I expect a lot from a friend.  She should be fun but not reckless, sensitive without being drippy, kind but not a push-over, talkative while not having diarrhea of the mouth, interested without being nosy, smart but not a smarty-pants (although being a smart-ass is just fine with me), and have a sense of humor- or at least laugh courteously at my jokes.  I realize this sounds like a tall order and could be the reason why I can count my friends on my hands.

Come on, VJB.  You’re a friendly gal.  I’m sure you have lots of buddies.

Now I’m not talking about acquaintances here.  Like most people, I have many of those.  Folks you say “hey” to and exchange pleasantries with, pals  you regularly interact with in various facets of life (kids’ schools, kids’  sports, the gym, the neighborhood, etc).  I’m just saying its very rare to have these worlds collide in just the right configuration to produce a real friendship.  However on the unlikely occasion that such a bond is formed,  friends are also people with their own lives and priorities and as a result, are sometimes unavailable when you need them.

Last week was fraught with activity being the last of the school year for both of my kids.  Because of the scheduling of events, my workout schedule went by the wayside.

That’s cool.  Next week is a new week.  I can handle the disruption in my routine.  

And I could until the unexpected occurred.  An administrator at one of my kids’ schools, f***ed over acted in a way which was unfair,  to my child.  I’m a perfectly nice and reasonable person- until you mess with one of my children.  Yes, I was the mom on the playground who confronted other parents when their preschooler cut mine on the slide.    I was also the mom who marched herself in to the administrator’s office and offered said person a piece of her mind- chalk it up to  mama bear instinct, a sense of profound scrupulousness, or just plain questionable judgement.   Needless to say, I left that office feeling less than vindicated and more frustrated and downtrodden than I can remember being in a long time.  So I did what any rational person in this situation would- I cried, I swore, I might have even thrown a couple of things around pretending they were hitting someone in the head (I have a very rich fantasy life).  And finally, when I was all done with that- I ran.

I woke up the morning after, hung over with emotion and crusted with tears.  I dragged my butt out of bed, shuttled the kids off to their last day of school, laced up, and eventually crept back to life.  With each step I took, away seeped the heaviness in my mind just as the unease upon my shoulders fell distant.  With each mile that passed, nothing changed until everything did.  Sure my situation was the same, but I was different- better– stronger.  How many “friendly “50 minute encounters could be as transformative/restorative as that?

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