Youth Recapture Interrupted: First Steps

I kind of figured that after recovering from my hellacious basement party hangover, that the first thing that I would do is download the pictures and blog all about it. Funny thing about kids: they have a way of trumping anything of importance in your own life, in favor of their own crises, milestones, and illnesses. Take Tiller for instance. . . .

I crawled back home on Sunday at about one in the afternoon, took a bath, changed clothes, and then fell into bed for a few hours sleep while the kids napped, it being impossible to nap while children are awake within a mile radius.

When they awakened, Todd took pity on me, and let me sleep a while longer. I planned on waking, eating grilled cheese, and blogging about the previous evening. I finished the grilled cheese while Todd played with Rollie and Matilda on the den floor. Todd was sitting on the floor about three feet from the ottoman, and my feet were on the ottoman. Tiller came over to stand next to me, holding her arms out to be held. I picked her up, hugged her, then set her down on her feet in Todd's direction. Todd held out his arms, Tiller's eyes lit up like the sun, and she put her arms out towards him. She took two wobbly steps, maybe three, and fell into his arms. First steps! He and I both welled up a little in the eye area. It is easy to forget about the little things with a second child, but some things are just monumental: A child's first steps, always towards one of us, and setting off so suddenly a chain of milestones in the future, reminding us that they will continue to walk on and on, farther and farther away every day.

We practiced her new trick the rest of the afternoon and into bedtime, my attempts at recapturing my own youth completely forgotten for the time being.

Way to go, Tiller baby! We are so proud of you, sweetheart.

I can't remember the last time I was so excited

Tonight, I am attending a going-away party for an old friend of mine. He and his family are moving Chicago. One of our group of childhood friends had the amazing idea of having a party in this friend's parents' basement. Brilliant. Who wouldn't want to go back to the scene of the crime for one last blast?

We all grew up together, lived in the same neighborhood, attended the same schools, and played tennis and were on swim team together. These people know things about me that no one else knows. I have spent hours upon hours hanging out with them. We all have adult jobs and some of us have families, and we are ditching all of those this evening. These days, when we get together one or two times a year, we bring the spouses and the kids, and sometimes our parents are there. Not tonight! No spouses. No kids. Just the group of us, a fuckload of beer, and an old-school location. Todd has graciously agreed to take care of the kids tonight and get up with them tomorrow. I am spending the night out. Did I mention how great my husband is, that he will watch the kids while I go have a slumber party with seven grown men? He is awesome beyond belief, trusting and non-jealous. I adore him.

Hopefully, no one will get arrested, steal a mustang convertible and take it for a drunken joyride, go skinny-dipping, drive a grey caddy backwards across a busy highway, pass out in the bushes, have to run back to the house with only half their clothing, swallow a quarter, get to the chopper in the junipers, or put on a vomiting performance from the screen porch balcony with a cheering audience. No way anyone will be in the blue room. Hopefully, we will limit our alcohol intake to beer and liquor, while forgoing Boone's Farm and Mad Dog 20/20.

Yes, there will be cameras, and I am just glad that there weren't cameras back in the day. This will undoubtedly be much tamer. We are mature now. Really. I mean it.