The first time my husband and I had the discussion about spouses being each others best friends, we were instantly in agreement: My spouse is not my best friend.  

We're both fine with that. He has his guy friends, and I have the Cha-Cha's.

For years, I have had a core group of three girlfriends.  We style ourselves after the "Ya-Yas" from the book The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.  (An "outsider" once referred to as the Cha-Chas, which I happen to like better.)   These women have kept me grounded and make me laugh louder than anyone I know, especially after a few cocktails.  The four of us are an interesting mix of characters.  We are all in our 40s, with the exception of one who soon will be.  One has been divorced, another single. Two of us are married with children.  One I have known since junior high.  We all graduated from college; some have more than one degree.  I know that if I have a question, one of them will have the answer.

I firmly believe that women need at least one good girlfriend.  If you have more than one, even better.  These are the women who will support you no matter what.  This is the friend, who when your boyfriend breaks up with you at his apartment, will drive out there and follow you home to make sure you are okay.  These are the friends who, after you have had a major operation, will work out a schedule to bring you meals and entertain your child.  This is the friend who keeps sending you those inspirational, chain emails, even though you have told her time and time again that you don't respond to those things.

These are the friends that if you dislike someone, they dislike him or her too.  No explanation needed, no questions asked. They always have your back and are always on your side. 

I was reminded of the Cha-Chas when I saw a commercial about four girlfriends.  It turns out there is a "series" of clips about these women.  Here's the link to A Woman's World.

I end with a great quote that one of the Cha-Cha's sent me in a chain email: 

I am only as strong as the coffee I drink, the hairspray I use, and the friends that I have.

I don't know when it happened.  It definitely happened after I had my daughter.  I turned into a "schlumpadinka."   Don't know what that is?  Here's the definition.

I didn't realize how bad it was until the Friday I was supposed to be the "Guest Reader" for my daughter's class.

Let me give you the backstory first.  I drive The Youngest to school every morning.  Being a stay-at-home mom, I don't always feel the need to...shall we say... "look my best" when I am dropping her off, preferring instead to get ready after everyone else has left home.  I don't think I have to describe to any of you stay-at -home parents the joys of being able to shower and dress without a spouse or child walking into the bathroom every 5 minutes.  (Yes, I could lock the door but that would only aggravate the person on the other side who would proceed to pound on the door until it was opened.)

So, in the morning, as The Youngest is getting ready, I wash my face, brush my teeth, put on a pair of jeans and throw a sweatshirt/fleece jacket over my pajama top (which is usually a long-sleeve T-shirt) and BAM, I'm good to go in about 2 minutes.

So we were following our usual morning routine and were en route to school, when The Youngest and I had this discussion.

Her:  Mom, are you coming to school to be the guest reader today?

Me:  Yes, I'll be there this afternoon.

Her:  Umm, mom?

Me: Yes?

Her:  When you come to school, can you put on some REAL clothes?

(This is akin to a conversation that one of my gal pals had with her hubbie recently when she donned a pair of black yoga pants and he asked why she was all dressed up.   Mercifully, she spared his life.)

You know how it is, ladies.  There was a time in your life when you knew you were a hottie.  Then you had a child. Now, you value sleep more than you do eyeliner.  You'd rather take a few more sips of that magical life-imbuing elixir known as morning coffee, than take a curling iron to your hair. 

There's a saying I heard once on a T.V. show, which I think somewhat explains schlumpadinkahood.  It went something like this.  

Once you have children, you stop being the "picture" and start being the "frame."

 But maybe we don't have to be a plain, wooden frame all the time.  Maybe we need to bedazzle the frame every once in a while, if you know what I mean.