Princeton Athletic fields, 6/30/05, 9:12pm

First Theo's bday party, then fireworks.

Early in the evening, yet another sign of aging. At Janet and Steve's, a lovely song on: "Oooh lady, won't you stay with me, just a little longer," and Gina and I are in the kitchen going, who is this? Violent Femmes or Velvet Underground? The former, it turns out, but it's odd how, at sufficient remove, 1986 sounds like 1970.

As we approach the fireworks on foot, other people are trying to park. Morons. Pushing through crowds of pedestrian children in Taurus wagons and SUVs, like you couldn't figure out that you need to park a few blocks away.

Fireworks
Oooo aaaah, and many variations thereupon. Sitting other dads and couples with 5 year old girls and two year old boys, which has worked out so curiously.

I had promised Natalie that she'd go to the fireworks when she was 5, and I was as good as my word, if not better. But now she's 5 and trending towards independence, and so didn't sit on my lap and gaze as beatifically and reverently at the many-colored explosions as the Hallmark cinematographer would have had her, but what are you gonna do.

Will fell asleep during the fireworks themselves. Natalie just got whiny and tired, and made me carry her almost all the way home: "but my legs have no energy, dad." And then, at home, a meltdown. Beads lost from necklace she had made at Nora's the other day. Not good. Not good at all. Tears and wailing, straight through to the pillow. Clearly, 10 really is too late.