It all started with a group text to some neighborhood moms, as so many wonderful things do. Do you guys want to meet up to walk with the kids in the morning? Several of us had new babies or toddlers at home and there was something about those mid-morning hours that could feel really long. Plus, fresh air was almost always the antidote to a fussy baby.
And so, we walked. We walked miles and miles and talked and talked and, as the warmer months morphed into the colder ones — as the pediatrician promised me the fresh air was still good for my baby as long as he was bundled up — a group of young moms became each other’s support system. We traded tips on diaper brands and baby food recipes and how to sneak spinach into smoothies.
The Walks That Built a Village
I was fairly new to the town when my son was born, and, while everyone was quick to include and accept us, it was these walks that turned a group of acquaintances into some of my best friends. What began as a bond over this single common life experience — early motherhood — morphed into connections over our childhoods, our marriages, our favorite home décor tips, our political beliefs, our religious slants, the best time to plant lettuce … From the mundane to the earthshaking, we covered it all during those morning hours.
And I learned something critical, something I hadn’t actually thought or believed before: I could, in my adult life, make friends as real and true as those I had cultivated in my growing up years and during college, in those pockets where making friends feels fast and convenient and easy.
I’m not sure I knew it when I sat down with these very friends two years ago, around a lunch table while our children swam and said, “Hey, guys, I’m thinking about writing a book about a mommune,” that these very female friendships would be so formative to this novel. Of course, they understood the concept right away, chiming in with thoughts, suggestions, ideas, and, of course, laughs. Because there are always so many of those with this group.
I knew Beach House Rules would be about a woman named Charlotte who suddenly finds herself and her daughter Iris at a crossroads when her husband is accused of a crime that upends their entire life. I knew that I would move them into a “mommune” with a woman named Alice and two other single mothers and their children and, well, chaos — and happiness! — would ensue. I knew that they would keep secrets, find second chances at love, and realize they had a common bond that they were unaware of, one that would cause them to question whether their coming together was a coincidence at all.
The Friendships That Carried Us
But what I didn’t know is that Charlotte would go on a journey of self-discovery, one where she would realize that those adult friendships she didn’t think were important? They were the ones that would sustain her, carry her, as she endured one of the most painful periods of her life, as she looked forward to a future she couldn’t quite imagine.
I think maybe that’s how it was for me, too. I had always thought that when you grew up and moved away, your husband and your kids became the biggest part of your life. And that’s true, of course. But, also, I have come to realize that the women who have become my “mommune,” that village that has sustained me, have been a fundamental, irreplaceable part of my present for which I am so grateful. And, to think, it all started with something as simple as morning walks.
A Legacy of Connection
Now, those babies and toddlers that were so happy in those strollers are growing up way too quickly, the youngest about to turn thirteen. And it fills my heart to even type that they, like their mothers, have remained the best of friends. I don’t know if they formed some sort of unseen bond during those mornings together, before they could even walk or talk, or if they have simply emulated what I can confidently say is our very good friendship example. But there is no denying that they have something special.
My family moved away from that small town years ago, but, even still, all summer, every summer, we have dinner with these friends every Friday night and spend the days in between together as much as possible. We plan trips over Fall Break, ring in each New Year together, and catch a holiday party or two. And those teenagers? Well, they make a lot of our plans. They FaceTime almost daily when they aren’t together and coerce us into meeting up for sleepovers that can last for days. It’s chaotic and wonderful, and nearly every time we are together, I find myself consciously thinking, I am so happy.
I’m so grateful for my own irreplaceable friendships. But it makes my heart surge to think that they have created a legacy, another generation of unbreakable bonds, of late nights, of laughter, of love. Another generation. Another group text. The cycle continues. As it was always meant to be.