In five o’clock’s flurry of take-out pizza and familiar evening routines, I forgot to check my calendar.
As I stood breast feeding with coat, unzipped, at door’s edge while Luke searched for truck’s keys, I took in the sights of floor puzzles, half naked babes resisting bath tub’s bubbles amidst my parents, Florida Grammy & Grandpop.

I couldn’t hand our dreary infant over fast enough. It wasn’t that I had a bad day; it was fine. Something just happened at that moment that made me want to run. I noticed the rare opportunity where Luke and I got to go out the door kid-less and I couldn’t wait. I wanted to run. As the truck pulled away from our house I joked that we should see if there was a ferry leaving and just get on it and keep going.

Why? Luke asked.

Do we need a reason? Doesn’t an adults only road trip sound enjo..

and I stopped mid-word.

I caught the pile of car seats in my peripheral. Futile pretend conversation I told myself as we pulled into the theatre for Dress Rehearsal.
The door was open, the theatre was empty. We sat in the dim lit room, silent for about ten minutes in some sort of half awake half dreamy consciousness.
I peacefully declared: No laundry, no squabbles, no books to read, no baby to feed, no dog to tie out and wait, Luke added, no noise at all. We sat for another five minutes in silence. It seemed like the greatest date in a long time. We were just being, just still while just together. Just us. I loved it.
You know, it’s occurring to me that we’re here at the wrong time.
I think it starts at 7:30, not 6:00. I said.
So? Luke said.
And just like that, we held hands in the big quiet building.
Some time later, we remembered the Chess Ap on the iTouch. Oh, lovely technology. And, oh, how lovely it was to play in the giant room, so still.
The Father Daughter Dance is just another reason on the long list of reasons I love living here. It’s almost a rush to get tickets; it nearly sells out. One is just as likely to see a decked out daddy boogieing with his two year old as one is to see a giddy daughter in her fifties dancing with her elderly father.
And, so, off comes the grease from daddy’s fingertips and on go the wing tips. The ladies happily adorned in dresses with matching minis for their dollies couldn’t wait to for their date. The Mullis Center, packed, with line out the door. Inside, dates are handed coursages from volunteers and a prom-type photo is taken against a blue foil background. Since Mamas aren’t allowed inside, this is the only digital I got, red-eye and all..
We’re so dressed up it’s like Daddy is our prince.
After dropping them off, I wanted to spy in the bushes: ties and pigtails jumping to Chumbawamba and other beats. All daddies, all smiles and glee. I drove on with Olive to our mommy date at the seaside resturant. What a great night out for a gals night out. But I couldn’t help but laugh. Could you imagine if I had asked Luke to attend some parent ‘ball’ and take me dancing to top 40 hits?! I barely got him to dance at our wedding to Etta James’ At Last. He wore his wedding suit to the dance. Ahhh, what he does for those gals is so, so great.
I’ve forgotten how much babies get you down low on the ground for long periods of the day. My other ladies are growing up and with that it’s just that, up with me on the furniture.
Betty and Lucy love setting up “baby tents” and “baby lands” on the floor. Bordered by infant books, rattling stuffed animals and other baby lovies, Olive lies kicking, drooling and cooling while her big sisters sing songs made up for her.
Tummy time, tummy time – well, it turns into watch me roll over time. I was lucky enough to capture the moment of mastery. Although the pictures aren’t spectacular, the gist is here:

Ugh, tummy time is hard work.

Hi, there.

Here I go; let me swing my big noggin around…

What was that?

I really liked that.

Now, some kicks of joy.
Time still rolls on. What used to pass like weeks, now passes like months. Blink. Something new to celebrate. Today, I celebrate a babe, asleep, with arms above her head. Only last week she was still hands together at chest, in utero style. Now, Olive likes to snooze on the sofa, arms outstretched. Since her new rolling trick, we’re hesitant to let her do so without a rolling baracade.
Sweet dreams.


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