I have to confess that I'm saddled with a bit o' melancholy lately. My friend
Kevin died one year ago today. When I booked my upcoming trip to DC, I momentarily had the thought that I needed to let Kevin know I'll be in town. How I wish I could meet him for one last "girls' night out."
I did have a better-than-average weekend, despite the sad anniversary. On Saturday morning, P and I took the kid to a children's festival (or "festibul," if you prefer her pronunciation). This is an annual event, and we've taken her every year. The first year, she was just eleven months old and couldn't walk yet. Each year, she's able to do more and more of the activities. I suppose we only have so many years left before she announces that this particular festibul is "for babies," so we'll persist in taking her until then. One fact that has remained constant for the five years we've attended: she doesn't listen. She runs from one booth to another and assumes we'll catch up eventually. One of her favorite activities is to hang out with the local herp club and touch unfurry animals. I have to admit that I am, on some level, pretty proud of the fact that my daughter has no qualms about handling snakes. As long as she doesn't start speaking in tongues and drinking strychnine, I'm totally down with it.
Right after the festibul, I picked up my friend Stephanie and we went out of town for the weekend. We went to a resort about an hour northwest of where we live. Two moms - three kids + wine + old movies = a deeeeeeelightful weekend. We watched "Bull Durham" because, remarkably, neither of us had ever seen it. We also watched "Say Anything," which I had seen before. But, I'm always up for John Cusack, as I've probably made clear when I lapse into my Cusack reverie from time to time. We also shopped and enjoyed the perfect spring weather.
In other news, I no longer have my foster dog, Tucker. After trying several failed treatment paths, we (the rescue as a whole) decided to go for the
BARF diet for Tucker. As a vegetarian, I have a tough time grinding up bones and stuff, so I passed him to a volunteer who is a carnivore and who has had good luck in treating colitis-ridden dogs in the past. What I ended up with instead of Tucker: a puppy (AKA "spawn of Satan"). She spends her spare time chewing my daughter's hair (while it is still attached to A's head), peeing on the rug, and gnawing on human flesh with the wee little daggers masquerading as teeth in her mouth. Oy, I'm getting too old for this schtuff.
