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It was after Clara Jane's bedtime when we left the store, but we came prepared. B. tucked her in with her quilt and gave her a binky. Shut up. She only uses them when she sleeps. We put on Dan Zanes Night Time! and made it all the way to the end of the block before spontaneity struck again. Ice cream! There's an ice cream shop!

We untucked Clara Jane and carried her into the shop in her bare feet. When she peered into the cooler she squealed, "I want some pink ice cream! Pink ice cream with sprinkles!"

Full of pink ice cream and sprinkles, we returned to the truck, retucked, rebinked and reZanesed. During the ride home, Clara Jane almost fell asleep, content and comfortable.

Late Sunday afternoon, B. was starting to think about making dinner, and I was pacing around in my usual state of agitation. Clara Jane had just woken up from her nap and started asking for ... something. B. and I were both flummoxed with her requests, and she quickly lost what little patience she has. Reduced to tears she finally articulated what she wanted: her blanket, her binky, and "Night Time!". We did a makeshift version, but it just wasn't the same. After a few minutes of trying to make it work she said, "Get my shoes and socks and go for a ride?"

Spontaneity detonated yet another bomb on us. Dinner got crammed into the fridge for another night, and we were out the door. And since we're being sponaneous, let's not stick to the places we normally go. Let's go to The Loop! Grab a bite to eat, walk around a bit, people-watch, sweat to death. Sounds like a fun night.

The noise hit us when we opened the truck doors. Drums. Loud, reverberating drums, echoing through the parking lot. We'd forgotten that Sunday nights are Drum Circle Night. People bring their drums, sit in a circle, and drum. For hours. There's no set list. One person sets a beat and the music evolves from there. Others jump into the circle and dance, if the spirit moves them. The dancers harbor no inhibitions, swaying and jumping, their movements throwing the sweat from their bodies.

At first Clara Jane was a bit taken aback by the noise and the throng of people, so we didn't stay long. We ate dinner, and when we walked out of the restaurant she cocked her head and said, "Hear that? That's drums. I wanna dance!"

We took our walk, eventually returning to the drum circle. It was almost dusk and most of the crowd had left. One drummer sat on a low concrete wall, visiting with some girls who danced a bit as he thumped. A few feet away, three other drummers sat in what remained of the circle. This time, Clara Jane inched towards the drummers, bouncing a little until she got comfortable. Then she let loose, stomping, twirling and waving her arms to the beat. One of the drummers offered her his drum, but she turned shy, too tired to be social.

Once again, we got home past her bedtime, but that's a small price to pay. I know she's young enough that it's unlikely she'll remember our two spontaneous summer nights when she's big. But we've set a precident, and that, she'll remember.