Soon, we are six.

Just another fabulous night at home. The Spring Rep opens Saturday. I am not in the first show of the Spring Rep, HAY FEVER, which means the next week is going to be a little easy. No rehearsal until at least Thursday. Evenings at home. Z. asked last week," When are you going to stop doing shows?" I almost answered, "When I'm dead, honey." But that's a little dark, even for us.

But there were martinis for mom and dad, and a lot of play with the children. I had the ROCK MUSIC mix playing on iTunes, which includes light rock, and when Andrew Gold's Lonely Boy came on, there were two slightly tipsy thirtysomethings (if I may use that term) dancing with their progeny, and with not a little joyful irony in their steps.

Later we were taking in a video of Ezra Jack Keats' The Snowy Day on video with the two little tadgers before putting them to bed. "How old is Peter, do you think?" I asked.

"Six," Toni said.

"Yes," I agreed. "Calvin is almost six."

"Why is Calvin almost six?" Z. asked. Everything is why right now.

"He was born almost six years ago," I said.

Yes. Sitting in what is now "the tee vee room." It's where the t.v. is, overlooking the backyard. It was Calvin's room. With the ceiling painted a metallic blue. Where we came to cry, as a ritual, day after day, one million years ago.

I was in my early-early thirties then. I am in my late thirties now. Sometimes I am so overwhelmed with everything that has happened between then and now, it feels as though nothing has happened between then and now.