Mom Life

My tribe

It may take a village to raise a child, but it takes a tribe to keep a mom sane.
Villages are great and I hope you have one. Villages include your mom friends, your neighbors that you trust with a spare key, your child’s teacher, a reliable babysitter, families, and those super on top of it definitely not in yesterday’s yoga pants classroom moms that email everyone snack reminders.   They are key to the function of a family.

But I am talking about tribes. A mom tribe is a small group of bosom buddies that you can be real with. They are the ones you call when you screamed at your kid and now hate yourself. They will tell you if you look fat, but in a way that makes it sound like the dress’s fault and certainly not the midnight slice of cake you plowed through four times last week.  These are the ones that force you to get out of the house and talk to real people because they know even though you hate it you need it.  They get you.  They call you out on your shit and celebrate your successes like their own.

I have a tribe. Actually a couple.  I am blessed with my tribes. To say they are my rock is such a cliched understatement. They are my rock, my safe harbor, my North Star, a spine, brain, and heart existing outside my own body.  They have the ability to unleash my inner bitch and set her free to rain holy hell down or to gently rein her in with calming words; more importantly they possess the judgment to know which is needed.

I don’t make friends easily.  This is certainly due to the troublesome combination of hating people, being extremely unfiltered and blunt, and preferring my couch to any and all social interaction. My friends joked at my moving out of state party that they were going to have buttons made up that said “give me a second chance”.  I joke that the fact that they are my friends is really a huge compliment to them.  Not that I am someone so special and thus grace them with my winning personality, but rather that I am so intolerant of most personality quirks that they must truly be the perfect ones.

I have the terrible misfortune to live far away from two of my tribes.  I miss them with every fiber of my body.  I have awesomely amazing, total potential tribe moms here, but these other gals have years of experience- we have held hands, held each other’s hair back, held each other’s tiny babies. I always tell them I miss them.  I often tell them I love them.   But I do not tell them one phrase nearly enough; that I am utterly grateful for them.

   I miss you.  I love you.  I am thankful for you.

75a17522ed9beabf263ad964153464ac--bad-friendship-quotes-friendship-love

11 thoughts on “My tribe”

  1. I love this. Every day I ask someone in my tribe, “Can I say something terrible?” and they say “PLEASE DO,” haha! Not so I can gossip, but so I can get some less than glamorous element of motherhood off my chest. I need them for that, and I LOVE them for that.

    Also, you SO sound like my people 😉

    Like

  2. Aww, this is such a lovely yet emotional post. I remember my first tribe where there were 7 mommies all amazing ones and we used to chat away hours daily. Now the work is keeping everyone busy but we do catch up now and then to remember old days.

    Like

  3. Such a cute and sweet post. It’s so important to have your tribe in your life to help you get through the craziness called parenthood! Nobody should ever try it alone

    Like

  4. Love this post!! As another introvert who does not make close friends easily, having my little, mostly-texting these days mom-tribe that still includes me even when I go off the grid for a few days is one of my greatest blessings in life. Love you guys. And great post!!

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s