On Saturday night, Suttie spent his first night away from home. A few days before, Sutton and I decided that we would go to Big Spring Jam to hear The Fray (translation: I decided that Sutton would come with me to Big Spring Jam because I wanted to hear The Fray). Here’s how that conversation went:
Me: “None of my girlfriends can go, so you have to come so that I won’t be abducted.”
Sutton: “If anyone abducted you, they’d bring you back pretty quickly.”
Me: “Sutton…you know they’d kill me.”
Seeing the truth in this last statement, he reluctantly agreed. Now, the only hitch was finding someone to watch our child. I called my mom, thinking that, because she has a broken foot, she probably wouldn’t want to handle a squirming, teething six-month old all night long. Wrong! I barely got out the request before she blurted out “Yes” and starting talking about buying a high chair. That kid is so spoiled.
So, the big night arrived. We took him to Mom’s around 4:00 pm so that she could have ample “awake” time with him, although she got far more of that than she bargained for. Apparently, Suttie, seeing the opportunity for getting three times the number of bottles than he usually gets, woke up every two to three hours. That kid is spoiled and smart. And this is when I learned an important fact: grandmothers have a unique talent for erasing unpleasant short-term memories of their grandchildren. As we were leaving the next day, Mom said that, since he’d gotten the first night over with, he’d be ready for next time. If I was her, I’d bolt the doors or move to Boca.
As for our big night out? It reminded me that I’m quickly reaching an age where I’d rather stay in and watch a made-for-TV movie than go out and party it up until the wee hours. Now, don’t get me wrong; we had fun. We started with dinner at Macaroni Grill, where I realized that it’s harder to get a good buzz going than it used to be. Then we headed over to the Jam to slosh through the puddles of a week’s worth of rain, where I found that I’m more uptight about ruining clothes than I was at 18. We walked around the park for a while, past hoards of teenagers who had yet to see one of the stages, thinking about days when we spent the entire weekend without ever knowing who was playing. At 9:30 pm, an hour before The Fray was set to take the stage, I started to yawn uncontrollably. At 9:35, Sutton checked his iPhone and, since he’s Facebook friends with Dan Satterfield, realized that it was about to pour. We sought shelter under the North Hall entrance and waited out the rain, staring in disbelief at the “kids” who got soaked in order to hold their front row spots. And even though I love the band, when they started to play at 10:40, I was counting down the songs and, in turn, the minutes until we were able to head home.
During the performance, we stood a few hundred yards away, at a comfortable distance from the body bumping and the speakers. About twenty minutes in, I wished aloud that we had brought our folding chairs, which we had left behind because we didn’t want to seem old. If we go next year, and that’s a big if, I’ll be toting that chair and, if I can find one, a folding footstool, too. When the band finished at 11:45, I seriously considered flagging down one of the Gator vehicles that circle the event so that I could hitch a ride to the car. At the very least, I grew to appreciate the utility of a Segway. Once we reached the car, we set our sights on Hazel Green. No bar stops for us, not even a late night Krystal run – just home…as quickly as possible. And after sharing the sentiment that we both missed our boy, Sutton and I each fell into a dreamless coma until it was time to wake up and retrieve him.
No comments:
Post a Comment