Last night Eric and I went to dinner at a friend's house, and even though we spent a good hour pre-packing Olivia's necessities and Jake's swimwear, the evening ostensibly was for us. I must confess we teased Diane mercilessly. She is the only person I know that can actually add on to every conversation with "I read a book on that and...". I really like her husband, but I feel a responsibility to introduce her to an ex-boyfriend of mine, someone who is the only person I know that can actually say, "When I read the original German text of Nietzsche...". Joe meet Diane, Diane: Joe. Now y'all excuse me while I go off and watch The O.C.
They have (in a brief spell of unending good fortune for me) a son in the fifth grade at Jake's school. While this may have me some days cursing the smallness of the blogworld and prohibiting me from freely writing about Jake's schooldays angst, it made last night's dinner even more mirthful. If you have any experience with The Transformers with your child, then you know my son is the one that morphs into SaranMan and can wrap himself around me at any function until I cease breathing. But last night he enjoyed himself immensely without requiring my constant witnessing of his doing so. And don't rain on my parade: if they were smoking ganja in the bedroom, then clearly--based on his leaving me alone--he is old enough to make those decisions.
Olivia scooted around on her walker, most contendedly, as Hurley was kind enough to let her play with his cellphone. As this is one of her most fervent desires, she will have a constant soft spot in her heart for any bearded man that gives her trinkets. She was her usual amicable self, and probably more so in the desperate itch for her parents to actually be invited back and develop some semblance of life outside of her.
The adult fest continues for me today, as Jake is over at a friend's basketball court (this being a real indoor one with wood floors, not the nerf version Jake sports atop his bunk bed), and Eric has driven Olivia over to Miami to visit her great-grandmother. I now have had an hour alone and have already found several excuses to amble in to Olivia's room and visit the baby smell. Having had more grown up indulgence in the last fifteen hours than I have had in over twelve months, I am now sated. Repeat this back to me by eight o'clock this evening, when Jake reminds of me of some major styrofoam-requiring project due tomorrow, oh yeah, didn't I tell you?