Hanging with my tribe.

Last night I did a thing.

Dinner out with a group of nine moms.

Yes, we, all wore our petticoats, hats, and gloves to the Japanese hibachi.

Out after dark, in a noisy restaurant, with eight other people. It was so not me (introvert alarms going off all over the place here), and yet I had a great time.

These were moms from our church “moms and tots” group, which gets together every Monday. Some of those Mondays I get a chance to play with their delightful children. Or read them a story and do a project with them. It’s one of the things I enjoy most about the work I do. The first Monday of the month is always “night out,” and this time I joined in.

The dinner conversation centered around babies, toddlers, kindergarten, childbirth, nursing, and pregnancy. Stuff I haven’t experienced since “Seinfeld” was in its first run. (Ouch, not fun to admit.) But stuff I love.

Rabid feminist that I am, I’m also a fierce defender of moms who are able to and choose to stay home with their children during their youngest years. I love hearing about their lives at SAH moms and remembering the days when I was there, too.

So I love the mom talk, but more than that I just really like all these women (well, almost all of them – there’s a rotten one in every bunch, isn’t there?). I was honored that they wanted me with them.

What they didn’t know was how much it fed my aching, empty-nest grieving soul, to spend time with moms who are loving that precious time with their tiny ones while they have it.

Even with all the unpleasant stuff that’s been happening in my workplace recently, I can’t deny the fact that I absolutely love so much of what I do.

Thanks, moms, for letting me stay in the tribe.

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