By Krystal Sieben 
This text chat group. It’s all the big things. All the little things. All the mom things. The chosen family things.
Five ladies who have been close since middle school. We used to pass notes telling about our crushes, fights with our parents, first kisses, and womanly questions. Then, it changed to letters as we got older—from summer vacations, college tours, sports camps, our grandmas’ houses.
Eventually, in college this really weird invention called e-mail happened. Perfect timing. We can send each other a letter like right away? How does this work? I’ll try it later in the computer lab. Cue the 1998 dial-up noise.
And finally, cell phones. What’s your new number? Texting? Like I write you a message, and you write back? Funny. Let’s try it . . . did you get it?
Now these group text messages are a lifeline. I got the job! I’m engaged! You guys . . . it’s a girl! Is this a miscarriage? It’s cancer. They think it might be autism.
When I hear the frantic buzzing, I know it’s something really good or really scary, or super happy, or can anyone do June 23 at 8:09 for a 45-minute brunch . . . it’s been too long.
This is the first place to go with news, advice, a question, to vent, to share that your kid made the team, to ask if I’m crazy, to cry. This text group has seen so many moments—huge and tiny. All the things in the middle that feel mundane, but are essentially everything. A running record of the highs and lows of life. Man, I’m so thankful for this little lifeline in the moments that matter.
A reminder: Text that friend. It matters.
by Amanda Nelson 
by Tabitha Yates 
by Tynea Lewis 
