Last weekend, I hosted three of my childhood girlfriends for three days of talking, eating, laughing, and, yes, crying. But mostly laughing. And talking.
I picked them up from the airport and we went straight to an outdoor lunch where this one revealed that she was eating for two. Again. Baby number three was dining with us right there on Third Street. Much shrieking and squealing ensued.
Not long after that, having been in LA less than an hour, I took them to do a little Hollywood rite of passage. That's all I'll say about that, except that it involved hot wax and reaction faces that looked something like this.
Nothing says "Welcome!" like a little beauty pain.
I tried to make up for it with girls weekend gift bags, filled with some of my favorite LA items: aviator sunglasses, gauzy scarves, trashy magazines, and flip flops.
The next few days were full of spa relaxation, incredibly tasty meals, and lots and lots of talking. We're all from the same small town. I've known them since I was ten years old. We have, literally, hundreds of thousands of memories together. From middle school dances to church youth trips to the cheerleading bus to our weddings. There is a lot to dissect about all that time.
Between us, we have 7.5 kids, four husbands, varying levels of career paths, and four very different lives. We've been sharing our strong opinions with one another since before we got our first kiss.
And I can honestly say that in the few days since they've left, I've thought of several topics we didn't cover and I wish we had.
When you have you people in your life that you can talk to about anything, you shouldn't wait thirteen years to spend the weekend together.