Our house seems so quiet now that our seven houseguests have gone-our dearest friends from law school have been here with their five children-four beautiful girls, twins,16, 14, 10 and finally a son, 3. (The 3 did me in.) We four adults went to an elegant restaurant last night, returning in time for grapejuice (well, the adults had Dom Perignon)and noisemakers on the lawn. Like you, o soul sis, we came home to a terrorized cat, an enormous amount of spewed soft drinks, an excess of hormonal excitement, and our den furniture reupholstered in pizza. The three year old had watched Nick of Time and Mission Impossible with the teens and had made several impressive additions to his vocabulary that he couldn't wait to demonstrate, much to the glee of the older kids who probably spent half the evening making sure he learned them. All in all, an entertaining evening.
My New Year's resolution is never to eat again.
Now I'm off to the grocery store for canned blackeyed peas and hominy for instant Texas Caviar. I'm too tired to cook and even though I hate the stuff, I know that I have to do this or the blame for any evil occurrance in 1997 will be placed squarely on me for failing to provide the requisite amount of B.E.P. to prevent bad luck in the coming year. The curse of motherhood is an omnipresent, all-pervading, guilt-filled sense of responsibility for everything that happens to the family, the community, and the world. I will do anything to avoid the blame.
As I head out for upholstery cleaner and peas, I think fondly of you all (probably at home eating your perfectly prepared, blackeyed pea gourmet dishes, implementing your intelligent, well-constructed resolutions and reclining on your pizza-free couches). Like you, CGB, I come here to rediscover little pieces of myself that have been lost in the roles of motherhood and middleaged housewife and to listen to the voices of the many articulate, caring and funny people found here. So I want everyone to have a wonderful '97 and stay right here sharing it.
penni
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