I had a lovely time last night, meeting fellow KC blogging girls at Alicia's beautiful home... We sat and munched on a variety of dips, ridiculously yummy cakes and curry chocolate... yum. Sipped wine and talked about important things like potty training and how hard/slippery minky fabric is to sew. And celebrated the pending arrival of Stacy's newest doodle...
It's a wonderful thing, to connect. To feel welcome. I was new to the group and felt so lucky to have been included.
Is it because we're older now, that we find it easier as women to accept each other and not judge? That we've finally figured out that we have more in common than not?
I had a 30 minute drive home and I thought of my sixth grader. She is so sweet and sensitive... Every week I hear tales of drama and exclusion, of insecurities and hopes. I see her through my own eyes, beautiful and smart, creative and enthusiastic. When she is crying -- really upset about what someone said or did or how things she said got twisted and it's just not fair -- there is nothing I can do to make her see the young lady that I do. The person she is growing up to be. I'm so proud of her, especially how gracefully she is taking on the challenge.
I pray every day that she will cultivate true friendships that mean something... that she will continue to see the best in people like she does now... that she will love and be loved. That she will tap into the light in her soul that still shines in its innocence right now. And doesn't doubt who she is.
I remember sixth grade, and my sister and I both still think it was awful. For us, sixth grade was part of middle school. (An evil, evil thing, in my opinion -- 11 year olds and 14 year olds are sooo far apart. Mentally. Physically. Just. Wow.) I was doing well academically. School was something I could do well. Six months into the year, none of the friends I had considered my friends in the fifth grade were gone. It was not cool to be smart. They called me 'professor'. They convinced the boy I was 'going with' (which consisted of barely making eye contact in the halls while passing notes) to dump me because I was a goody two-shoes. Her tales are just as bad, only she 'developed' early and both the boys and the girls were merciless.
Sixth grade was hard. I don't remember what I studied back then. It was mostly a year of survival.
So a night like last night, where 10(?) ladies converged in the living room of a fellow blogger -- a friend they wouldn't have known at all under traditional circumstances -- and spent a wonderful evening, just connecting... Well. It was very cool. And a long way from the sixth grade.
It's a beautiful Sunday. And I awoke hopeful.