about have) talked to everyone and anyone. I interview people for a living, and the majority of people just spill their guts. I make people comfortable. It’s one of the reasons I am a really great reporter. In fact, I wish I had a dollar for everyone who has told me I’m a great listener; that they felt like they had known me forever. I’m great with strangers in the store, the bowling alley, on the train, on the phone.

I’m going to be talking about New Year’s resolutions these next two weeks. And so I will state my first resolution: To get over my fear, and be able to live the line that Tom Cruise (playing Joel Goodson in Risky Business) immortalized. “Sometimes, you just have to say…”

I caught sight of my baby right away. (Bless that beautiful bright red hair.) She was smiling from ear to ear playing with another little girl. They were sitting down on the blacktop. Both of them were holding books. They looked thick as thieves. I sat there for a moment, watching. I finally had to leave because of Little Girl, who was losing her mind and screeching her sister’s name asking if we were going to pick her up. We weren’t, of course, so I drove off.

When Big Girl got home I told her what I had done, and that I had seen her at lunchtime. I mentioned she looked like she was having fun, and asked who she was playing with. “That’s C.,” she told me. And then she explained that no one liked C. That the other girls in her class thought C. was “too bossy.” She doesn’t have any friends, said Big Girl. No one will play with her, she said. I didn’t know where to go with that, so I changed the subject hoping to revisit it when my husband got home.

Later, we were all sitting at the dinner table when I asked Big Girl to explain C. again. She did, with more detail. C. was really mean in first grade, she said. But she really wasn’t bossy. My husband didn’t hesitate. He told Big Girl that while he is glad that she is following her own heart, we don’t want C. to boss Big Girl around. We want her to make her own decisions. I started to speak, but my husband shushed me. I was blurting out the fact that I was afraid that, by being friends with C., the other girls wouldn’t like Big Girl anymore. Big Girl started wailing, and I listened to my husband for once and shut up. Still, I’ll share my fears with you: I am completely and utterly torn and very, very nervous for Big Girl.

Okay, it is possible that this “bossy” kid is just a little weird or strange and that’s why no one likes her. It’s also likely that this kid is not a nice girl, and the other girls are just avoiding her because they have prior experience with her. And of course I worry that, no matter which option is right, Big Girl will get hurt by befriending the kid who has no friends. The nice new friends she has will decide, just as the old adage says, that Big Girl is the company she keeps. And then she will be alone and unpopular, too.

That wasn’t the only social discussion at dinnertime. We also heard about how everyone left Big Girl’s club. How half the girls joined R.’s club, and the other half joined S.’s club, and how Big Girl was sad now. We tried to tell her that she should just join one of the other clubs, and that clubs weren’t really a nice thing to have on the playground anyway. But of course that didn’t go over well.

This is one of those times when I feel completely and utterly useless as a mother. I have no idea how to help my child. I don’t know what kind of advice to give her, or how I could even get her to take any advice I’d offer up. I do know that the look on her face when she was running around with that little, unliked girl was priceless. She was so happy, and it was unbridled happiness. She didn’t look sad or shy or hesitant. So right now, I’m going to sit back and do nothing. Damn, this sucks.

1) The illegal immigrants outside of Home Depot. I might get a lot of flak for this one, but I give props to anyone who comes to a new place without a job and without money. Especially all those guys who stand around the Home Depot every day. They all work really hard for very little money doing the things that Americans don’t want to do: Edging lawns, pushing mowers, ripping down walls, hammering in roof shingles, cleaning up demo lots. In the recession many of those people could go several days without a job. And yet they kept at it. THAT is the American drive. We should let them apply for citizenship so they can start paying taxes, too.

2) The members of my spin class. A 70-something year-old guy. A woman with probably half her body weight to lose. An 18-year-old. These are people who might think twice about hitting the gym. And yet there they were at 9:30 on a Saturday sweating it out. Love their energy and drive!

3) The dad in my beach club. At noon, the dad, the wife, and all three of his little girls were fishing as a family. He wasn’t playing golf or working on the house. He was out crabbing. Her, either. They were doing something that cost very little money, and having a ball doing it.

4) The great guy who came and rescued us today. My husband called a fellow beach club member today. He dropped everything to come and tow us in with his boat. Pretty amazing. We owe them a nice dinner out.

5) My husband. He spent two hours trying to fix the boat by himself before deciding it was a lost cause. He got the boat back into our slip without power. An impressive feat, especially with my two girls starving and making lots of noise and commotion. (Note to self: Always bring snacks on the boat even if you think you are going to a restaurant for lunch.) The poor guy even took an almost header, slipping and falling while trying to keep the boat from banging into someone else’s anchor. Scary stuff.

Who impressed you today? Why? I’d love to know.

“Dr. Rainer describes this kind of distancing as “stiff-arming” — creating as much space as possible from the possibility of trauma. It’s magical thinking in the service of denial: If bad things are happening to you and I stay away from you, then I’ll be safe.”

They are not bad friends. They are terrified and coping the way they know how. Some people feel helpless, and can’t deal with that feeling, either.

I know this feeling. Five years ago one of my best friends got a terrible diagnosis for her husband. He had cancer. Not a good cancer (is there really such a thing?), but an incurable cancer with a terrible prognosis. Our kids were 20 months old. As one of her best friends I was with her the entire time — physically. Emotionally, I can only say it was 50-50.

When she first got the diagnosis in June 2005 we spent hours and hours on the phone. She cried. She questioned. She stormed. During that time, even though I was sitting there on the phone I was slowly — mentally — moving away. Her trauma was pushing all my crazy buttons. (She’ll be a widow at 35 — like my mom! Her then 5-year-old daughter will have no dad — like me! Her youngest will never know his dad — like my sister!) In the beginning, she never knew. I was able to hide it by staying and listening and getting involved in other ways.

I did everything in my power, physically, to help her. I threw a second birthday party for her son in my backyard. (She couldn’t fathom having a celebration when her world was falling apart.) I kept her kids whenever her mother couldn’t. I organized a dinner drop off. I collected money for a cleaning lady. I provided news and updates to other friends, encouraging them to call her. I took her out whenever possible. I found stuff that she needed — snow boots, for example, when her daughter outgrew the ones she had. I introduced her to the local Mother’s Center, which became an excellent resource for her.

I sound like a great friend, right? Yeah, not so much. The stress of her stress was like an anchor around my neck. I felt like I was drowning. I started compartmentalizing my life. The first order of business: I didn’t want to invite her to playdates. I decided that I didn’t want her to come to the smaller playgroup I had that was a subset of our bigger 11-person playgroup. I didn’t want to hear about the cancer. I wanted to forget that life is fragile and scary. So when she would ask what I was doing, I never lied, but I didn’t invite her.

Yes, physically, I was there for her. I held the phone and listened to her cry. Emotionally, though, I was trying to get away whenever I could. I was so angry. For her, at her, at others.

Case in point: One of our friends, my friend’s long-time other best friend — let’s call her Jane — was also distancing herself. Jane had her own issues (alcoholic family members) that made her check out, too. She didn’t offer to help. She didn’t want to listen to my friend cry. One time Jane said something to the effect that her husband had broken his ankle and no one was there for her. I ended up battling Jane, who had been one of my good friends. I wrote a scathing letter about her selfishness, and as a result, severed the ties between us completely. I can look back now and see that I was chastising Jane for my own lack of empathy, my own fear. I was mad at myself so I judged Jane and convicted her, throwing her out of my life. Jane was doing what I wanted to do — she was walking away from all the pain and suffering. She was protecting herself. Instead of understanding, I was jealous and indignant and sad all at the same time. That is a relationship loss that I regret to this day. I am so sorry I was so immature and judgmental.

My friendship stayed intact with my other friend, though, despite my behavior. We made it through that terrible period. My husband’s friend went into remission. After some time I actually apologized to my friend. Yes, I was a good friend to her, but I was also a bad friend, too. I told her how sorry I was that I tried to exclude her from our playdates. How sorry I was about some of the things I said. (Probably not a good idea to tell someone dealing with cancer that you’re sick of hearing about cancer.) I told her how silly and childish I was. I told her that I loved her and that I would always be there for her. And now, as her husband is once again out of remission at the same time her mother was just diagnosed with ovarian cancer, I am hoping that I can be there for her without being so afraid. I’m hoping I will remember that her pain and suffering isn’t catching. I’m hoping I can be a good friend.

As a child my answer would have been that a friend is someone you can run around with. For example, everyone is Little Girl’s friend. If you’re willing to look at her shoes and listen to her tell you that they are the same as her friend’s, then you’re her friend. It doesn’t take much. Big Girl’s definition is someone who will play pretend with her. Are you willing to make the front half of my house a hotel, complete with a front desk and a concierge stand? Okay, you’re her friend now. I was the same way as a child. The kids on my block — including my sister — who would have tasting parties under the trees and play Stop the Pigeon (a game we created after watching reruns of Dastardly and Muttley in Their Flying Machines) all fell into the friend category. They were all the people who would play on the swings and get dirty with me.

In my teens the definition of a friend changed, though. A friend was someone who wouldn’t poke fun at me. Someone who I could write notes to and sit with at lunch. A friend was someone I could talk about boys with and discuss who we might want to kiss. It was someone who was willing to talk about all those taboo topics that you wonder about and agonize over. But because of my background — the whole losing a parent at six — I never took friendship much further. I watched the girls around me doing things like having sleepovers, hugging each other, going away. Nah, it wasn’t for me. Surface friends only, please.

Once I hit my 20s, the definition changed again. I got some therapy. Okay, I got a LOT of therapy. I wasn’t as afraid to get hurt. Still, back then you were my friend if you were willing to go clubbing with me. You liked to dance and hang out? We could become great friends. (And I was an awesome friend, IMHO, because I’m not really a drinker so I was a built-in designated driver.) I also liked going shopping with friends. Going to the city. Going to TGIFridays in between classes. Meeting guys. Hearing about what you might do with a guy. Being there when the guy things blew up. The surface thing was still there, though. Don’t ask me too many questions. Don’t look too closely at who I really was. I was sure you wouldn’t like what you saw. And then I hit my mid-20s.

I got even more therapy. Already married, I met a great group of girls and started hanging out with them. We started sharing things. Our shortcomings. Our fears. Our mistakes. I started giving kisses on the cheek. I started baring my soul. I got hurt sometimes. I made a lot of mistakes. It was all so new to me. I over-committed myself. A lot. I wanted to make everyone happy and make sure everyone still liked me. I got asked to be a bridesmaid. Twice. The friendships became couple friendships. Many of those amazing people are still in my life.

Then I hit my 30s and had kids. Well, Big Girl. Friendship changed again. Yes, I wanted someone to listen and to be there for me and someone I could be there for, but kid compatibility became even more important. Work connections took on more importance, too. Writers who were living the same life — pitching stories, working until all hours, agonizing when their story queries went unanswered. Again, my world expanded. My life changed. (My one regret during this time: the loss of a friend who introduced me to many of the people I met in my 20s.)

And that’s sort of where I am today. It’s a funny time. I want to belong and be liked, but have far less time to revel in the easiness that comes from sitting with a good friend. Don’t get me wrong! I have plenty of friend time. About 15 emails have gone back and forth this morning as we — three of my favorite mommy friends — try to pick a night to go out for Greek food and conversation. But I am far less patient when it comes to new people.

I’m writing about friendship because I am thinking about something that happened this week. Can’t really write that much about it other than to say there’s a whole lot of high school garbage going on right now. Cliques and cattiness. Silly behavior that I just don’t have time for. Bottom line: I don’t have the time or inclination to deal with drama.

I wonder if this is the start of my next friendship chapter: The drama-free years. I’ll keep you informed…