Soft, Damp Dirt

We had a little rendezvous with some friends on Friday night...it was a bunch of 40ish-year-olds having a sleepover. I showed up in my pajamas. Tim is one of my oldest friends (from college), and my comfort level when I'm around him is old and layered. Why not reflect that in dress? Jeans are great, but jammies are even better. I heartily recommend the practice.

We had a great time. Tim sent me one of the nicest emails I've ever received, after I got my diagnosis. I am truly lucky to know such a curmudgeon...he's the gooiest curmudgeon I know. The girls, who came along, were supposed to sleep, but of course, they didn't--until midnight!--but it was ok. Tim and his wife Val have two cute little demons of their own, so they fully understood. They have perfected the art of insisting on fun, parenthood be damned.

And then Maria showed up in the morning! Another old friend, who, via her own connection with Tim, makes for multi-faceted, often irreverent fun. We ate french toast and talked. On the way home, we stopped at Whole Foods so Jeff could jump out and get some lunch for us. When he came back, I had been circling the parking lot with the girls in the back....and he was laughing at how ridiculous I looked, driving with my bathrobed elbow sticking out the window.

Yesterday I worked in the yard again, promising myself to remember forever the wisdom of waiting to pull weeds until after it rains. Our neighbor Albert seemed to psychically know that we needed a mower, because he brought over an old manual one and said we could have it. The girls came out and I put some water in buckets for them to play with. Sophie went straight to work, slopping water all over herself and poor Lu, getting EVERYTHING wet within a six-foot radius. Then she went over to Lucy and dumped a pitcher of water on her head.

It was a good weekend, in spite of everyone getting little sleep.