• Summerfest

    We’ve been worshiping at the altar of baseball so frequently that my fanny has permanent ridges from the aluminum bleachers. We head to Cooperstown for a week of baseball on July 4 and the team is working hard to get ready for facing other 12-year-olds from across the nation.

    It was only fitting then, that in atonement, and also to get them out of my hair, I sent Finn and Porter to Vacation Bible School this morning. Finn is an official helper and Porter is a participant. Drew is still at camp, wearing a pink shirt and his wallabys as he rides horses and jumps over posts.

    During my three hours of freedom, I was the quintessential suburban mom. I Jazzercised. A new lady there told me I was a “great dancer” and you’d have thought the Rockettes had contacted me, I was so buzzed about the compliment.

    On to the carwash, where I made out a grocery list for the week: tiny burgers and lamb pilaf from Cooking Light, Chicken Adobo and tacos with some of the mounds of venison in the freezer are on the menu. If anything stands out I’ll report back. I made some phone calls in preparation for our upcoming trip to Cooperstown, then ran by the grocery and the library to pick up a copy of Darkness Visible, William Styron’s book about his experience with crippling depression. It’s been on my list of books to read for a while, and I’m hoping that the beautiful writing will make up for the melancholy subject matter.

    Porter watched “The Parent Trap” this weekend, and I should have guessed that he’d try to masquerade as his brother at Bible School, but I didn’t. It was only when his teacher told me that “Drew had a great day and was very well-behaved” that I realized he’d pulled the twin switcheroo. Finn thought it was dumb, but I think it’s one of the few tricks you’re entitled to as a twin, especially since it works even when the twins look nothing alike.

    As we drove home, Finn was devastated to learn that I’d been unable to locate the tortillas at the store. His current lunch consists of pizzas he makes himself with tortillas, pizza sauce, pepperoni, cheese, oregano and Tabasco. Nothing would satisfy him but a quick swing by our neighborhood Piggly Wiggly for tortillas, and that’s what we were doing when he saw two of his friends walking down the street and yelled for the car to STOP.

    The boys greeted me, but I couldn’t help noticing that one was making odd twitching movements with his neck which Finn seemed able to interpret.

    “I don’t need any tortillas– we can get them tomorrow– I’m gonna go hang out,” he said and bailed out of the van.

    “I bet he left so he wouldn’t have to help put up the grocery bags,” Porter said.

    “You’re probably right.”

    I refrained from saying that as I drove away, I looked in the direction the boys were heading and caught a glimpse of two females of approximately the same age in the distance. Dude picked ladies over tortillas. Things are changing fast around here.


    Two years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Reason #588 Why I Love Publix