That's Amore

It's been a wonderful afternoon.

Today was Little Miss Space Age's last day of kindergarten. She calls herself an official "going-into-first-grader." We took pictures, we gave her lovely teacher a .thank-you gift, we cried. A little. A lot.

After school, I took both small Space Agers to the library, where we selected two books apiece, and I gave them ice cream sundaes when we got home. I washed and folded laundry, vacuumed and dusted, washed and put away dishes. As a rainstorm gathered in the not-too-far-distant distance, the house looked cozy and tidy. Homey. Inviting.

Inspired, I put Dean Martin on the stereo and began a batch of my homemade lasagne, something the Space Age Husband has been asking me to make for weeks. I cooked and stirred, tasting the sauce, mixing the cheese, and occasionally sipped on a glass of red table wine, singing along to the comforting sounds of Dino. The children danced. They sat at the table, coloring pictures for me.

When the lasagne was ready for the oven, I stopped and danced with them before washing another round of dishes. We did a mambo around the living room - theirs a bit more freeform than mine - laughing until we were out of breath.

It's that peaceful, quiet time now, the time between the activity of the afternoon and the arrival home of my husband. The children have repaired upstairs to the playroom, undoubtedly sitting at their little drawing table making more pictures and stories for me. I'm still listening to Dean, recorded live at Lake Tahoe in 1962, and leisurely sipping on my wine in the bright warmth of the kitchen.

When Mr. Space Age returns home from his long day, we'll sit down to our favorite Italian meal and listen to our favorite Italian singer. We'll have a little Neopolitan ice cream for dessert, and by then the stresses of the day will have receded.

Indeed, "Memories Are Made of This."