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This weekend, Brandon and I were lucky enough to drop ALL our kids (O.M.G!) off with my parents for the night- I mean, what kid doesn't love a night at Grandma's (They call my parents Ammah and Pop-pop) for late bedtime, junk food, and baths in her giant clawfoot bathtub, followed by a breakfast of HUGE waffles piled high with butter and powdered sugar?!
In our evening of precious alone-ness, Brandon and I made our way to spend Christmas gift cards, and ended up in a mall of all places. Of course, as my life is riddled with sentimental moments, (can we get a collective eye roll here?) memories flooded back.
Malls. Malls have stamped their way across my life, the X on a treasure map that marks "the spot." - Of course, Christmas shopping memories, dollar movies, my 15th birthday with 200.00 cash in hand and all the best stores laying ahead of me, pink and blue hair dye from Hot Topic and so on.
This time, though, Brandon and I stopped to press our noses (figuratively speaking) against the window of the Godiva chocolaterie. Chocolate dipped strawberries adorned their display, and beyond that, truffles stacked beneath sneeze guard glass.
When Lilly was just a little thing, we lived in New Jersey. I loved living there, but we lived in what was officially "Trenton", but really, it was just a vast expanse of farms (EXCELLENT farmers markets), creepy old abandoned houses, and sagging, broken down barns. Well, that, and we were young and dirt poor with a baby in tow.
So, in our spare time, we would drive for an hour, through a jug handle, and into a mall parking lot, where we would push our happy, giggly little baby in her stroller to the Godiva chocolate store, where we would each choose a truffle- Brandon usually got the darkest chocolate he could find, or peanutbutter (Ew on both accounts.) and I would choose strawberry, lemon or raspberry and milk chocolate truffles. For Lilly, we would pick a couple of mint squares, and we'd sit on a bench and eat them- then we'd window shop for a few hours before heading back home.
Simpler times. And not because we were poor (poor doesn't equal "simple", in fact, it complicates things.) But I was much more innocent, and one child is infinitely easier than the handful I have now, bless their sweet, kissy-cake little hearts! (Yeah, I call them kissy-cakes. Weird I know. But thus is motherhood. Making moms make up weird names since the beginning of time.) Back then, before miss Lilly decided that the CD player in the van seemed like a satisfactory piggy bank, our radio kept us company on the long drive.
Among other things, the song in the music video provided was one that we sang at the top of our lungs, my converse shoes pressed against the windshield while Brandon, driving, drummed the steering wheel, Lilly babbling behind us, the taste of chocolate still staining all our lips.
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