Friends Who Knew Us When

Every year around this time my husband packs the car with his sleeping bag, some T-shirts, jeans, sneakers, a pillow and a case of beer and heads to the Cape for a weekend away with his buddies. This year marked the 12 year of "Million Man Weekend," a tradition that preceded me by about 5 years, and one that I secretly envy.

He comes back battered from football, exhausted from two nights of sleeping on the floor and hung over from 48 hours of drinking, but also exuberant and peaceful after a couple of days of deep bonding with his closest friends.

I always tease him about how excited he gets months before his annual retreat, but I always talk longingly about how great it would be if the girls could do the same thing.

Last year we finally tried. A group of us packed our cars and took off for the anti-Million Man weekend: a spa weekend in Vermont with enough beds for everyone. We ate chocolate fondue, drank more mixed drinks than I can count and had massages and pedicures at a luxury spa. It was a blast, but not the same.

These guys have built a tradition that we could try to replicate, but will likely never match. Most of them have been friends since college, and they've seen each other gain weight, lose their hair, find their soul mates, get married – and in some cases, divorced – and have children. They've advised each other on grad school, reception halls, 401Ks, SUVs and car seats.

Their bond stretches well beyond their goofy fantasy football leagues or poker nights. These guys are friends for life and no matter how hard they try to shake each other off, or how far they move apart – either spiritually, mentally or physically – they always, inevitably, come back together for Million Man Weekend.

Dave is lucky to have this many friends who knew him so long before he was Somebody's Dad or Somebody's Husband. I have lots of friends, but only two close ones who have seen me grow from the insecure, naïve 18-year-old I was freshman year to the harried, slightly less naïve 36 year old I am now. Jen and Judy were both maids of honor at my wedding, and will without question be there to watch, help, advise and support me as I move into the next phase of my life -- as well as the one after that.

Like me, today both have children, jobs, and responsibilities. Jen drives an SUV, writes part-time for the Globe, has two kids about the same ages as mine and lives in a suburb of Boston. Judy lives in Vienna with her fiancé, has a 10-month-old son, works three days a week and no longer has the energy to spend her weeknights going to the theater or art exhibits.

But when I see them I see through this phase and right back to the days before we were Somebody's Mother or Somebody's Wife. I can still see Jen with her college boyfriend, lounging on the ugly orange couch I had in the apartment I shared with my ex-boyfriend, asking him to fetch her a pint of Ben and Jerry's at midnight. And I still see Judy juggling a couple of guys at once in high school, debating about which she would "allow" to take her to the Ball.

This year was Million Man 12, and plans are apparently already underway for next year.

The girls and I have yet to discuss our Spa Weekend II, but I'm sure it will happen sometime soon. In the meantime, I'm going to make some plans with Jen for next weekend and try to coax Judy across the Pond for a visit. It's been a while.