This morning as I swiped the cat hairs from my mouth and scrambled for my screeching cell phone, I thought of my friend Claire. Her and her fiance Greg would soon be en route to the airport to begin the 
final countdown for their wedding this weekend. I couldn't help but smile as I sneezed into my sporty clothes and began to jog up the largest hill I've ever run. I thought of Vampire Weekend, the band she recently introduced me to, the scary black boots clicking down the hallway that we both used to fear, red boas and tipsy turns on the dance floor, planning meetings at Hole Mole and climbing up into attics one by one. I wish I could be there this Saturday as they exchange their beautifully written vows, elegant rings, and romantic glances. A family ceremony sounds like such a sweet and meaningful way to begin married life; and perfect for a couple who so honor and celebrate family.
When I stumbled back up into my room, I had a picture message. It was Claire and Greg at the airport. A few minutes later, a shot of the rings floating in a velvet box. Wow, this is really happening! A slight tinge of sadness that I won't be there crept up yet again...but it was easily replaced by such a calming sense of joy for what this weekend holds for them.
It strikes me as odd that most of my close friends live so far away. The women in my life whose voices always offer such support, humor, and understanding are dabbled in Washington, New Jersey, Illinois, and Germany. These women always manage to snuggle babies, pursue Ph.D's, and tackle timezones to talk with me. But why is it that the majority of my closest friends are all so far away? Does this merely reflect my passion for travel and childhood moves or has my relationship with Daniel in some ways created neglect of the development and maintenance of friendships in the LA area? I am so grateful for these far-away friends but there are afternoons back home when I wish that just one of them lived down the street. They could stop over for a glass of wine and my latest attempt at lasagna. They could look at my photographs or listen to my "wedding-although-not-engaged" plans without thinking them silly.
I'll be thinking about all of these friends today as I jump into my first day with both my 3 year old nephew and my 6 week old niece. Right now Iris is wrapped tight against my chest....and I imagine she'll be here most of the day. Ewan is singing with Elmo and has apparently lost
his underwear. My brain is starting to rot from this large amazing television. Daniel and I made the questionable decision a few months ago to eliminate TV watching and besides the occasional BBC News or chat with Gwen while we cook, we have stuck to our mission. We didn't stop watching out of intellectual snobbery but rather because I had wriggled into a slight addiction with "The Biggest Loser," and "The Bachelor" (although this one I still sneak on the Internet) and "Entertainment Tonight." My brain had started to get mushy, bedside books were dusty, and my journal was only 3 pages past January's Italy adventures.
But here at my brother's there is a beautiful television (if televisions can be called beautiful). It is a big, shiny, HD, satellite temptation. I don't know how stay-at-home moms don't all simply melt into the couch all day, nursing, burping, napping, snacking, and watching television. This is going to be my challenge: to play, imagine, read, dance, listen to music, and sing today with Ewan. TV must turn off...turn off the TV...but mid-show???...isn't that traumatic for the youngin'? Maybe we'll finish just this one show....the couch looks so soft.
