This week has been hell. I’ve been scarce, because I’ve committed myself to about 50-55 hours per week, plus all the other stuff I do, and on top of that all I’ve been doing the driving for about three or so hours in the car per day. Tonight, I decided to take some time off. Kinda enforced; my brain is somewhat mushy at the end of the week anyway, and today was just too hot to work. Who am I fooling, it was only about 84. Anyway.
Sorry, I’m rambling.I think it’s the lack of writing lately, and all these little synapses are cheering their little heads off that I’m actually using them.
With Ms B out scrapbooking (at a totally awesome scrapbook place, I might add), I opted to walk with the girls down to the Cathedral Park Jazz Festival. Ms B was, how shall I say, “skeptical” that we could walk there; but in fact it isn’t that much farther than the walk to the library (a mile more, round trip). When we got there, we scoped out the area and eventually settled on a slope just downwind of the bubble machine. Olivia Warfield was singing; she was good. I still don’t much care for Jazz, one way or the other, but I like Blues. Jazz and most Barbecue, oddly- I’m always disappointed in what I get. But Olivia was pretty good. (Yeah, I just downgraded her. I think it’s ok.)
So I was expecting, hoping for, anticipating, me and my daughters “hanging out in the sun, listening to live music down by the water.” This did not disappoint. We had a very good time. And I had the added bonus of Miss B not sitting next to me; at first I thought it had to do with “not sitting next to dad out in public” but eventually it became clear that on one hand she wanted to roll down the hill (and there were people next to us that would be in the way) and on the other hand she was starting to feel self-conscious about rolling down the hill. So she was kind of torn between childhood and adulthood. I gave her a hug and told her to go for it, but just then she saw … “Young Master A” from her school.
Why do I have Mr, Ms and Miss, and no .. way to show “young male kid who I don’t want to share the name of directly?” Bah.
Miss B and YMA played tag for a while; there were some other kids involved. But Miss K really wanted to play with Miss B; at one point, Miss B had disappeared for about thirty seconds (yes, it did feel long, thanks for asking), and Miss K was walking around looking lost with a perpetual shrug. She would creep up behind people sitting in lawn chairs enjoying the music, and then sidle up next to them and inspect them, hoping that they would in fact be Miss B. She didn’t want me to pick her up, she didn’t want me to dance with her, she just wanted Miss B to reappear. And Miss B did. Miss K tore right after her, lighting the grass on fire with the speed of her feet and leaped into the air and hugged Miss B’s knees.
The B’s knees. (takes small moment of self-congratulatory reflection)
Miss B and Miss K danced for a while, which really seemed to be them spinning around in circles. And then YMA showed back up, Miss B tore off after him, Miss K tore right after her like a puppy at the heels of her bestest friend, until Miss B just plain outran her, running after a boy in the setting summer sun. I know, because I ran after Miss K when they disappeared from view around the back of the stage. I saw them together again a few minutes later, on the other side of the audience, but I did start to get worried.
There were a lot of parents of young kids there. And there were a lot of kids there. But overall, it being the first night of the festival, and I don’t think it’s all that well advertised, it was kind of sparse, and I wasn’t too worried. I could see them most of the time, and trusted Miss B with Miss K (unless there was a boy involved).
We left shortly ( 
) after Guitar Shorty took the stage. I liked his music better; the rhythm of the guitar and the bluesy singing are more my speed than the jazz. But the girls and I were wearing out, and I still had things to do tonight. Which aren’t done, but that’s a different issue. On the way home, I was talking about it with Miss B; she was being “really playful” in the nine-year-old sense. She’s working on whistling loud with her fingers in her mouth and she kept trying to annoy her father by licking his arm. Don’t ask. She’s got the nine year old thing down pat. Too soon, she’ll enter the world of double digits (ten), and then eleven, then twelve, and then nineteen and going off to college, where she’ll meet a nice person of whatever gender, settle down and raise kids and I’ll never see her again. When I told her that, she laughed too; and suggested that since we only had a few years left together that I should make them as fun as humanly possible.
I love that kid.
