Oh, Monday.
In my efforts to protect my laptop, phone, coffee and child from each other, I managed to dump the third over all four things. Five, including myself.
The coffee was cold. She’s fine.
Maybe I need to be child-proofed from myself.
(What is that glorious aroma of hazelnut coming from my iPhone case? Smells like…a warranty crying.)
So, yes. Monday. It was a busy and fabulous weekend across the board- and the country. Sadly, we missed my youngest nephew Declan’s baptism, but we were there in spirit. And present. And presently, our present is being presented to the incorrect zip code. (P.J. errantly mixed the oldest sister’s street address with the youngest sister’s zip code. What, we all look the same to you? What’s one Massachusetts town compared to the next? Thanks a lot, Cincy.)
The past few days also included the best sushi in town (Yay, Macku! I ate a potentially unwise amount of super white tuna) an evening with P.J.’s coworkers (great band, terrific company, positively cougartastic dancin’ on the floor), a birthday party for a one year old whom Nora alternately adores and has a coy-ish thing going on (and a good time was had with his always suprafun parents and their pals), a holiday swaparoo with no less than eight types of cheese and plates that rest on one’s FINGERS (I could not invent that kinda thing if I tried), and a brunch/playdate with neighbor pals- a relationship that we are quite thrilled to cultivate, as they are a) cool, b) possessing a daughter of the same age as Nora, and c) fluent speakers of sober English.
Saturday evening was the extraordinarily different experience of having someone pick out my outfit (because I collapsed in a pile of my Momitude and comfy hoodies) and whisk me out for an evening of dancin’ in divey locales. (Thanks, B!) I hadn’t been to the Liar’s Club since my 26th birthday, which was…last year…and it hasn’t changed a bit. Except maybe it’s a little cleaner? Slightly? Or maybe my standards have completely dropped off the face of the planet. (There aren’t any waffles stuck to the chairs- what a classy joint!) Even though the music was- shall we say- a little too current for my dusty tastes, we definitely got the dancing started. (I am always the first on the dance floor. I don’t want to brag and say that people pack the floor once I get out there…but it inevitably happens. Granted, this could also be because I start dancing while the DJ is still setting up. It would be pretty hard to start dancing before the person who doesn’t need music starts dancing.) And Miss B was so proud of my efforts that she convinced the DJ to play Boston for me. Sure, I was the only one really dancing to More Than A Feeling…but ask me if I cared. Or noticed. (I did not.)
And now, about the kids’ music today: (Scoot aside, my walker needs to be parked.) The last time I really identified with trendy music was the early 90s- seriously. Once hair metal started to die out, I Status Quo-ly listened to Nirvana and Pearl Jam and Soundgarden. But my flannel-clad heart was still aching for a modulation of Hysteria proportions. And a couple of years later? I was so done with the boy band/pop princess explosion that I regressed into blues and oldies and classic country just to remind myself of how music used to sound- and I was seventeen.
But really. Taio Cruz? Dynamite? There are just some songs so inane as to permanently damage my frontal lobes each time they are reflected upon. (And with a stupid hook that catchy, it is sadly a DAILY occurrence.)
“I throw my hands up in the air sometimes!” he exclaims. (Sayin’ AYO.) Every time I hear that one line I am completely taken out of the moment. I need to step off of the bar and think about how ridiculous that lyric is. Really, Taio? You seem surprised by this. Sometimes you just throw your hands in the air? Is it like an involuntary twitch? (“May I offer you a canape?” “Yeah, this is a lovely catered event, I- AYO!” Trays akimbo.) So I think about that. Then I am always drawn back to Nora’s book about a shy little wombat called “Sometimes I Like To Curl Up In A Little Ball.” Always. Always always always. Then I get an image of a smallish Taio Cruz curling up into a ball and waving his arms willy nilly against the onslaught of not being able to live his life/rock this club/light it up/move move move.
It’s a wonder they even let me through the door.
Back to the weekend.
As the Summer/Fall events transition into All Things Holiday, I often think about how nice it’s gonna be once Winter hits. Truly. And this is coming from a girl who takes baths at a trillion degrees Fahrenheit and cannot stand the sight of snow once February hits. But, as friends and I were discussing yesterday, the cold weather season means you actually see people. As counterintuitive as it seems, we never see anyone in the Summer. Sure, we’re out and about and there are a trillion things going on…but we’ve been booked since January. Weddings, family, travel, festivals, weekend thingies. But in March? The only plans people make for March around here are cozy house parties, Scrabble nights, movies, dinners in, blanket tents, etc. Sure, last winter was positively idyllic, what with a glorious maternity leave, snuggly little wee baby, entire seasons of programming at my disposal, and enough homemade food to stock two freezers…but I have high hopes for this one as well.
So to all of my lovely friends and fam- the ones whom I could not get it together in time to see this Warm Season- come over sometime. I hear that Peej has a few movies.
But I’ll provide the music.
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