One of the best things about having kids is enjoying the various new stages they get to. I never wanted to freeze them in time. Yes, they were cute at two years of age; but also at seven and sixteen. Every development has made them more fun to be with. Crawling. Walking and talking. Going to school. And now, for my eldest, drinking.
So exciting to share a bottle of red wine with Sam and realize he actually likes it. (I'm not saying he has much discernment yet -- he also actually likes whisky that tastes like cinnamon, and a mixed drink called a Jager Bomb which, as far as I can tell, is a simple way of inducing heart attack. There's three of them lurking on the bar in the picture there.) When I visit him in his new digs I must remember to bring a nice bottle. Pinot or cabernet, or perhaps a big zinfandel.
As for Thea, she is on her way to becoming a fully fledged -- I can hardly hold back my tears of pride -- barista. Yes, she is discovering the joys of good coffee. She can grind the beans, steam and foam the milk (in my waiter days I never learned the difference, but apparently there is one) and produce a cup of joy. We have already had wonderful conversations about the relative merits of French and African and Asian roasts. (I'd be happy to continue on this topic, but she seems to care more about her shifts, and co-workers, and pay. Blasé already.) More to the point, one of the perks of her job is a free pound of coffee every week. When I visit her in her new digs I must remember to bring an empty cup.