Over 20 years ago, the night my first marriage ended, I spent hours dialing the phone. My husband had beaten me unconscious, I’d given statements to the police in my wrecked living room, and then I’d driven with my dog to City Hall to file a restraining order at midnight.

But when I got back home at 2 am, bruised ribs and glass cuts on my face, the first thing I did was make several calls, all of which were as important to my survival as the police, a locksmith, a divorce lawyer, and a good therapist.

Over the years I’ve learned a number of lessons when it comes to making new friends: my first impression of people is usually wrong and my husband’s is usually right, avoid drama queens at all cost and don’t trust a woman who doesn’t have old friends.

If you’ve gone through life making and breaking friendships, there’s probably something deeply wrong with you. I’m not exactly sure what that thing may be. Maybe you get clingy and chase them off. Maybe you borrow their designer shoes and return them with scuffs. Maybe you cut off their head and hide their body under the stairs. Whatever it is, I don’t plan on waiting around to find out.

“A true friend is someone who makes you feel better than you think you are.” - Me

I’m planning a really fun Girls Night Out at my house to honor all my closest She Wolves. You know pics will be coming soon, possibly edited - knowing my friends - but definitely shared. Girl time is too rare these days and I find myself saying NO more often than YES when it comes to social invites.

A few days after Valentine’s Day, I told Ava about my childhood valentine.

I imagine every girl must remember her first - that moment when the holiday evolved from the pleasure of eating stale, molar-cracking SweetTarts to something closer to love.

I had an interesting conversation the other day; at my kids’ school, there’s a fair every spring, and each family is expected to work at the booth for their kids’ class for an hour. The room parent assigns two families to every hour, then emails a schedule out to the parents in case anyone needs to switch. In

For my family, 2012 is all about organization. My husband is whipping around my house faster than MacGyver disassembling a bomb. It’s quite frustrating as I feel like a slacker.

Twelve years ago I gave birth to my first beautiful baby. When he was a few weeks old, I was invited by a local midwife to a neighborhood center to meet other women who had also just had their first babies. It was my introduction to the “moms group."

Heather reads to her husband from the flight magazine. “Santa Fe is dry but prone to weather changes.” Michael nods. “We should move there when the kids are grown,” Heather says. “Sounds like the perfect place for a menopausal woman.”

“Now we are discussing retirement,” Michael says. “I guess you really did need to spend the night away.”