Girls Gone Mild

I watched my daughter march into high school this fall like she owned the place. As she wades into the wild kingdom of lockers, cliques and gym class trauma, I stood there blinking back nostalgia, thinking about my girls — the ones who held my hair, hyped my antics and still have photographic evidence of my “questionable” life choices.

You know the ones. Your first calls or last nerves. Your crisis hotline and comic relief in one. If you’re lucky, high school gives you more than just awkward kisses and emotional scars; it gives you sisters — not by blood, but by braces, bad decisions and the shared trauma of passing out in a cornfield while underage drinking.

If you’re lucky, you still have them. And if you’re really lucky… you get a fall weekend with them once a year to remind you that you’re still funny, still fierce and still up for shenanigans — as long as they end by 9 p.m.

In this so-called “sweet” spot of motherhood — you know, where we’re driving kids to tournaments, juggling jobs and surviving perimenopause — those same girls are still my ride-or-dies. We don’t talk every day. We don’t need to. But when fall rolls around, we fall right back into our groove like it’s 1994 and we’re skipping class with Slurpees and a plan to do absolutely nothing productive. Pumpkin spice, stretchy pants, too much booze, too much food and side-splitting laughter as we relive our youth.

It’s not just a weekend. It’s therapy. It’s a deep exhale. It’s the reminder that even though our kids think we’re lame and our knees crack like glow sticks, we are still fabulous (just with more supplements). Life changes, but your high school girls don’t. They remember who you were before you were someone’s mom, someone’s boss or someone who Googles “is this perimenopause or just rage?”

So, while my daughter is out there building her own squad — the ones who will one day carry her secrets and hold her hair — I’ll be here, packing ibuprofen and Costco-sized snacks, heading off to laugh so hard I pee a little. (Okay, a lot. It’s fine.)

 

Janet Smith is a proud mom of one daughter and a marketing professional who is grateful for her rural roots in the London area. Follow Janet’s funny and honest journey at IG & TT | @re.marketable.janet or FB | @janetsiddallsmith