One more reason I love living in the burbs: our neighbor was throwing away this coolio 70s sectional. I happened to have the lighting and lucite to go with it. Now we congregate on the porch for homework, guitar-playing and study-sessions. The pale periwinkle velour also complements the doggies’ fur colors. Come over and have a smoothie sometime!
The kids aren’t getting any younger. Peaches now plays a disturbing game with her neighbor friend from across the street. They dress up in my not-very-high-heeled ankle boots and tank tops that they fasten with rubber bands high up on their torsos that they call belly shirts. On go the skirts, and for Peaches, her brand new Old Navy bikini we couldn’t resist much to Swamp Chicken’s chagrin. The top serves as Peaches’ “bra.” Then they boogie away to songs blasting from the iPod—Taylor Swift, Bridget Mendler, Lady Gaga, who rumor has it, picks her nose—this from our neighbor friend’s mom. I suspect she’s not a fan. Swamp Chicken curls up in the corner shaking and moaning, Make it stop! While I stand there gawking, wearing my signature silicone oven mit, praying this is JUST about fashion and not about future slut-dom. Please pray along with me. Then there’s Spike. Looking rad in SoHo, below. I made him sit there and pose so I could capture this fleeting image of coolness before he rolled away, knees knocking, butt sticking out, arms flailing, wealthy European tourists leaping out of his way. He was very amenable.
Spike’s baseball team lost this season but he’s fixing to sign up for more. It’s the last couple weeks of school. He believes his sister is the cause of all his troubles, but he can also be the best, most menschiest guy.
Yesterday for instance, I went to my very first parking ticket trial. I lost my case, despite the fact that I spray-mounted pictorial evidence to foamcore rectangles; despite the fact that I wore a dress and heels and even took a shower, while others showed up looking like they’d just rolled out of the gutter, in dirty T-shirts, flip-flops and gym shorts. I came home dejected and exhausted. Spike came up to the bedroom where I’d been napping off my defeat and said, “Mommy, I need help with my homework, but you’ve had a hard day. Is it okay if you help me later and I go out and play for now? Okay thanks!” What a thoughtful boy.
One of my boot-camp friends is a scientist. She hosts this incredible evening of science for kids in her backyard. Peaches and Spike made personalized sports drinks, pneumatic rocket launchers, chromatographic T-shirts, and we even made natural lip-balm—I made three of those bad boys. We all want to go again next time. I think I’ll officially add the event to the list of good things about living in the Philly burbs. If you’re in the area, click this link to find out more.
I could go on and on about the ticket but I’m trying to put it behind me. Just—ick.
In other news, I’m studying the physiology of exercise now, finding out exactly how our bodies use macronutrients for fuel. It’s heavy shit, this personal training stuff. If you don’t already know, I’m studying to become a personal fitness trainer. I will need guinea pigs and have been approached by a few volunteers. Feel free to sign on. I hope to improve peoples’ lives soon, and not accidentally kill someone. Maybe we should say one more prayer.
Peace be with you.
And also with you.