My name is Rio

This weekend was a fallback to my teenage years. First, I babysat for the first time since high school. I was never a big babysitter when I was a teenager. All my friends seemed to love it but every time I was faced with a fussy toddler or a demanding 7-year-old, I'd quail. What was I supposed to say to them?
I never knew what to say or where to draw the line. On Friday, however, we spelled our friends D&D, who live down the hill and have the world's cutest 6-month-old. C is a joy to be around, even when teething, so that says a lot. As we stood on the doorstep, Lunchboy turned to me and asked a vital question: "Do you know how to change a diaper?" And for a second I had to think about it because it's been years. Luckily, today's diapers are pretty idiot-proof and they even have handy-dandy reusable velcro-type tabs. Who knew?

Then Saturday I escaped the testosterone-fest at our house by going to my best friend's place for a sleepover. Sleepover! A word I cannot say to Lunchboy without him asking if there are going to be naked pillow fights or sexy time (gotta lay off the Family Guy, babe). Rather, we drank some wine, ate really good food from Idyllwild, and watched Mansfield Park on DVD. Then we read each other's tarot cards and giggled about boys. It was divine.

Sunday I planted some campanula, phlox, and hosta that I bought at Idyllwild. There is a whole area of the walkway that I can't do anything with because we are allegedly enlarging the window and that will mean digging up a lot of square footage and also maybe relocating a gas line, so I am reluctant to spend money on plants that will have to either get moved or be destroyed. But no decision has been made about when this will happen, and right now the blank stretch of weedy mulch is so ugly. Must. make. decision.