Opa!

Slightly late picking up the kids tonight, I arrived at Tiffy's house ravenously hungry -- but then instead of whisking the children (also hungry) away to dinner, I got sucked into a zillion piece jigsaw puzzle with Tiffy and Olie and Asaf. Josie played "Just Like Heaven" and "This Year" for us on the guitar (she's discovered that they have the same chords), and we discussed which one would be the least inappropriate for her to perform at the Festival of Children next year.

The whole time I kept trying to get Tiffany to come have dinner with us at the Mexican place in Columbia City. "C'mon!" I would say. "I'll buy you a margarita!" But no, she had pulled a steak out of the freezer and needed to eat it. Eventually she even went so far as to put the steak into a pie pan and put it in the oven, just so we knew she was serious. I kept making feeble attempts to get the kids ready to go, muttering about how hungry I was, but all the while not taking my eyes off the sky blue jigsaw pieces I was working on. Tiffy eventually handed me a glass of superfood juice and a ball of Laughing Cow cheese. We started talking about songs with hot dogs in them (Detroit Cobras, anyone?) Still no progress toward the door.

Meanwhile Simon, riding baby Itamar's little blue wheeled horse, attempted over and over again to lasso Asaf's chair and drag him away from the jigsaw puzzle table. Simon would whip up a complicated new knot and give the rope a yank; Asaf would lurch backward with a giggle; Olie would wrap one of his long legs around the chair and drag him back; Asaf would giggle some more. Then Simon would try again. Tiffy warned him several times not to pull hard on the big beaded necklace he was using for a harness, but did he listen? He did not. And so eventually we heard the inevitable CRACK, followed by the clatter of a hundred colorful beads flying into every corner of the kitchen. Simon tried to shrug and smile his way out of it, but was forced to pick up every bead, apologize to Tiffy, and promise to do everything she says from now on right away. (We'll see.)

By this time I had managed to pull myself away from the puzzle, and both children had their shoes on. We stood at the door, saying our fifth and sixth and seventh goodbyes, asking Tiffy one more time if she was sure she didn't want to come have dinner with us. No, really, she was having the steak -- it was probably ready by now. She yanked the pan out of the oven and put it on the stove to cool. Suddenly there was another CRACK, followed by the tinkle of broken glass scattering into every corner of the kitchen. It was the classic hot-glass-meets-cold-stove catastrophe:


Our first thought was we'd better beat a hasty retreat, as the presence of three extra large and bouncy people was unlikely to facilitate the cleanup effort. But then we saw the look of shock and horror on Tiffy's face and realized we couldn't possibly leave her alone with this mess. So we swept up the glass on the floor so the cats wouldn't step on it, bundled her into her coat & shoes, and whisked her out the door to the Mexican restaurant. "You can clean the rest up later," we said, "after you've had that margarita!"

At El Sombrero we stuffed ourselves with arroz con pollo and fajitas and quesadillas and chips. On the TV over the bar we watched Barack & Michelle Obama dropping in on Inaugural Ball after Inaugural Ball, beaming and laughing and dancing. Tiffy and I split a fishbowl-sized margarita, and the kids blew bubbles in their milk. Then they noticed six-year-old Lola at the next table drinking something pale and foamy garnished with a maraschino cherry speared through with a tiny plastic sword: the Niño Margarita. Josie wanted one -- kiwi flavored, please. Simon wanted a Shirley Temple. Mikala hesitated. "C'mon!" said Tiffy. "It's Inauguration Day! Yes we can!"

When the festive drinks arrived, we had a toast to celebrate the departure of George Bush and the dawning of the Obama Era. We remembered the shattered pie pan, the sizzling steak sparkling with shards of broken glass, and marveled that such a disastrous moment had so quickly translated into the jolly meal we were enjoying so much.

Simon was pretty happy with his Shirley Temple, but still cast an occasional covetous look over at Josie's gorgeous gosssamer drink. Before he even had to ask for a sip, she gracefully handed it across to him, saying "I just had to sip it down a little bit so it wouldn't spill." And then -- just as the word "spill" passed her lips -- another CRASH, and the splatter of lime green foamy ice spattering into every corner of Tiffy's lap. Attempting to help pass the drink while also juggling a hot fajita platter, I had managed to whack it across the table instead. Fortunately Tiffy had consumed enough of the grown-up margarita to find her suddenly sodden state hilarious instead of tragic. "Opa!" she cried -- explaining that this is what Greeks and Gypsies shout when they fling their glasses onto the floor to show what a terrific time they're having.


(This picture doesn't even do the fiasco justice, as it was taken after most of the foamy green glop had been mopped up and the glass uprighted. I guess at the moment of crisis, I was much more inclined to crawl under the table than to whip out my camera.)

We all decided this little catastrophic trio was definitely a good omen for the new administration, and more especially for Tiffy, who is clearly in for eight years of raucous celebration. Opa, Obama!