A forever friend

When we left Chicago I was sad for a gazillion reasons, but one of them was the fact I had a friend there with a son just about Addie's age. A friend who understood my neuroses and still put up with me. A friend who would drive an hour into the city just so we could log a face-to-face adult conversation.

We held each others' kids. We provided kid coverage so one of us could go to the dentist or get our hair cut. Or take a shower in peace. Our friendship was, is, effortless. It lacks drama. It's easy and lasting.

A little over a year after we pulled up stakes, so did her family. They left Chicagoland for New York Cityland (I know! ACK!). We don't get to see each other often. We attempt to keep in touch on the phone, but we never get to just sit and support each other - the exception being our yearly pilgrimage to the North Carolina shore and a fabulous visit this past weekend.

She, Renata, came to play with her son, Evan, and her husband, Toby, in tow. We went to the zoo. We munched on burgers. We took in a Cubs game without kids and with quite a few beers. We played board games, grilled, sat on the patio and let the kids run wild in the yard.

And the whole worry about two-year-olds not getting along or being shy...that is a worry that we don't have. Evan and Addie were peas in a pod. They swung on the swings, kicked balls, and jumped on the bed. The hugged and giggled and were so incredibly sweet to each other that at times I thought my heart might burst.

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When I was little I had friend like Evan -Andrew A.. Our parents were pals, he was just weeks older than me, and was my constant playmate. Pictures of him and his family pepper our photo album. He and I going off to our first day of kindergarten together, off to college, at my college graduation.
He moved away before first grade, but yet he still was a part of my life. We trekked to his house to spend the weekend cross country skiing. They came to our house to visit old friends and go hiking. We wrote each other silly letters and manage even now, in our hectic adult lives, to maintain a thread of friendship. He was at my wedding. This summer I held his baby son.

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And I imagine that Evan could be Addie's Andrew A.. They'll be thrown together because of their parents' friendship and soon pictures will spring up in albums. They'll have collective memories. Stories will be told over and over of their antics at the beach or the time she called him "my prince-y" or how he loved jumping on the air mattress in her blue tutu and yellow headband. Or the fact that if one of them had to go to the bathroom, the other did too.

And perhaps they will be pen pals. And celebrate each others' accomplishments. And maybe someday, long from now, dance at each others' weddings and hold each others' children.

And their friendship will be effortless. And easy. And lasting.