I have so many posts backed up, I don’t know what to do first. So I think I’ll do bits of nothing.
I had all sorts of stories about partying at the winery with Otter and his lovely wife and children, but it’s really much funnier with the photos and I’ve decided against posting them. (Unless I don’t get another invitation soon, in which case everyone will know who sang Blue Bayou and who sang I’m Too Sexy for My Shirt (that one hurt) and who absolutely crooned Elvis. I’ll short-circuit any comments from Mr. X by admitting I sang “The Tide is High” and “La Bamba.” OK? You happy? WE WERE ALL DRUNK.)
Last night was fun in a sphincter-tightening sort of way: Gil and I took the kids on a long ride through the neighborhoods, catching the fireworks here and there in San Jose and the Cambrian and near the stadium. We stopped at lights and oohed and ahhed and competed for most fireworks spotted among the houses and trees.
At one point there was a tremendous finale behind the redwoods so we wove our way through streets until we had a perfect vantage point. As the children cheered and begged to be let out of the car, Gil and I started noticing where we were. “Kids, I think we’ll keep driving, and we don’t want to put the windows down or the smoke will get in the car.” We were muttering lines from ”Training Day” to ourselves as we tried to whistle and nonchalant our way out of there.
We reached a dead end almost immediately. As Gil and I giggled and muttered, he turned into a driveway, only to be blocked from behind by a white van. “That’s it for us; there’s a guy over there holding a blender box and the woman in the van is lighting a cigarette.” “Yup. Been nice knowing you.”
The kids thought the muffled, horrified laughter was all part of the show and giggled along with us. I was saying the rosary as Gil made a seventeen-point turn out of the driveway (careful not to ding the van) and we wound our way past a fire truck and four cruisers. “Either we just missed something or they heard a family of five was in the area and might need an escort.”
There were the usual post-show firecrackers going off all around us. Logan deadpanned, “I think I saw the car those shots were fired from.” Daphne replied, “Oh, my!’ and Gil and I nearly fell over laughing, ran the red turn light, and booked back to Los Gatos.
It’s time to actually finish up the housework. I finally did the last three days’ dishes in my newly-functional sink (I am so happy Mr. X has that NY “thing” that intimidates Home Depot folk into opening up a new faucet assembly and just handing us the piece missing from mine), and am running load after load of laundry. I am hoping the kids will forget that I suggested washing my car. They are all hopped up on Fudge pops and Gushers and I think at least two are naked in the yard at the moment. I’ll go look after I finish this glass of Coppola Rosso…