Yesterday I took the day off from being a mom to help my BF Jen deliver wedding cakes to a ski resort up north. I heartlessly (one might even say gleefully and not be stretching the truth by much) left Daddy Shortbread to deal with Saturday homework, driving the Bear to ballet, and what to feed the two finicky short people who live with us. You know, the ones that liked bananas last week but this week are tiiiiiired of them. Yesterday? Not my problem.
My BF and I wore our cute jeans and makeup. We got Starbucks lattes the size of our heads. We practically wet ourselves laughing on the drive up. It was HEAVEN.
As we got farther north, it was also peak foliage season. We were surrounded by this:
Driving into Kingfield, you follow this little river all the way to the mountain. Jen graciously pulled the van over every time I squealed and patiently let me shoot about ten billion pictures. She refrained from whining and complaining, unlike my usual van companions (who are darn lucky they're cute and biologically related to me sometimes).
We drove and gawked at the four million dollar "vacation homes" that dot the base of the mountain. Some of them have a ski lift that comes right to their back yard to whisk them up the mountain. (Who ARE these people? They can't all be neurologists from Boston.)
We lunched at a delightfully eclectic, girly cafe/flower shop, whose menu would have caused my kids to faint in horror. Nary a chicken finger, nor a french fry to be found, just wonderful salads, wraps, teas, and sparkling fruit juices. Delish. We lingered and chatted, keeping a wary eye on the wasp that had wandered inside and taken up residence on the window beside our table.
Finally, we drifted homeward, feeling the need to stop at both farm stand and garden center. The van smelled both earthy and delightfully spicy and fall-like from the pumpkins, squash, and pots of mums we shoehorned into the back.