It's been all over the headlines. Pictures have been posted by the hundreds capturing an allegiance that endures the test of time and distance. 

I'm talking about Blue Bell. 

Friends are already digging in to cartons of Homemade Vanilla. I have one friend who achieved "Gold Mom" status by surprising her kids with it for breakfast last week. Many have driven hours to get their hands on a half gallon, or four, because the ice cream hasn't hit our shelves yet. 

According to cdn.bluebell.com, the most popular varieties will be delivered in phases. I believe southeast Texas is phase four. I haven't driven to get any, but I'm dreaming of it. When it gets here I'll be throwing a couple of half-gallons in my basket. I'll eat it up, as will Jason and the girls (especially the Dutch Chocolate). 

I won't let it get shoved in the back of the freezer, edges turning gummy having collected ice crystals in its being overlooked. 

I know this now. 

Blue Bell is music to my stomach. 

I really couldn't appreciate this until it had been taken away earlier this year. 

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?

It's not just Blue Bell that has reminded me of this law of nature. Hayden came home from college this weekend after two weeks of being gone. My heart happy, I cooked uncharacteristically, causing Jason to scoff at my efforts with a picture on Facebook. I should really be better about cooking breakfast. 

  
I ironed Hayden's shirts, something I rarely do (because wrinkles are real life).  I packed two boxes to overflowing with snacks. 

 But more than anything, I listened. I really listened when Hayden told me about his presentation on the Falkland Islands. I listened to his obnoxious laugh thinking it wasn't all that obnoxious, but kind of sweet- a lingering sound of boyishness. I listened to his sisters screech from his agitation, surprised at how it sounded in my ears this time- a comforting tune of familiarity. 

Yes. 

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. 

It makes room for memories 

And makes the heart appreciate

what was once mundane. 

Absence brings about adoration 

to what was once exasperating.

Absence makes the next chance at presence count. 

We sent Hayden out the door this morning with milk money, just like old times. With fondness we'll remember the weekend and look forward to next times.