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We are in Colorado. I'm in the living room of the rental house with a bunch of Jammies' family watching a TV show about extreme injuries from extreme sports: "The impact knocked out seventeen of Jason's teeth." I'm sitting with my back to the TV, so I got to see ten people recoil and suck their teeth as Jason landed - or failed to land - in his snowmobile after sailing over a ledge, presumably on purpose.
There's a lot of food and drink and general merriment, which is good, and a lot of Jammies' family who I like. There's also a lot of small talk with strangers, which is okay. There are also a few worrisome conversations with Dad, about Mom, who is back in the hospital for an intestinal blockage, which they don't quite know the cause of. (Now they are watching Eric Who Mountainbikes Down Volcanoes. Can't wait to hear how he gets multilated.)
Anyway, I feel a bit schizophrenic switching back and forth between conversations with Dad and smalltalk with guests. It kind of is exhausting, but no one seems to mind if I disappear from time to time. (Eric's bike disintegrated midway down the volcano, and he skidded over a hundred yards over molten lava. His shoulder got dislocated.)
Hawaiian Punch is certainly the star of the show. She's an easy prop for mingling and making small talk, although I notice that no one asks me what I do professionally anymore. I know why, too - it's dangerous territory to ask new moms about their careers. But I kind of resent being omitted as the conversation meanders. ("If you ain't crashing, you ain't doing it right. No, I don't regret a thing," says the motorcross guy who just graduated to walking casts after months in a wheelchair.)
Hawaiian Punch just woke up and is hungry, so I'll sign off.
There's a lot of food and drink and general merriment, which is good, and a lot of Jammies' family who I like. There's also a lot of small talk with strangers, which is okay. There are also a few worrisome conversations with Dad, about Mom, who is back in the hospital for an intestinal blockage, which they don't quite know the cause of. (Now they are watching Eric Who Mountainbikes Down Volcanoes. Can't wait to hear how he gets multilated.)
Anyway, I feel a bit schizophrenic switching back and forth between conversations with Dad and smalltalk with guests. It kind of is exhausting, but no one seems to mind if I disappear from time to time. (Eric's bike disintegrated midway down the volcano, and he skidded over a hundred yards over molten lava. His shoulder got dislocated.)
Hawaiian Punch is certainly the star of the show. She's an easy prop for mingling and making small talk, although I notice that no one asks me what I do professionally anymore. I know why, too - it's dangerous territory to ask new moms about their careers. But I kind of resent being omitted as the conversation meanders. ("If you ain't crashing, you ain't doing it right. No, I don't regret a thing," says the motorcross guy who just graduated to walking casts after months in a wheelchair.)
Hawaiian Punch just woke up and is hungry, so I'll sign off.