Friendship is messy. Literally. One took all the frosting for the birthday cupcakes. The other cried. And we will never regale the details of the ‘I-44 Diarrhea Incident’ but real friendship was one boy loaning some clean underwear to the other. And, again you don’t need specifics, but: “I’m wearing a diaper.” “I won’t laugh at you. I promise.” There was no laughter from the six-year-olds. But there were silent belly laughs from the mom friends hiding their faces behind kitchen cabinet doors. Even without a pinky promise, they never spoke again on the topic. Friendship is messy. Figuratively. They had an off day. Bickering was at a paramount. Playdate ended early. We drove away with sobbing from the backseat.
“Thatcher is mine best fwiend. But today I don’t like anyone. Not even mineself. But I guess I shouldn’ta spitted on him, cuz he’s mine best fwiend.”
Sometimes we dance and laugh and don capes and build Lego Hobbit sets for hours. Other times, we look for the bad in one another and throw sticks and tattle and need some space. But we keep working. Friendship is messy. But a friendship without mess and grace and do-overs is just acquaintance.