Sunday, January 10, 2016

On the eve of ...

It was cold on the eve of the first day of vacation. Our daughter resists winterwear and so is rushed to and from the car with a coat draped over her like a celebrity out on bail. But even she agreed to put her actual toddler arms into her winter coat for the frigid block walk to dinner. We stood on a corner waiting for the light and she burrowed against me and laugh-screamed in cold, cold agony.

The host tried to seat us at a sore thumb table in the middle of the room, but I nudged her toward a newly vacated table by the window. Chach colored with complementary crayons.

"What are these?" she asked, shading with green.
"Tattoos," I said, which must have been confusing. She knows a dog named Tattoo, and that's all she knows of the word.

We had an appetizer of focaccia, pesto and goat cheese to be dipped in red sauce. The server snuck Sriracha onto the corner of the table, which wasn't a bad idea at all.
We had a large pizza with Italian sausage and garlic. Chach took one bite.
"Spicy," she said, then slurped down a bunch of strawfuls of milk and pretty much ate nothing else.

After dinner I emptied the aisles at the co-op and Chuck scared up some vermouth. We got home late-ish, put Chach to bed and retired to the basement to drink martinis and listen to records well past curfew.

Chach woke up at 6 a.m. in need of an emergency diaper change. Chuck did the heavy lifting, then I swept into the room without opening my eyes and carried her into the lounge where we shared a futon for four more sweet, sweet hours of sleep and the First Official Day of Vacation.

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