I am not sure why we call it a "dining table." It implies limited function, and on any given day, our dining table is definitely not limited in function. The class rat is sitting there now, so is the power drill and all of Maria's Valentines from her classmates.
The Gathering Table. Nice.
Where we play and work. Where our work is play. Where we eat and make.
What is he doing?
Alex asked, "May I go to the fancy ball?
And since I know Alex, I thought it best to ask for a little clarification.
And he took me to see Isaac's email with all the pertinent fancy ball details.
The Sky Consortium, a school club founded for the benefit of Steampunk and Airship enthusiasts, is having a dinner, dance and movie screening. (Rumors of this event have been going around for some time and I was on the verge of offering our backyard, but apparently they do better without my generosity: The fancy ball is at a country club. ahem.)
This will be Alex's first "fancy ball," or dance, or friends from school gathering for purely social after-school interaction with formal attire suggested. Which is why he immediately scrambled to find his goggles, magnification attachments, a led light and other mods. He wants to be appropriately fancily attired. And his every day goggles were not sufficient, I guess.
A willingness to take things apart, and modify common household items... it's pretty typical stuff at our gathering table.
Didn't you reach in to the tool chest when you were getting ready for your first fancy ball? I thought so.
There wasn't really any question about letting him go. Those Sky Consortium members are great. Really, the only bummer is that I know better than to ask if I can come too. Not cool. But do you know what is cool? They wouldn't mind, not so much. They have a mature perspective, a broader view of the world, which is what makes them such a cool bunch to have around. At least I get to hang out with Robotics, an overlapping school club.
Ah. Very nice with the green led he affixed to the goggles. I don't know if he needs a dinner jacket, or whether we should shine his shoes. I do know that time passes... Oh dear... overwhelming sentimentality and emotional mom sensations. This is a good life.