Weekend Coffee Share #12

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If we were having coffee, we would be meeting later than normal. Cohiba asked if I could take the Wee One during part of the morning, and so you and I arranged to meet in the afternoon. I offer to buy your coffee in thanks for your flexibility, but you wave me off.  Its warm enough that we can sit outside, in the sun. Cohiba was right about the winter being better here, I comment to you, thinking of my friends in the Midwest who can’t even think about going outside without the wind cutting their face.

There is a father daughter couple sitting next to us; they look like farmers or ranchers. Their boots are heavy and mud-encrusted,  and the brim of his hat is broad. Her jeans, though, are bejeweled around the pockets, which is incongruous with the muddy cuffs and army jacket. Incongruous, but it still works. “You go, girl,” I say quietly as they walk to their truck, and you laugh.

If we were having coffee, I would start to tell you about party planing I’m doing for Wee One’s first birthday. She turned 11 months yesterday! Ack! I had the hardest time coming up with a theme, but I have and I’m really happy about it.  Now I’m thinking about decorations and pictures I want to take.

I didn’t realize party planning could be so fun, though!  I think its because I’m celebrating something I love so much. I’m also trying to keep it inexpensive, so I’ve been trying to borrow a large number “1” for birthday photos a friend is taking. I haven’t been able to, though, so I’m going to draw something.  Do you think that will look stupid? I ask, afraid that homemade will look tacky.  Your mom did a lot of homemade stuff when you were little, you say, and you thought it worked.

Now that I think about it, my mom did a lot of homemade stuff, too, and I knew how much effort she put into it and felt special that she put so much consideration into the items. Making things for her is a way to put my love into action, I realize.

If we were having coffee, my birthday is coming up as well, you remind me, and ask if I]’m going to do anything special.  I can’t really think of anything yet, I tell you, though I did make up a birthday list, which I usually put off. Perhaps I’ll try to go to dinner with friends? You suggest going paint balling. Seriously? I ask. You went a few months ago, you say, and had a blast.  I think I want something a little more low-key.

I might fall back on an old favorite: having a mix Superbowl party and birthday party. I love the Superbowl, and it’s always around my birthday.  Would you come? I ask, and you wave your hand at me.  “I hate football,” you remind me, smiling.

There are two young kids couple sitting at a table next to us leaning on each other’s laps, looking at their phones, and kissing. We giggle and we try not to stare as we gather our belongings to leave. Oh, we remember those days well, and are glad they’re past.

Okay, your turn.

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