I’m convinced that everyone needs a certain kind of friend. Especially once you have kids. My mom had that friend, the one who would spoil me and teach me fancy manners and order me Shirley Temples until my stomach hurt.
I started flying out to see her when I was 9, returning to my parents in Michigan from Arizona with beer that – at the time – they couldn’t find east of the Mississippi. It was a pretty genius souvenir.
And I have that for my little maniacs.
She’s the one who lets them say a swear word, real quick, before I get back from the grocery. The one who teaches them how to use the calculator to spell body parts. And, the one who might get them to a California dinner party where the invite list includes a trio of A-list celebrities.
She’s also incredibly real with them, though. Reminding them where they need to do more to help out around the house, calling them out when they use trendy phrases like “lit,” and teaching them life skills that involve power tools and recipes.
She’s dessert and vegetables, belly laughs and deep talks. And she’s willing to take them on incredible adventures once they reach the ripe old age of 13.
It’s pretty badass. And they’re all pretty lucky.