Yesterday I had the privilege of attending a birthday party for Timothy, an adorable 3-year-old with a mischievous grin and energy out the front door. As a general rule, I do not get along well with small children-- they run around a lot and tend to be rather noisy-- but for some reason, I am quite fond of Timothy. The party was fun, too, even though I was the only adult without a child in tow.

It was fun to watch the kids play with each other- sliding down the slide, tossing the little foam football, throwing sand out of the sandbox. It made me long for my own days of childhood innocence, when my biggest worry was that someone would take my toy from me before I finished playing with it. Of course, I also realized that in some ways we never really grow up. There were temper tantrums, pushing and shoving, direct disobedience of orders-- all the nasty things we like to think that we grow out of; but let's be honest--even I'm not against a good temper tantrum now and then. At least 3-year-olds aren't afraid to tell you how they really feel.

The party was fun to watch, and it was something different for me to do-- I can't remember the last time I went to a child's birthday party. When you grow up, birthday parties tend to lose the fun stuff-- cupcakes and sprinkles, party hats, streamers, party favors- and are instead replaced with stuffy restaurants, toasts to the birthday girl, and conversation. Instead of a bunch of children singing off-key, you're more likely to have the wait staff at a restaurant embarrass you in front of everybody. Half the time I don't even get a birthday cake anymore, much less have the opportunity to blow out the candles. For a split second, I longed for my own child so that I could return to innocence and throw a fun kid's birthday extravaganza. However, the insanity soon passed and I was myself again.

After the party was over (the house was strewn with toys and Finding Nemo stickers were stuck strategically on the walls), I stayed for dinner with Timothy's parents, who are good friends of mine. Then I got stuck in the thunderstorm attacks and had to overstay my welcome before I could make my way home. The storms had passed, but there were leaves and debris in the roads, and most of the stoplights weren't working. When I got close to campus, I noticed the pervading darkness and realized that my home would be without power. The darkness was kind of creepy when I pulled into my space; I called Timothy's mom on my cell phone to let her know I arrived home safely (she's really the big sister I never had) and while I was on the phone with her, a fox trotted along the sidewalk in front of my car and headed for the woods. I think that was the closest I've ever been to a fox who wasn't dead or in a trap.

Anyway, getting inside was an adventure. I decided to go ahead and find my apartment key using the interior light in my car so that I wouldn't have to hunt for it when I got to the door. The darkness was crazy when I did arrive at my door-- I felt for the doorknob and it took three or four tries before I could get the key in the hole. Once inside, the real adventure began. I had some candles in the living room, and thought that I could just go ahead and light them as soon as I got inside. However, I mistakenly thought that the candle lighter would be with the candles. That was not the case. I felt around the candle that was on the bookcase- no lighter. The coffee table? Nope, not there either. Meanwhile, crazy cat (aka Sprocket) was meowing like crazy, so I decided to let him out of his room even though I had no light source. Visibility was zero as I felt my way down the hallway and opened his door. I turned around to go back to the living room, then stepped on Sprocket. He cried bloody murder, and I had to apologize and explain that I couldn't see him.

Once I got back to the living room, I resumed the search for the lighter, but to no avail. It was then I remembered that I had bought another lighter and put it in the utility drawer in the kitchen. I successfully found that, opened the package, clicked the switch and voila! there was light. I lit a candle and then went through the rest of the house hunting down candles and lighting them. The effect was kind of cool.

I read a chapter in Huck Finn, and then got ready for bed. My plan had been to heat up some leftover potato skins and steak for a late-night steak, but without electricity such things are not possible (I even thought about trying to heat it up over a candle, but all of my candles are scented and somehow I doubt that strawberry-flamed steak would taste very good).

Sprocket kept looking at me strangely, and he even singed a whisker or two while trying to play with a dancing flame. He just didn't understand why I wouldn't turn the lights on. Sprocket's a smart cat, but sometimes he just doesn't get it.

I woke up to electricity this morning, and was glad for it. Every once in a while, though, I think we should lose power so that we won't take it for granted so much. And besides, there's something strangely romantic about brushing your teeth by candlelight.