Gate D11 Seat 27A

I swore To myself I'd write before I touched down in Paris. Do me a favor and read between the lines on this one. Pay no mind to the disorganization, the rambles, the sweaty palms and emotional jargon this post is about to contain...in just a short while.

Propped up cross-legged in a leather airport chair. I'm beyond gracious for the Starbucks I stumbled upon moments ago. Approaching the gate, not a single Starbucks in sight. What airport, international none-the-less, doesn't have that gold mine in a cup? Just my luck, this one did. I swear I heard angels sing.

Miami International, Gate D11. It's quickly approaching. Surrounded by strangers catching up and joking in an unrecognizable language. I'll assume it's French but I'm not willing to confirm it. At this very moment, it just occurred to me:  the most 'foreign' place I've ever been is El Paso, TX. There aren't beaches in El Paso. Definitely foreign.

'The moment.' The moment I've had branded on my calendar for months. The moment typed in all caps accompanied with little airplanes and strokes of emotion. It is here.

Four months ago I stood in my parents driveway begging and pleading her not to go. Heaving, gasping for air, doubled over in physical pain, piercing eyes met mine. Regretfully forcing her to second guess her decision, if only for a second, fearing I would not be okay without her. For the fist time understanding what "take care of yourself" meant. Take care of myself?! I wanted to shake her and say, "THAT'S WHY I HAVE YOU!" Too self-absorbed in the moment to form sentences. All she could fathom was, "should I go get Mom?" My countdown began the very next day.

Writing this, seat 27A houses the emotions of that night. Fighting their way out in the form of tears. Pain has ceased but recounting how vulnerable I felt is a horrifying realization. Sounds dramatic; I'm well aware but I'm also aware that grasping our relationship from the outside, is beyond challenging. It's rare and it's natural. We communicate silently through our eyes. In our early twenties, we whisper and giggle and hold hands under the covers in our childhood bedroom. My heart aches for those who never experience a relationship of this magnitude.

Less than twenty-four hours from now, we'll be [by choice] sharing a tiny bed, holding hands and whispering months and months of stories early into Friday morning. Longing for this for so long, it's just now I realize why the anxiousness feels absent. She hasn't felt it either. Initially, my heart ached. Are we OK being far away from each other? Have we grown apart? Has this destroyed our precious relationship?

Surely not but we have changed as women. We've grown wings; we've ventured beyond what is safe and what is cozy and what is expected. Conquered fears, overcome adversity and proved to ourselves we are strong and independent and adventurous; bound and determined to be better than we were yesterday. I believe I wrote--and if I didn't, I surely intended to--this would be our chance to grow separately together.

That, we did.

I land on unfamiliar soon, welcomed by all the familiarity I can guzzle at once. From there, we will embark on our next adventure, together. Four months ago I prayed that nothing would change between us. Appreciative for unanswered prayers, things have surely changed.

We are better women than we were four months ago; we are changed for good.

taste it

I spent, likely, my last Saturday night with the boys last weekend. Matt and Nick. I've been their 'stand-in' while my sister's gone exploring the unknown of foreign countries. They're her pride and joy. She's been with them close to six years and they adore the ground she stands on. Wonderful boys. They almost make me want a few. Never thought I'd be saying that.

Soccer balls soared across the yard at sunset. Spur-of-the-moment, fully clothed dips in the pool. Their negotiation was won. Blue and blown eyes disappeared behind reflective goggles. Splashes and giggles were music to my ears as I finished up dinner. Summer is close enough to taste.

Politeness earns adventure. Little boys with manners deserve exploration. Rushed a blonde and a brunette out the garage door, grabbed scooters and we were off. The race began. Three of us racing the sun to the finish line. Rules were made clear: crosswalks alone are forbidden, recklessness around patrons was unacceptable and maintaining manners was essential. Agreed upon. The race continued.

The eldest adventured further than my blue-eyed baby. Living to push the limits. Conversation trumps struggle in baby blue's world. Finding protection in conversation.

Our prize was in sight. Petite legs pushed harder, little feet moved with urgency. Spin. Self-serve frozen yogurt. Anxious eyes glared at me from crosswalks as to say, 'hurry! we're so close!'

Scooters propped against the building. Cups filled quickly. Concoctions mentally prepared. Finding a seat outside, we shared spoons. Heaping spoonfuls of candies and tart yogurt and popping boba. This time my older one finds comfort in connection. Shares knowledge about passing cars and motors and why I don't want a motorcycle license.

Our adventure is slowing dwindling down as the sun sinks beyond the horizon. Close to my side on the trek home. Pointer fingers and big eyes on the 'super moon.' Again, knowledge about the moon is heard from the older one. Retained information, like a sponge, from TIME Kid's. I didn't even know that existed.

The night ended with jamies and toothbrushes and hugs and giggles. Sweet, sweet giggles. Conversation continued until the lights were forced out. I pray they remember these days when they are older. I pray they remember this feeling. When they drive downtown at their leisure. When they spend more time with friends and less time with each other. The day when these adventures are not so special.

I pray they long for this feeling; hopeful that we made memories they'll long for. The magical feeling they allowed me to feel again. Carefree, summer adventures amongst nature.

Unexplainable tingles that summer is so close & Saturday night, we took a big bite and tasted it.

inpromtu

Days like today are extremely out of character for me. The more they occur, the more I wonder where they've been all my life. Oh, right! Now I remember. It's been rudely brushed under the rug by my need for plans; need for perfection. Desire for a precise time-- that I'd be characteristically and embarrassingly late for-- and an exact location. Organization is part of who I am. Organization geek if you will. Labels, color coding, sub-folders all make me happy. Venturing beyond the norm, impromptu girlfriend dates make me even happier.

I'm coming to realize that friendships are work. They don't just happen but bloom when nurtured with the proper care. Life doesn't always allot time for such nurture. It is then, creativity swings through. Dinner plans with girlfriends on Wednesday night led to an unexpected "what are you doing? meet me at Target in fifteen." There is always something you absolutely need at Target. I was up, dressed and parked in ten. Target led to a Publix run for dessert where we ran into our hostess, who was frantically racing us to her house, in the market. It ended in hugs and giggles and sighs of relief that we were all together. Those giggles continued over stir fry and bottles of wine and strawberry shortcake. Strawberry shortcake made by a big Cool Whip advocate. Yea, you heard that correctly. Cool Whip advocate. And giggles turned to belly laughs.

We drank too much wine for a weeknight complete with AM text messages about pounding headaches and how there is 'no way it was only Thursday.' We nurtured our friendships; gave it sunlight and water and sang sweet songs to it. Found beauty in spontaneity; an escape from the whirlwind reality we're faced with at twenty-something years old.

I'm already starving for another impromptu adventure of nurture, of meaty conversation, of gossip over a masseuse named Lester and how much we love certain things.

Things that are reserved only for the comfort of future fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants girls' nights.