“Hey friend, I’m coming over.
Please don’t clean up. Please don’t dress up. Don’t rush to make things look perfect for me.
The only ‘up’ I expect is the acting up our kids will inevitably do. The only ‘up’ I won’t allow is us getting fed up with the beautiful chaos that’s sure to swirl around us.
Hey friend, I’m coming over.
Please don’t stress about the mess. Please don’t apologize for planning less—or not planning at all.
The only stress I want to witness is when that shiitake leaves your body with every laugh we share. The only plan I’ll accept is the one that says when we’re together, we chill the fudge out and breathe a little easier.
Hey friend, I’m coming over.
Please don’t be embarrassed by your child’s behavior. And please don’t judge me for mine.
The only thing you’re allowed to feel embarrassed about is how little ‘give a fudge’ you’re practicing. And please don’t judge me when I spend our time together gently reminding you to give even less.
Hey friend, I’m coming over.
Feel free to whine. Feel free to wine. If you need to vent, I’m all ears. If you need a drink, I’ll bring a bottle—and probably a second one, just in case.
Hey friend, I’m coming over.
I’m coming to support, to help, to empathize, and to entertain. I’m not coming to speculate, assess, criticize, or mock. This is a safe space, always.
Hey friend, I’m coming over.
Please don’t freeze up. Please don’t clam up. Just be exactly who you are. Let yourself exist as-is, and allow me the same grace.
Hey friend, I’m coming over.
So get ready to answer your freakin’ door—and you better not be wearing anything other than leggings, a messy ponytail, yesterday’s makeup, compassion, and grace.
You’ll know it’s me because, well… I’ll be rocking the exact same look.”
