Wine for my Horses, Chocolate for my Girls...

I once had a boyfriend.  I use the term "boyfriend", loosely, and only in the stead of other more suitable, yet unprintable words because both my mother and my pastor read my blog.  This man was neither a boy,  (I was 23 at the time-- he was 45), nor a friend, as he was not very nice to me.  Insert Linda Richman reference here:  "Stacey's boyfriend was neither a boy, nor a friend--discuss".  He once said to me, "Stace, you're such a WASP, I bet you get out of the shower to pee."  To which I replied, "Well, YEAH.  Duh."  -- Totally not getting the joke, as usual, was on me.  For this remark, and other reasons, he became my ex-boyfriend.  I bring this up not to give him precious blog space, but to illustrate to you, my Readers Dear, that yes, indeed, I suppose I am pretty WASPish.  My WASPish state of being is not unique, in fact, some of my best friends are WASPs,  (actually all of my friends...).  However, my WASPishness is part of what makes my friendship with Hend so unique--the other part being the fact we have yet to meet.  (Refer to my previous post "Sloppy Seconds?" to read more about Hend)  The topic question of the Real Simple blog contest was "Who Are You Most Surprised To Be Friends With?"  Hend was the first person to come to my mind. I dashed off my response in a matter of minutes, spent a day tweaking it and with high hopes and a little tingle in my tummy, sent it off to the editors of the magazine.  

Since then, I've been thinking of the other unique friendships God has gifted me.  I'd like to share with you now, Readers Dear, a group of girls I call "The Pennsylvania Posse".  The PP began on the RESOLVE message board 12 years ago and continues today. (If you don't know what RESOLVE is, you are truly blessed.  If you want to know what RESOLVE is, Google it; or, as my dad would say, "get on the Google") It consists of 4 members, surely too few for a proper posse, but it works for us. They are:  Cindi, Jenny, Jennifer and me.  To save you the confusion of two Jenny/Jennifers, I will, from here on, refer to Jenny as "Pottymouth" and Jennifer as "Sister Mary Jennifer, or SMJ.    We were all in various stages of grief, frustration,and hopelessness when we discovered we all lived within an hours' drive of each other in northeastern Pennsylvania.  So we began to meet up.   First, at restaurants, then for daytrips and sleepovers.  The bonding was immediate and the laughter, unending.  Over ice cream sundaes, antiquing trips and one fateful day when I made the mistake of wearing a brand new (read:  profusely shedding) pink chenille sweater beneath my black winter coat to Baltimore's Inner Harbor and the Posse let me walk around all day  looking like I had been dipped in a cotton candy machine without telling me, we traded Top 5 Lists and reproductive histories and teased each other about our days of being "Superfreaks", as we are all 80's chicks.   We even gave each other "Captain Underpants" names.  (Get on the Google for that)  Within months the laughter we shared proved to truly be the best medicine.  

One by one, our long-suffering and much put-upon hubbies knocked us up!  What joy! What Bliss! However, bliss is always short-lived, that is it's nature.  I'm sorry to tell you, Readers Dear, that Cindi, Pottymouth, Sister Mary Jennifer and I all experienced miscarriages within months of each other.  We were the walking wounded.  At least we still had each other. 

I went to church this morning, where my pastor did a sermon on Ecclesiastes 3:1-13, better known as the "To Everything There is a Season" verses.  Bliss, grief, they are simply seasons which visit all of us from time to time.  The dark, tear-heavy clouds accompanying our season of grief  lifted for us again as one by one, 3 of us announced our miracles, this time for good.    First, Pottymouth shared she would be delivering a baby in January, near my birthday!  We lovingly christened her bump: "Chenille Lynda Carter".  The reasons for this, I cannot remember anymore, so if you ask me why I will only shake my head and tell you there was the lingering scent of fertility drugs in the air at the time.  Then, Sister Mary Jennifer announced she was expecting TRIPLETS!  Triplets for God's sake!  Due, no lie, on 3/3/03.  Upon their arrival, on 3/13/03 we welcomed them as "The A Team", for all of their first names began with "A".  Last was me. After five years of monthly trying and crying, prying questions, insensitive remarks, avoiding baby showers, and dreading christenings--a baby girl, delivered a day before Mother's Day in 2003.  Finally, a Mother's Day that didn't suck.    Well, at least it didn't suck for ME.  For Cindi?  I can only guess how much her heart was aching that Mother's Day...

For whatever reason, only God knows why, Cindi and her husband remain childfree.  Worse, as Pottymouth, Sister MJ and I floundered through our first few years of young motherhood, we lost touch with Cindi.  I know, I know, my Readers Dear, you are shocked and outraged, as well you should be.  I'm still embarassed and ashamed about it.  After a second baby and a few years of treading water in the seemingly uncharted ocean of motherhood,  I wrote and sent an apology to Cindi. And SHE FORGAVE ME.  She still loves me.  And now, through the miracle of modern social networking, we remain in touch, still cracking each other up, long distance.  Recently, she gently suggested to me that I should stop praying for a baby for her.  She would rather I pray her through menopause instead, she said, but left the decision up to me. 

The Pennsylvania Posse still rides.  For now, only via email and Facebook and in my dreams as I picture the 4 of us, barefoot and toasting a red sunset.  Maybe someday, when "La Petite Posse", as we refer, collectively, to our offspring,  have become college-aged, we will saddle up and ride for real,  together again.  I'll wear my pink chenille sweater...