Friday Night Tacos

I hadn't eaten since breakfast Friday, so knowing Rachel's fridge is ALWAYS open to me, I finished my Amnesty International project and headed on over to R&R's house for Friday Night Tacos.

All the married people are there. And a bazillion children. That in itself makes for a rollicking good party, if you dig talking about pregnancies, engineering, model airplanes, weight, and trying to keep the bigger frolicking kids from smashing, stomping, pushing, kicking, biting, and throughly wa-banging the younger children.

Once I walked in, a nice lady was holding Lucas and baby-talking to him. Fear stood out in his eyes as he stared intently, wondering in his little mind what the world she was trying to do to him! His eyes were huge and then he started looking for an escape route.

His beautiful eyes rested on me. Familiarity. Heaven.

He couldn't wait to reach his chubby arms out and push away to get to me. The fear left, and in its place desperation to get to a comfy spot where he could analyze the room and the people and make his cooing joyful noises, added to the cacophony of screams, laughs, and parents dashing to save a bonked child.

Where do I find a perfect child like him? I should check out the supermarket.... Trader Joe's.

Or maybe the meat market. Get myself a man.

Or maybe not. I've got a nephew, so when he gets bonked and I don't know how to comfort him, I can take him to Momma to hug and kiss his tears away, and then when he's happy take him back to play and have fun. I think being the Aunt is the best of all possible worlds, to quote Plato lightly. Lucky me. I am lucky. I've got the best sister-in-law, a brother who hugs me when he sees me, and an open fridge and happy nephew to greet me when I visit.