Son of a Nutcracker
Ladies' night out proved rejuvenating last week. It was long overdue, and a chance to recharge before tackling a week of solo parenting with my "united front" man out of town. The Cadillac margarita on the rocks was just what the doctor ordered after a 95-degree day, and for a while I imagined we were in Tuscany, perched on an elevated terrace overlooking a tiled courtyard. Better yet, there wasn't a child in sight. "Son of a nutcracker!" Jessica's outburst jolted me to 1935. It reminded me of my late father-in-law, who favored expressions like "Jiminy Christmas." I can't remember what prompted her to blurt out such an old-fashioned phrase. I only know that, in the days that followed, it made complete sense. I'll admit I was a little spoiled last week. The following night, my husband and I headed to the new Ford Amphitheater for an O.A.R. and Gavin DeGraw concert before he caught an early-morning flight overseas for work. I wasn't t...