Serendipity is the fine art of stumbling across something wonderful. And is there any better place to do that than in the blogosphere?

A while back, I stumbled across Minnie of Minnie Moments and it turns out she lives not too far from me. She had posted a picture of herself reading her Bible while reclining in a big comfy chair with her feet up. Sitting on the floor in front of her were her two boys, which she had tied up and gagged. I laughed out loud because, if you have children and you are honest with yourself, you’ve considered it. More of my Bible-believin’ friends could stand to take a post from Minnie’s blog and lighten up and laugh at themselves a bit more.

I sent her an email and asked her to meet me for lunch. She responded immediately and with enthusiasm and she did. I knew right away that I would like anyone who would do something as spontaneous and crazy as meeting a not-so-perfect stranger for lunch.

Chances are that beyond the blogosphere, we would not travel in the same circles, primarily because she is 16 years younger than me and seriously cool. She has a cute funky hairdo and AM Fey glasses and an itty bitty jewel nestled on the side of her nose. I on the other hand, while I haven’t given in to wearing mom-jeans, I am not cool or anywhere close to it. That’s one of the many things I like about blogging – that the superficial barriers of age, class and religion that we erect around ourselves are less prevalent. I won’t say they don’t exist, because to some degree, they do. But they are certainly much easier to hurdle.

She greeted me with a warm hug. She was easy to talk to and delightfully funny and open. As we talked, I learned that she has overcome some serious obstacles in her life, although you would never guess that just by looking at her or reading her blog. As I listened to her tell her story, I was amazed that the bumpy road she traveled into adulthood left her not bitter and resentful as one might expect, but graciously light of spirit and refreshingly wise.

As I travel around the blogosphere, the fabric of humanity sometimes seems to be a little tattered and moth-eaten and full of holes. But occasionally, with a little serendipity, you run into someone like Minnie who keeps herself busy patching it with humor and kindness. And any day serendipity leads you to a new friend, it is a good day.

Last Saturday, I took my first solo trip away from Sean. I took a day trip to Kansas City to have lunch with some blogging buddies.

I had been looking forward to it for more than a month. I looked forward to getting away on my own for the first time in a more than a decade and I looked forward to meeting people I only knew through the computer. I wondered if it would be like Christmas. Would all the anticipation and excitement and curiosity of what was hidden be disappointing when all was revealed? It seemed like Saturday would never come and then suddenly it was here. When it was time to kiss my baby goodbye at the curb, my intestines were busy learning macramé.

Off and on over the course of the preceding week, I previewed and prepared Sean for Saturday morning, as the experts who write books tell you to do. I told him that on Saturday I would be taking an airplane ride but that I would be back by the end of the day. I reminded him that he would have daddy all day to himself and that they would do fun things like go to PetCo.

As Saturday approached, he said to me out of the blue: “Mommy, I don’t want you go on an airplane. That scare me.” I couldn’t think of a single thing that would have prompted this remark, so I asked him what it was that scared him. “I don’t want the airplane to tip over,” he said solemnly. I reassured him the plane was not going to tip over and that he need not worry about it. I told him that Uncle Dick has been flying airplanes for thirty years and never once tipped one over. That seemed to set his mind at ease or maybe he just kept it to himself. I worry that that it was the latter.

I got out of the car and opened the door to the backseat to give him a kiss goodbye. I looked at him sitting in the backseat of the car, still in his baseball pajamas, still sleepy, still so little. Tears stung my eyes. Bye Sweet Potato!” I said to him tipping his chin up with my thumb. I sounded falsely happy. I looked deep into his eyes. “I’ll see you later today, ” I promised. “You be a good boy for daddy.” I kissed his nose.

“Bye Mommy” he said, rubbing his eyes. Then he gave me a smile and waved at me by scrunching his fingers in and out as though he were working dough. “Dear God,” I whispered to myself, “Don’t let the plane tip over.”

It turned out that Saturday was the best Christmas ever. I got more than I ever imagined and it was better than I could have imagined. I will write about the wonderful ladies I met in the coming week when I have time and can do it justice. (In the meantime, Shannon at Rocks In My Dryer has a well written summary and pictures too!)

When Sean and Antique Daddy picked me up at the airport that evening, my heart was full. It had been a very good day. Any day you make sixteen new friends is a good day. And now I was home. I opened the car door and kissed my boy. He was exactly where I had left him. “Mommy!” he said, “I look for you but I not see you today.” He had missed me.

Thank you God, I whispered to myself. Thank you for this boy, my husband, my sixteen new friends and not letting the plane tip over.

A while back, I joined a ring of women bloggers who write about about all kinds of stuff, but mostly about their crazy lives as mothers. They call themselves Crazy Hip Blog Mama’s. When they find out how un-hip I really I am, I hope they will have mercy on me and keep me around as the resident dork.

Anyway, we are doing a writing collaboration focused on what it means to be a CHBM. It wasn’t hard for me to come up with about 100 reasons, but I’ll spare you and just give you one. Probably the most imporant thing about being a CHBM to me is the sense of community and meeting place it provides for moms from all walks of life — a great big Starbucks drinking international coffee clatch.

When you are 46-year-old woman with a two-year-old, you don’t have a lot of peers. Although there are more and more of us older moms around these days, most of the mom’s that I see out and about with toddlers in tow are about half my age. I don’t say that for sympathy, it’s just a fact.

Being a CHBM has provided me with an extensive and growing list of peers. It doesn’t matter how old I am. It doesn’t matter whether my kid is in college or kindergarten or diapers, for whom I voted or where or if I go to church. It makes no difference what kind of car I drive or clothes I wear. No matter if I’m married, single or divorced, or where I live. All the superficial factors that in other circumstances draw birds of a feather to flock together are irrelevant here. Probably the only thing every CHBM has in common is the experience of trying to raise a decent kid in a crazy world and writing about it.

As I’ve read through the blogs, I find that CHBMs write for all kinds of different reasons. Some write to maintain a sense of self outside of their role as mother, some are seeking a creative outlet, some to keep up with family spread across the world, some to journal and others just to vent. I sense that everyone who has come to CHBM is like me in the sense that they are seeking to be part of a community and maybe even a part of something larger than themselves.

Before blogging came along, we only had access to the voices that made it past the publishing gatekeepers. Today, we have the privilege to be able to peek in on the lives of women from all around the world in all kinds of circumstances and hear their stories if they choose to share it. It’s nice to know that someone out there is listening to my story too. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one whose life is occasionally consumed with someone else’s poop. Everyone has a story to tell and needs to be heard. Even if it is only about poop.