I'm not entirely certain that in the normal world children have godmothers. It may be that godparents exist only in Catholic or Lutheran churches. And in fairy tales-but that hardly counts as they're an entirely different breed of godmothers, given that they possess the ability to turn pumpkins into coaches and whatnot. Not only do I have one godmother-I have two. And godfathers, too. My parents weren't messing around with my spiritual-well being, I suppose. Thankfully, none of them took their role as "spiritual advisers" too seriously, meaning that I never received any splashy Jesus wallhangings as gifts. Maybe those will come someday should I wed. (I'm holding my breath that they won't.)
My godmother, Sara, turned 50 this weekend and decided there was no better way to ring in her 50th year than diving head first out of a moving plane at 13,000 feet. Daring, right? Yeah. I've got rad godparents. When my mother called me to ask if I wanted to join the small crew that would be watching, my stomach did a loop-de-loop...could I watch without getting sick? But this was something I couldn't miss, so we loaded up in the family mobile on Saturday morning and drove the hour out to the grassy field where a hundred others also waited to take the plunge.
(The lovely navy-clad woman front and center is Sara. I'm the baby hog in the front row.)
Due to cloudy conditions, all divers were delayed for about four hours...luckily my parents had loaded up a mini-grill and a few BBQ supplies. A quick trip to the grocery store multiplied the supplies to fit a group of fourteen and we were cooking. The day was warm, sunny and there was plenty of grass for lazing about, perfect for an impromptu grill out. Nothing better on a steamy July day. Once Sara's plane took off, nearly ten minutes ticked by before tiny specks appeared in the sky....we all stood, squinting into the sunshine waiting for her green parachute to make it's splashy appearance. When it did, we were all cheers and hoots, the noisiest bunch, for nearly a full minute before she touched down. We celebrated the successful land with a raunchy bottle of Andre champagne, a round of 'Happy Birthday' and a sweet toast.
The day's delay also meant that I spent a considerable amount of time with my new book and Sara's grandchildren, two of the most adorable boys on the planet. Davey, below left, was more than happy to occupy my arms and lap, gurgle a few of his adorable stories and oblige my snap-happy tendencies. Never have I had the urge to pinch a little one's cheeks...but this little one gets me. Rolly polly perfection! Eli, right, was all giggles and energy, dancing to the blasting tunes, playing a little hide and seek over a playground railing.
When there are days like this, days in which babies are snuggly, toddlers are endearingly playful, I begin to think, "Hmm. Maybe I'll be ready for kids in a few years." But then I trod up the twenty-two stairs to my tidy apartment, click open the locked door and remember that my life is filled with decorative choking hazards, delightful silence and unprotected outlets. Quickly my mindset changes and I whisper, "Meh. Give me a decade."
For now I'll just keep cashing in on someone else's hard work, hittin' up the free snuggles.