Oh, man. Is it hot out there!! I'm in San Diego, staying at R.'s place for the weekend. Currently he and our son are outside watering and feeding all the rosebushes. They invited me to join them, but after only about 10-15 minutes out there I was wilting and glazed with sweat. And I've just had a shower, too. Can you believe it's only about noon? The mercury is sure to rise before the day's out.

Last night we went to a beach party held by one of R.'s colleagues, a very pleasant and generous psychotherapist at the prison where R. is also a psychotherapist. Her husband is in radio and has a big personality, as I'd sort of anticipated. A very likeable guy. The party was held at a private beach club in La Jolla. I couldn't help thinking I was in a movie or something — the place was so pretty, with tables and chairs set up all over the beach, and fresh towels everywhere. Omigosh. Tiled foot baths on the boardwalk, and hotel-like rooms right at the edge of the sand. I must admit I kept wondering how much it costs to belong to a club like that.

(Ah, it's noon exactly — I hear the church chimes from down the way, playing a lovely hymn. So beautiful...)

Anyway, Grant and R. had a blast digging in the sand and making sand "castles" — more like filling a few plastic bowls with wet sand and turning them over. A little sand village, if you will. I was content to sit nearby and watch them play. I get to play with Grant just about every day of the week, and sometimes I like to step back and let R. have a chance, since he sees him only on weekends (so far — we're moving to his city in a couple of weeks). But who am I kidding? My reason for sitting back was not strictly noble — I'd just given myself a long-deserved pedicure that day and wanted to keep my sandals on, so as not to damage it right away. Okay, there. I said it. ;-)

Our fellow attendees at this soiree were very nice. One man in particular was sweetly attentive to Grant, asking him questions and making a real effort to understand Grant's replies. He was a grandfatherly type who seemed to really like kids. I love to see people be kind to my son.

M. (R.'s colleague) fed us well — giant hamburgers, salads, various cheeses, huge cookies. She was the hostess with the mostess, making sure everyone was taken care of before sitting down herself to eat — and even then, lighting only for a few minutes before getting up again to facilitate things. I've got to send her a thank-you note.

We decided to quit while we were ahead, since Grant was still in a great mood. I'm learning to leave before he hits the wall, emotionally. Grant chatted all the way home, as he is wont to do on car trips: "There's a bus! There's a tanker truck! There's a SUV truck! Do you see the SUV, Daddy? Do you see it, Mommy?" Cracks me up. At one point, he spotted a limousine and called it a bus or something. I corrected him and told him it was a limousine — he interpreted that as "a letter Z." Such a sweet boy...

We arrived back at R.'s and I plunked Grant straight into the tub. He was full of sand — even his face — and I wanted to wash him off before he rubbed it into his eyes during his sleep. After he was clean, I showered and we all hit the sack — Grant with me, and R. in the next room. R. and I are co-parenting, but we're not in relationship. It's complicated sometimes, but right now this is what works for us.

Ah, I hear the boys coming back in from watering and pruning — best see if the little one needs a bath again!

- Beth