Yesterday was the Sunday that most Sundays aspire to be: Waking up cuddly with a sleep-sweaty boy, ordering brunch, having a very pleasant mom/sister conversation, wandering up to the Met with some very giggly friends to look at gowns and swords and mummies and plush rococo things covered in gilt (Hey, if it ain't baroque...don't fix it), sauntering down the Upper East Side eating ice cream, and coming home to drink a lot of wine, eat a lot of cheese, watch movies, and then fade into a happy sleep.
As a special bonus, the whole day was shrouded in a marvelous fog, and I pretended to be in both London and San Francisco in turns.
Tonight is, once again, theoretically the initial meeting between myself, and my boy's mother. We have had meetings scheduled before, but all those unforeseen circumstances that nobody plans for popped up. Tonight very well may be the night. I am trying to stop being freakishly panicked. I decided that blue stripes was a mom-neutral color choice.
Think good thoughts for a mohawked boy in a blue striped shirt tonight.