Big Life On The Blacktop

Here’s a good story.  I swear, you just can’t make this stuff up.

My older daughter, Kate and her family recently moved to Centerville from Bloomington, Indiana where they’ve lived for the past 13 years. Her husband and three little ones are diehard Hoosiers, and although the IU flag will forever fly over top of their new home’s front door, we’re over-the-moon to have them in the Buckeye State. 

In anticipation of their arrival, we planned a very informal homecoming celebration. It was a low key affair. The plan was to hang out on the back porch, order pizza for delivery, and share cumulative joy as the kids ran around the back yard. I was very excited about the red checked paper napkins that coordinated with the paper plates with red hanging geraniums. Normally, I’m sweeping through the laundry room cabinet hoping to find some stray paper napkins or mismatched paper plates that don’t say “Ho, Ho, Ho” for an August occasion. I felt uncharacteristically prepared. All was set, casual style.

My daughter’s friends and their kids decorated posters with “Welcome Home” designs in rainbow colors. My son and his crew pulled up. My daughter-in-law brought her bags of fancy decorations from the Dollar Store. She had bubbles, and party supplies and fun ready to go. We anxiously waited on the driveway for Kate’s car to pull around the corner for this very eager and enthusiastic welcome.

But here’s where it gets interesting. As my excitement was building on the driveway with the contingent of other excited people, my cell phone rang. It was my other daughter, Holly calling to let me know she was pretty sure she was in labor. (Remember, this is the daughter due to have her first baby whose freezer is filled with frozen casseroles.) Wait, what? Immediately, my mind went into scatter mode. Perhaps my non-stop pacing was a dead give-away.

Kate and her family pulled into the cul-de-sac, and because my vast array of emotions overcame me, I embraced her tightly and tears flowed. If you knew my Kate, you’d know why. Having her in any room or any cul-de-sac makes you feel like the world is a better place. Yet, my happy tears were compounded by Holly’s frequent labor updates. Contractions so intense you can’t talk? Yeesh!! HOLLY, GO TO THE HOSPITAL!

Meanwhile, the pizza came. And this is where all semblance of order and coordination of napkins to paper plates came undone. Next thing I see is my son, Matthew (you know, the “save-the day-by-cooking-meatloaf-in-the-air-fryer” son) swooped in and made the executive decision that the pizza party would take place literally on the blacktop in the cul-de-sac.

“Mom,” he said, “we’re all good eating right here.” And just like that, the multitude of kids plopped themselves down with the pizza boxes and pizza store paper plates right there on the blacktop along with the acorns, fallen leaves, scooters and bike helmets. Oh, we can’t forget the  personalized cups thanks to a sharpie marker and loving trip to the Dollar Store. No frills, not even a blanket. I couldn’t protest too much because I was still pacing, “encouraging” my son-in-law to convey a constant stream of updates.  In hindsight, that was probably an overly demanding request considering my daughter’s constant stream of contractions.

All in all it was a truly eventful evening. We successfully welcomed Kate and her family with a true, warm Ohio embrace. Little sweet William made his arrival weighing 8lb. 1oz. shortly thereafter only to expand our hearts forever. And, I learned that no matter how much you can plan with checkered napkins and geranium paper plates, life gets the last word. In this case, it couldn’t have worked out better right there on the blacktop.