So I finally got together with some dear girlfriends I hadn’t seen in a long time recently. Two live out of state, so it was like a lunar eclipse. We all happened to be in Rhode Island at the same time, so all the stars aligned, and we knew we had to plan it. It was a riot catching up and venting together. In a matter of five hours, we consumed an entire wagon wheel of brie, two insane-in the-membrane cheese dips, a gallon of cut fruit, some wine, chocolate and a quiche the size of my face. It took about 20 emails, a few Twitter messages, several phone calls and some major back-and-forth schedule-maneuvering to make it happen.  But we did it. We didn’t cancel. We didn’t re-schedule. We didn’t let our own crazy lives, from toddlers to teens, get in the way. We made it happen. We didn’t let another year go by without catching up. We knew we had to take advantage of this precious window of sanity-by-brunch opportunity. And boy, did we have some nearly pee-in-your-dressy-jeans moments.

My husband recently got together with a dozen buddies for a Patriots game guys’ night. I swear it took them one email and they were all tailgating. It’s so unfair. The sad part is, had I whipped up a get-together this fast, I’d build up enough of my own manufactured mommy guilt to fill Providence Place Mall.

OK. I adore all my women friends. But why in the name of Jennifer Garner is it so hard to plan things with other women? I realize there are times when schedules get crazed. When we have no free time. When kids get sick. And the sitter’s out of town and our guy isn’t available to watch the kids. But I feel like we could all use a little kick in the rear in this department. Can I get an Amen?

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