I went away this last weekend . . .
into the freezing ___ cold.
Whatever insulation I used to have that bolstered me from arctic winds has long since gone the same way as my washboard stomach.
We mostly stayed indoors, talking, eating cupcakes, and burning calories doing this:
That is us.
Jumping on a bed.
Needless to say, our husbands and children were nothing less than perplexed by our choice of activities.
But, when one BFF says to another, “Hey – let’s set the camera timer and try to catch ourselves jumping mid-air like those old Chevy car commercials,” it’s just not possible to shoot that idea down.
Plus, we got to see what we’d look like if we had Troll Doll hair.
Which, by the way, = Awesome.
The tall Barbie doll-ish one is not me.
The stubby little one in full-on cannon ball mode is.
This was our weekend away. Just the girls. Time to hunker down, sleep, recharge, get a grip on what’s next, help each other do a little soul-searching.
And the funny thing about jumping on the bed – besides the literal part – was that it was like an underline and exclamation point to this excerpt from Erma Bombeck’s essay, “If I Had My Life to Live Over Again”:
I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded. I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains. I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn’t show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime. When my child kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, “Later. Now get washed up for dinner.” There would have been more I love yous, more I’m sorrys, but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute, look at it and really see it, live it, and never give it back.
We talked about this very thing – about our “momming” and the rolls we play in our own lives and the lives of our loved ones, about the ways we fritter our time away on activities that really mean nothing in the end.
It seems to be a focus I need remind myself of over and over and over again because life. . . well, it’s just so darn distracting.
We practically pinky swore to get back to present and purposeful living, exactly, precisely, when we returned to normal life.
Then we drank hot cocoa, ate Chewy Sprees and popcorn, and watched romantic comedies until we fell asleep.
Not once did we talk about almond milk except for when she asked, “So what are you going to blog about next?”
“Probably almond milk. . . ” I trailed off.
“Almond milk?”. . . she trailed off.
End of conversation.
I know it isn’t that exciting, but it is kind of cool – to make your own nut milk.
No weird gums, lecithins or unpronounceable unknowns added – just almonds and water.
Then you have the freedom to sweeten (honey? maple syrup?), spice (cinnamon? cardamom?) or flavor (chocolate? coconut?) however you choose.
I’m pretty sure too, that we can make almond butter out of that leftover pulp like we did with the cashew butter.
I’ll get back to you on that one – because I’m going to try it.
Meanwhile, life is here right in front of my face and I must honor it.
Until next time, my friends!