This past week, a childhood friend of mine lost his father. It had me reflecting on our time growing up together and how we have traveled together through this somewhat strange and magical journey of peaks and valleys that we call life. I have been blessed by some of the most wonderful friendships in this world. My girlfriends are all a Godsend, each in their own way. They help me navigate motherhood while not letting me forget myself and are always there to lend a supportive ear. I’m grateful for every single one of them coming into my life, and I have a very strong opinion that people should be leery of women who do not have many girlfriends because there is usually a reason why. But this is not a story about my incredible girlfriends. This is a story about my guy friends- the first and most important ones… the Sheffield Boys.

This past week has been a crazy one in our house. School finally started back on Wednesday with the dreaded, logistical nightmare of a half-day that sends parents scrambling for afternoon childcare and yet another lunch option. The afternoon of our particular half day, I found myself playing an intense game of basketball with my eight-year-old son (side note…I wouldn’t have practiced so much growing up if I knew I would end up in a daily pick-up game at the age of forty). Regardless, I placed my phone on top of my parked car, to keep it away from a random airball (not mine obviously) and still be able to hear if an important call came in. That is when my precious and beautiful bull-in-a-china-shop five-year-old daughter intervened.

This past week, my family and I ventured down to Orange Beach, Alabama, to soak up the last little bits of summer before school and all the extra extracurricular activities of fall start back with a bang. As I returned to the beach where so many of my life’s memories have been made, it got me thinking of certain moments and places that stick out. From the coastal restaurants that have come and gone, to the island adventures during college, there are almost too many to choose from.

If someone had told me I would write about the precarious, furry creatures with oversized teeth that are commonly referred to as beavers, I would have told you that you were crazy, yet here I am doing just the thing. My stories come to me at random times, and they honestly can’t be predicted. So, here we are. For whatever reason, I’ve realized the beaver has randomly popped in and out of my entire life, and my curiosity of the animal has recently piqued my interest. And I found myself asking: Beaver…friend or foe? I guess it depends on how you look at it.

There are two things in life we obviously cannot escape- death and taxes. I’ve come to terms with the death thing, but taxes I’m still working on. At least when you die, there’s a celebration. Maybe paying taxes would be easier if we threw a party each April. Then again, you’d have to have some money left over for a proper celebration. Now, everyone knows the closest big event next to a southern wedding is that of the southern funeral. Southern funerals are just as big (sometimes even bigger), last even longer, can be very impromptu at times, and can even require an event coordinator. I know, that seems crazy, right? But I’ll have you know, a few funerals I have been to in Nashville, Tennessee, had an event coordinator because they were such the soiree. And if an event coordinator is not in the budget, a nosy and over-involved aunt will suffice.

A recent study completed by the University of Oxford show that there are key scientific benefits to children being raised around their grandparents. It is a fact that grandparents play a high-level role in the emotional as well as behavioral development of children. Grandparents consistently surrounded by their grandchildren tend to live longer lives, too. As my husband and I consider moving closer to my in-laws, I can’t help but think about the long-term benefits that will evolve for both my in-laws and my own children. I also think about the grandparents of my personal, everyday childhood with fondness and full- on belly laughter.

Growing up as a little girl in the South, our families and fellow girlfriends start discussing our hypothetical weddings at an extremely early age. From flower choices to shades of bridesmaids’ dresses, you may or may not be surprised how often the topic is thrown around. As a child of the eighties, I knew exactly what was being discussed every time I heard the Steel Magnolias quote, “my colors (pronounced like kullahs) are blush and bashful.” And while all the little southern girls may be programmed to daydream of their kullahs and distinct wedding palettes, they also dream about the event that leads up to the main event- the proposal.

As I become a seasoned mother, I find things coming out of my southern mama mouth that surprise even me. The urban dictionary defines momism as “things that your mom tells you that can be considered wise, but most of the time you just do whatever you feel like and the one time she’s right, you will never hear the end of it.” I laughed out loud when I read this. I tend to think of a momism exactly the way the urban dictionary does, but I also categorize it by any saying that a mother has on repeat through her child rearing years. The latest momism that is actively going around my house (and has been for the last few months) tends to get many laughs, although it is simply a-not-so-sugarcoated truth. For whatever reason, my husband has convinced my eight-year-old son that a buzz cut would be a great idea for him to have this summer. Now, some may agree with the particular hairstyle, given the heat and humidity of the South, but I strongly disagree. And I make it well known that I am not in agreement when I simply respond with my very own momism, “honey, you just don’t have the ears for a buzz cut.” He always looks at me in the most confused way and responds, “What does that mean?”