It’s difficult to admit, but many of my friends live in my computer, not in my neighborhood. It’s hard to get together when you live in different time zones, different countries. So I’m hosting a Blog Party, where I can gather my peeps together.
I’d have Robin come and hang out. We’d eat biscotti and drink red wine and toast the progress our children have made over the last two years. We’d toast ourselves, for making it this far and for everything we’ve done for our kids. And then we’d watch our kids play together, creating new bonds and friendships.
Melissa and Christina would be there. Beyond all we have in common with our children, the three of us are musicians. We’d play George Crumb’s Vox Balaenae (Voice of the Whale) (1971), for electric flute, electric cello, and amplified piano, complete with blue lights, mics, and masks. I played it at my final graduate school recital; today I look at the music and am amazed I could play it once upon a time.
Dawn and her partner Laura are invited. They’d bring their sweet little dog Quinn to play with Rosie, and great stories to share. We’d keep the grownup stories for after the kids are in bed.
Jen and I would play “Name That Band Piece,” and I suspect she’d kick my butt, since she was a band director for considerably longer than I was. But I’d hold my own, because dang I know a lot of band music.
Lisa would tend bar, ’cause she has the best drinks. And the best “I teach in an inner-city school, don’t mess with me” stories.
Cursing Mama would bring snicker-doodles and teach me to knit. And curse.
Karin will write and perform a beautiful sacred piece that will touch our hearts and souls.
I want Angie and her boys to come, because I just want to give her a huge hug. My boys will take her boys off to the side of the house and teach them armpit farts. I apologize in advance.
Jamie and I will sit and laugh and cry and rock in the corner. Only another parent of a precocious ADHD kid knows that sometimes you have to laugh to keep from screaming your everlovin’ head off.
Kate and I will sit and reminisce over the “good old days.” The days when we didn’t have kids, but went to college and thought we knew what stress was. And then want to bitch-slap our old selves.
At the end of the night, we’d have one last toast. We’d toast ourselves, for being ourselves, for the honesty we pour out onto these virtual pages. A toast to the future, to friends we have but may never meet in person, to our dreams.
A Blog Party to end all Blog Parties.
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