In high school I worked at Smoothie King. I also worked at Hallmark, which when asked where I worked, was always confused with Walmart. But that’s a story for another day. I’d drive to work early in the morning, in my ’98 dark green boxy Jetta, windows down, singing to Pink at the top of my lungs. Singing lyrics that were far too raw for my fairly happy upbringing, minus the typical high school breakups, that left me moodier than PMS, and my mom’s, thankfully, short stint with breast cancer. I lived in a self-constructed utopian bubble. It was pretty, false, yet oh so happy.
In the car rides to work, Pink slowly began deconstructing my bubble, showing me a world outside my own—a world without $5 pink smoothies, cute straws, happy families, and white picket fences that kept my bubble standing.
It ain’t easy growin up in World War III
Never knowin what love could be, you’ll see
I don’t want love to destroy me
like it has done my family
That bubble has thankfully long since been deconstructed through life experiences and just plain growing up. My world is a little more whole and a little less partial. Now I’m trying to figure out how to give my little girl pink smoothies with cute straws in even cuter glasses. And love her more than tomorrow’s uncertainty. But also teach her there’s another shade of pink. A shade that’s just as real and important, if not more. A shade that probably needs a little extra love that she’ll hopefully have stored in her reserves. I say this often but rarely live it out—to whom much is given, much is expected. I guess that’s really what I want to teach her. My good friend Kelsey also says—we teach the things we need to learn the most. Point taken.
• Under the weather? Break open an echinacea tablet into your smoothie as you add the other powders.
• In need of extra folic acid? Add in a tablespoon of wheat germ.
• Protein lover? Add in a tablespoon of plain protein. Note, this will change the texture of the smoothie. Protein yields a fluffier, more airy smoothie.