Levelling Up

This past week-end, I was fortunate enough to attend an "Eat, Drink and Be Married" celebration for two of my college friends, both of whom had gotten married within months of one another.  It was a great time spent with a handful of folks from my college days, their spouses, stories about what we've all been doing over the past handful of years and so on.

Despite the abundance of seating throughout the house, we all congregated in the kitchen.  It never fails; host a party and the crowd is drawn to the heart of the house buoyed along by laughter and the promise of food and drinks.  As I stood around, sipping on a delightful vodka limeade, I watched my friends engaged in conversations, sharing iPhone photos of their little ones and reminiscing about "that one time, at the delis. . .".  Looking at these little pockets of catching up,  I realized, that no one's parents were in attendance.  I mean, someone's parents were in attendance; all of us there were parents, but our parents were conspiciously absent.  We've become "the parents"; we've leveled up.

I had a second drink on which to mull that over.

One of the ladies must have seen the wry smile on my face because she asked me what I was thinking about. I shared with her my observation, to which a look of "buzzkill" flitted across her eyes before she shook her head in acknowledgement of my observation.  She hated to admit it, but I was right. 

"God, that's so weird," she remarked, pressing a hand to her abdomen as if she couldn't even digest the thought. "I still feel like I'm 17!"

Oh yeah, I get that.  I don't feel like I've got 13 years between me and my last day of college. I don't feel like I'm old enough to have an 8 year old (I don't know what that's supposed to feel like, actually).  I don't feel like I'm old enough to be standing around someone's kitchen a la The Big Chill for the 2013.

After I left the party, I headed home to help The Hubs get ready to entertain some friends of ours who were coming over for dinner.  We got the girls fed, scrubbed, and pajamma-ed just as our guest arrived.  The girls said their hellos, and beat a hasty retreat to their rooms to play until they were called to go to bed.  As The Hubs and I sat around the table with our friends, we were laughing, debating, pouring wine and just enjoying adult conversation.  It shouldn't have surprised me when C materialized at my elbow saying that she was tired and could she just go to bed now, but it did.  It was deja vu in several ways. 

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 I can distinctly remember being 7 or 8, having been summarily dismissed by my parents as they nibbled wine and cheese with their friends.  After a good 30 minutes or so, I would creep back downstairs to observe them doing whatever it was they were doing (usually eating, playing cards and talking shit), before striding into the room to announce that I could not sleep and could they please keep it down. Somewhere between that announcement and my being escorted back to bed, I filched some chips or nuts or whatever munchies were on hand, maybe a sip of my mom's drink, or a dollar from the pocket of a generous neighbor. 

There were definite perks of being the youngest kid in the house and of my parents' social circle.

Now, here I was on the other side of that circle, giving C a taste of my dessert before showing her back to her bed. Surreal just touches the tip of how I felt.

When you level up in a video game, there's usually some booming announcer voice, or some blinking icon dancing across the screen, bleating "Level Completed! Level Completed!"   When you notice the change in perspective --  instead of peering through the forest of panty hose clad or chino encased legs as you fight back yawns with a teddy tucked securely under your arm,  you're smoothing the panty hose on your leg or brushing a crumb from your husbands chinos, picking up a teddy to place back onto some Hello Kitty or Star Wars Bed comforter --  that's when you know you've leveled up.

Chances are, you probably didn't press right arrow, left arrow, X +Y to get there, either.