The Burpee Brunch.
Isn’t it funny when your kids decide on their favorite special places to eat? For some kids, it’s a place like Chuck E. Cheese, or Chick-Fil-A, or somewhere else with a fun play area or crazy amounts of noise and stuff happening. Our 6YO? His very favorite spot to eat is Oskar Blues, and his very favorite reason why is their ribs + root beer.
I do like that they serve their drinks in mason jars. I have a thing for those things.
And on a late Sunday morning, at brunch no-less, he ordered up a half rack of ribs all for himself and sucked down a special treat or two of root beer.
His brother opted for a good ol’ standby: waffles and cranberry juice (that sounds like an awful combo, but whatevs).
We met some friends, old and new, there this past weekend for some good family time (good friends are always considered family, you know) and story swapping with a side of bluegrass music a couple of tables over.
Oh. And there might have been some coloring.
And some Bloody Mary-ing (note the very empty mason jar with celery in the blurry foreground – that would be my yummy treat for the day).
There might have also been some tickling.
And while I’m very well aware that a story can be told with just a couple of pictures, I just couldn’t decide which of these was best.
Even the blurry ones tickle my funny bone.
Especially when I can almost hear the really big chuckles that match up with this particularly cheesy sort of grin.
You know what happens after a good bout of tickling? A burpee challenge. Little man challenged, but the friend did this instead.
Dude. The little man’s ready for a throwdown, I think. Look at him taunting you, Matt.
And my point is…
I don’t really have one.
Sometimes, it’s just about being able to look at some silly, happy faces and remember some silly, happy moments shared over waffles and grits and omelettes and ribs that make for a great story. Those quiet, giggly, snorty in-between moments passed back and forth between friends that make it comfortable no matter how many miles separate you, how long it’s been since you’ve seen each other, or how many short minutes it’s been since you’ve just met. There a couple not pictured here, because, well, we were busy swapping those stories.
And we had some good ones.
I’ll leave you with a favorite quote of mine by James Allen, taken from an essay given to me by a friend I met about 18 years ago named Montgomery Benjamin Sweeney. A southern man, last I knew, living in the gentlemanly state of Georgia.
Nothing can come to the soul that does not belong to it.
That, to us, is what good friends are: little pieces of our soul scattered about, but called back to us throughout different times of our lives.
Here’s to good friends.