Benefits of growing old together

Bet you thought this was another post about Hubby.  Fooled ya.

I recently had a wonderful dinner date with my oldest friend.  No, she’s not old.  Well, she’ll always be older than me…  There’s probably been a lot of aging in those 3 months and 20 some days she’s been alive longer than me.  Kidding.  But seriously, I’ve known her longer than anyone except family.

Murs (names have been changed to protect the innocent) and I met in middle school.  We were assigned to the same table at lunch.  Yes, we had assigned seats in the cafeteria.  Apparently our class was the worst group of 7th graders ever to roam the halls of Southampton Middle School.  We didn’t become friends that year, per se, just part of a loosely held together group of school friends- invited to the same slumber parties and such.  Mostly I remember Murs and her friend J drooling over a certain freckled red-headed boy whose table was behind ours.  I have no idea what they saw in him.  I wonder if they even remember that?  Haha.  Memories….

Anyway, we became better friends in high school, but we still were just school friends.  I wasn’t much of a social child, very much a late bloomer.  Murs was in more of a hurry to be a grown up.  I was always a little scared for her.  “Oh My Goodness, Murs was drinking and dancing in The City this weekend?  That seems dangerous!” She was always a little worried about me.  “Holy Crap, Scroogy stayed home and watched old movies with her grandparents this weekend?  When is she ever going to grow up?”  But we shared a sense of humor (“Mais oui, Monsieur Bennet! Zut Alors!”) and it was the beginning of a bond that would last more than 20 years now.

When I went away to college, Murs went away and married a soldier boy.  When I graduated from college, Murs was graduating to newly single womanhood.  We re-connected and began sowing our oats together.  We had a less than successful stint as roommates.  Some personalities just shouldn’t cohabitate.  Love ya Murs.

During said oats-sowing, I was still a little scared for her.  “Oh My Lord, Murs, you’re kissing ANOTHER boy!  Kissing Bandit!!”.  And she was still a little worried about me, “Jesus Christ, Scroogy, stop wallowing in your damn broken heart, grow some balls, and have a little fun!!”  But we still shared that sense of humor “Are you very tiny?”  haha.  And had grown to lifelong friends.

So she married a lawyer from Baltimore and moved to Virginia (dammit), and I married a trading desk jockey from Staten Island and stayed in Baltimore.  She was blessed with her precious baby K about 6 months before I had the twins.  Motherhood, and all its joys and heartaches continued to make me a little scared for her, “Dear God, Let Murs find some guidance and support for her and her little autistic angel.” and make her a little worried about me, “Please Lord, Give Scroogy the patience and energy it takes to keep up after those twins!!”

And now, we are settling into the challenges of marriage and motherhood and seem to be in a very similar place, and we are able to relate to each other even more than ever before.  Murs feels she’s lost her Voice, that certain something that made her amazing.  Just like I feel I’ve lost that elusive Mojo.

So as we both set forth on these new journeys, I’ve gotta say, I’m no longer scared for her.  I’m proud of her.  Murs, you’ve GOT this!

😉 And it’s still not funny that you guys smelled corn.

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