As he and his wife warmly welcomed us, Lyla requested milk by making the hand-on-teat squeezing gesture. Thirty-seven seconds later, she spilled it down my shirt and all over the kitchen floor. In a remarkable feat of hospitality, we were not hastily ushered out the door.
Guests had been encouraged to bring an appetizer or dessert to share since it was, as I mentioned, a potluck. Somehow, despite our highly organized, well-oiled, handcrafted clock of a household, we forgot all about our contribution until we were strapping Lyla into her car seat. Now, as we gazed at the impressive spread before us, we decided to leave the bag of Twix bars in the diaper bag, lest we bring shame upon the family.
The evening progressed, and our poor little child and her teething agony slowly became one with her mama's shoulder.
We are party animals.
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