On Friday, Caleb had an impromptu part-ay. It got to be around dinner time and we had a bunch of his friends at the house. We try to eat out on Friday so les chefs don’t get all resentful and burned out, but it was rainy and nasty. So we rustled up some pizza and the kids hung out here, playing Uno Attack (thanks, Aunt Kathy!) as if it were poker night.
Caleb’s the age now that I can remember being. It’s a weird thing, and I can imagine it older gets weirder when your kids are teenagers, or adults themselves. When I was Caleb’s age, my best friend was Michele Davis; she had red hair and glasses that I coveted. Her mom, Julie, babysat my sister and me after school, and it was in this way that I became better acquainted with The Guiding Light. (It guided me to a love of cliff-hangers.) Michele’s older sister was Lisa, and I was so jealous that she had homework. One night, Erin and I spent the night at the Davises, and we listened to records. All four of us started sobbing when Barry Manilow’s “Mandy” came on. What can I say? She came and she gave without taking.
I’ve been feeling a little bad lately about now keeping up with my friendships. I value them, but it’s been all work and furtive, late-night play for me. I never got around to the January party I’d planned on throwing. In two weeks’ time, life will be back to its far-away deadlines, but perspective? I miss ya.