"Hurry up, we're late again!" I said to Clara as we pulled in to the sports facility. She scrambled out of the car in her leotard and Ben trailed behind her, wearing his Taekwondo gi and carrying his reading homework. We dashed into the building just in time for her to join the line of other 4 and 5 year old girls entering the gym. I plopped down on a bench beside my friend, and exclaimed, "I actually made it before class started today. Yay, me!" She laughed and we settled into our catching up routine: Whose kids are sick? Whose week has been the busiest? How did that thing turn out? When are you leaving on your trip?
We talk about the little things (I tried a new recipe. I read a new book. I failed at my diet. Again.) and the not so little things (Clara falling behind in school. Guilt over not doing enough about it.) while occasionally nudging each other to watch something our daughters are doing in class. And then before I know it the hour's over, and we're both dashing off to the next thing, tossing, "See you next week!", over our shoulders as out daughters embrace goodbye. And I feel lighter. Encouraged. Grateful.
And I am blessed to say I have a similar experience each week in another waiting room, on another night, with another dear friend. So tonight I am very thankful for these times each week. For these women who make me laugh and forget entirely to watch my girl do her activities.
The other day The Man said to me, "I thought Clara was supposed to have to choose between ballet or gymnastics. Why is she still taking both?"
"I know," I said, "but she just loves both of those classes."
And I do too.