Potato, Potato, French Fry

My mind was completely blown over the weekend.

Nate started 6th grade, middle school, this fall. Everyone kept making a big deal about it. Everyone kept asking “how does it feel?” And “are you going to be sad?”

I kept saying no, I was just sad he was at a different school than Reese and Teddy, and that it was inconvenient and no within longer walking distance.

That was 5 months ago.

I’m in the shower this morning, shaving my legs, thats where my mind seems to work the best. I come up with some of my best ideas in there. Like a whole line of cruelty-free products, except cruelty-free being a statement about child labor and sweat shops. Everything will have a logo, like an outline of a person with a NON sign over it. Then the movement will get so popular the logo will be put on clothing it’s self, and be jewelry and stuffs, and people will be so compelled they will get tattoos to permanently mark their bodies as one with the movement. It’ll be fucking amazing. I’m brilliant. They’ll give me a nobel peace prize, and ask me to advise the President. What, it could so totally happen.

So back to the other day.

I start thinking about my friendships. My best friends. As an introvert who doesn’t like people and finds public interaction exhausting, I count on these girls to help me keep my sanity even though we only get together a couple/three times a year. Way too little, but we pick up like no time has passed. We’ll all be 30 by the middle of this year. We’ve known each other during 3 decades of each others lives. We were awkward teenagers, college students, married couples, mothers, and all of us college students again, together. It’s beautiful, and wonderful and I’m so thankful to have them.


It hit me, how old my son is. He is the age I was when I met the strongest and closest friendships that I still maintain today. The women who have walked along side me, carried me at times, celebrated with me and I with them. I forged those relationships when I was my baby’s age.

And then I felt really old. And things were getting a little too deep for me. I felt a little panicky. So decided the best way to overcome the sudden feelings of inadequacy, need to be mature, and just plain oldness by stuffing down a couple of soy ice cream sandwiches in rapid succession, while I hid from the kids in the laundry room.

And you know what, it totally worked.

Except it didn’t. And then I felt fat and panicky and old.

And my mind was all like the end of a fist bump when you blow it up.

And I was craving something salty after all that sweet.

French fries anyone?


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