girlfriends

I love my girlfriends. I always have. It's funny, this Facebook thing is reminding me how very important girlfriends have always been in my life. I'm really into through lines right now. The through lines that run across our lives. One of mine is utter devotion and adoration of my girls.

Missoula has always kind of reminded me of being young. When I moved here, I temporarily stepped out of my "adult" life and found myself living in an apartment building with a bunch of college kids, their music and laughter and smoke ringing through the walls of our wacky place on Front Street. Jeff was in graduate school (aka, "gradual school") and I couldn't find full time teaching work. What happened was we had a year of piecing together rent while having a total blast. Everything was new. Gardening. Riding my bike. Hiking. Seasons. Snow. Cold. More snow. More cold. Backpacking and wilderness and feeling safe and feeling silly. And lots and lots of new friends who I thought were totally fantabulous.

That was almost seven years ago. Somewhere along the line, these new friends turned into old friends. And then I got new, new friends. And still was lucky enough to have the old, new friends. So now I just have an amazing group of friends!

When I was fretting over weaning, one of my most beloved old, new friends, Joellen, suggested a girl's trip of some sort as a way to get away from Els for some of the night time routine. We didn't get it together in time to coincide with weaning, but we did manage to get out last weekend.

What started as a fairly small group turned into sixteen, steady and strong, Missoula mamas. After a ridiculous number of group email exchanges, we got our ducks all sorted out and headed south. This state is absurdly beauteous and for a whole lotta little money, you can have one heck of a vacation. We began our journey at Chief Joseph Pass, where we cross country skied. This, by the way, is my favorite old, new sport. In fact, when I moved to Missoula, I wasn't really even sure what cross country skis were. Ah, the learning curve.

I love this sport, by the way. I love it so much I wonder why I even bother with all the yahoo-ness of the downhill saga. But that's another story. I love being out in nature, I love how quiet it is, I love the exercise, I love how balanced it feels. That's my new favorite daily goal. To have some semblance of balance.

So we skied and I had a chance to have some good one-on-one chats with some of my special girls. We then sat in the warming hut and drank hot cocoa and had more good chats. It was then back in the bus (Joellen drove a gaggle of us in her Eurovan...it was definitely the cool kids car, the party girls car...I loved it) - and some of the real tough girls celebrated their backcountry ski adventure. Lots of laughs in that car. Loud Michael Franti. All sorts of treats.

We then moved into one of my favorite Montana drives. All of the sudden there just seems to be nothing around you. The landscape flattens out and, as the case is in the winter, you are surrounded by white. Then, as if out of nowhere, this random little hotel appears on the side of the road. It's called Jackson Hot Springs and it's a hoot.

So more of us convened there. And that was even more perfect because the pool is so big that you never felt like it was too loud, or too many people were talking at once. Plus, it was all misty and steamy, so you really couldn't see too far beyond the posse of folks you were talking to. Sometimes in big groups I feel kind of scattered and inadvertently sort of absent. This was so not the case this weekend. And I was a bit nervous because the group got so damn big. But it really was perfect.

Oh, and I could stay in hot, soft, natural water like that forever.

We got out in time to have pre-dinner drinks. Then it was all gazillion at us in a restaurant that moved at a snail's pace, and while the food was great, it took about eight years to come to the table. And, what was one person's eight years was another person's five years so no one really got their food at the same time and it was a bit of a debacle. Luckily, I hang with a generally mellow crew of girls. It's one of the pre-requisites to committing to living in our wacky little valley. Fairly mellow. Athletic. Hot. Adventurous. Smart. Multi-talented.

I'm one blessed mama.

Then it was late night and four of the crew busted out their guitars and beauteous voices. Perhaps the highlight of the trip was my girl Casey finally busting out on the mike. Homegirl is insanely talented and absurdly humble, so I don't get to hear her sing enough. We share the same musical heroine-goddess, and hearing her interpretation of some of Ani's songs was enough to make my weekend. And knowing how blown away the rest of the crew was by Moanie's mama was enough to make my little heart just beat from my chest.

The next day was more soaking and more skiing, more laughing and more yammering. More big, relevant topics. More goodness.

But perhaps the best moment of all was coming home that evening. My little girl was so damn happy to see me. And I just about swallowed her whole. The cool thing was, I only really "missed" her right before I fell asleep. About midday on Sunday afternoon, when my blood sugar dropped after skiing and my wine hangover caught up with me, I got that twinge of, oooh, I've just got to see her right now or I'll get really, really sad! But it passed and we finally got in cell range and I was able to check in with Jeff. Of course, she was okay. More than okay because she was with her Papa and Nana and Poppop all of whom love her incredibly.

And so it goes. This mama is getting better and better at seeking independence and finding balance in her sweet life. And the rewards continue to amaze me.