Chips, Dip, and Hi-C

When I was four, I met a little girl with dark blond hair. We played in the sandbox together. When we were seven, I knocked out one of her teeth on the playground (by accident). When we were 8, I spent the night at her house when my mom had her appendix taken out. We stayed up all night--on a school night! And, when we were 10, I cried because I thought she wasn’t going to be my best friend anymore.  We had slumber parties--where there was very little slumber. She remembers why chips, dip, and Hi-C are a special treat. And, she still remembers that we had a secret language (Hoy!). 

She gave me my first taste of Nestle' Quick--and laughed with me when we realized she had mixed it with buttermilk. I questioned her love of raw tomatoes and watermelon. Somewhere in there, I envied her embroidery skills in Camp Fire meetings and laughed when she dressed up as the Jolly Green Giant for Halloween. We trick or treated as punk rockers, and squealed when the doorbell rang at her house--boys! From our class!

When we were 13, I transferred junior high schools.  After months at a school where no one said hello, I walked into a new counselor’s office in a new school, and there she was--open arms, giggles, and hugs I haven’t forgotten. We cried together when her mom suddenly died later that year. We sunburned our feet at White Water together. We passed notes and giggled about boys.

Our friendship took different paths. I missed her when I started spending more time with the music kids, and she found new friends too.

But, we never missed a birthday. When I turned 16, she was the one I wanted to spend the day with. Senior year, she had the best hair. Curly. Wavy. Naturally gorgeous. We hugged at high school graduation. We swam together after hours at the city pool with our boyfriends.  In college, she was the only person in the world who could get me on a dance floor, and she bought me my first bottle of wine (I promise we were 21!). She was there when I graduated from college, and I wouldn’t have missed her graduations for the world. I cried when she crossed the stage for that hard earned optometry degree.

She danced at my wedding, and I danced at hers. When I called to tell her I was pregnant with R.J., she cried because she was happy. And because she was pregnant too. Our babies are two days apart.

I hardly ever see her anymore. We send text messages. And e-mail. We commensurate. On mommy issues. And family. And boys. She’s an encourager, and she has a sense of humor that makes everything all better. She is raising a delightful toddler girl, and a precious tiny one too.

This weekend, I spent a rare afternoon on her sofa. We ate sandwiches and chips and dip. No Hi-C, but Tinkerbell plates and napkins made it a special treat. She listens, and she cares. Our lives have taken different paths. We rarely have time to visit. But, for a brief two hours on Saturday, I got to be 13. We giggled over darling baby girl clothes. I held her precious little one and kissed her little one’s precious cheeks. I marveled at this woman who is my best friend. A doctor. A mother. And a good one at that. She is beautiful--particularly with a three-year old at her feet and a two-month old in her lap. She is amazing. I miss her. (I love you Angie!)