Love changes everything

Our dear dear friends came up for the weekend. The theme was mostly "Hey remember before we had kids when we could have a grown up conversation and the only one screaming was Jen?" We miss those days.



They live in The Big City 230 miles away, and despite continuous promises/threats to one another that we will again live in the same location (or at least less than 230 miles apart), I'm slowly coming to realize that this is unlikely. They both have good jobs where they are, and I love my job, and we both own houses and .... you know how it goes. For a long time this idea of not ever living in the same city again made me so terribly sad. It still does, sometimes (like last night after they left to go home...), but I try to remember that throughout my life, my mom has kept in touch with her best friend from college, and they travel together every summer and see each other often throughout the year, and they live 260 miles apart. My sister and I love Kathy's children still (and we're all grown up, now, even the baby Mark), and our mothers met over 40 years ago. And Myra and Kathy didn't have blogs or cell phones for most of those 40 years. Why, with free minutes alone we should be able to know a lot more of what's going on in each others lives.


In other, non-related news, have I mentioned V's love for KISS? It's quite upsetting, actually. I put in a DVD of the Muppet Show a few months ago (she was just barely two). I love the Muppet Show and hope she will, too, one day. As I sat back down to enjoy it with her and her father, V started screaming, "No, KISS! KISS!" I glared at Shaun, because he's the one in the KISS army, not me. "I didn't do anything!" he swore, but then added "Except tell her they're the best band ever." Still, for a two year old to remember that and demand to see them instead of Muppets strikes me as remarkable.

Because we are easy to persuade, we took the screaming to heart and put in a KISS concert from the late 70s. Now before ya'll call child services, we fast-forwarded through the blood-spitting parts. And she danced and danced and sang and danced.

Now she knows every member of the original band's name, what they play (her little toddler voice saying "Peter Criss, drums!" just kills me), and has an inordinate fondness for Gene Simmons. In fact, last week, we were talking about her favorite TV shows, and I asked her which she liked better, Dora or Blue? "Gene Simmons," she said.

Next time you see her, ask her what Gene Simmons does. I promise you won't be disappointed (unless you're child services).