notes from the trylah park
The eagle has landed: my dad’s Amazon-ordered copy of The Very Lonely Firefly arrived today. We’ve already read it maybe five times. Fun. And I feel less guilty about indulging him since the Ladies of the Porch-Stoop Beer Drinkin’ Knitting Tink-stravaganza encouraged us to buy him every book he wanted. We buy him tonnes of books already; with this new edict in place I think he’ll need a second bookshelf. And his own copy of the Jumblies to christen it.
I wasn’t going to go out last night, because I was feeling a bit of birthday fatigue - I happily expended a buttload of energy getting my friends together, but now that it’s over I have abruptly remembered that I’m an introvert and I need to spend less time obsessing about myself. But the Boy convinced me that a) time is running short on my summer of irresponsibility, b) next week is the dreaded VBS, and c) he was planning to go to see A Scanner Darkly on Friday, so there was no need for me to take one for the team more than once this week. So I went. Much less wild than last week, but I actually knit this time and, inspired by Michelle, I was able to found the hypothetical Team Rock You Like A Hurricane (or, as Zöe pointed out, TRYLAH. “Does that make us Trylah Trash?” I replied.)
Turns out that Amy was serious about the thought a day thing. Won’t she be surprised next week when the well runs dry. My intellect is like a brook: sparkling but mostly shallow. Hee.
Today was kind of nutty: my mom took Blake to her mom’s for the morning, where he distinguished himself by pooping in the potty. (When he demanded a gummi bear, my grandmother immediately committed to laying in a supply for future visits. She goes the distance; you can give her that.) He came home asleep, wilfully ignoring the fact that we had a family lunch date in half an hour. I was in no better shape: I was still in my pyjamas, trying to get apple muffins in the oven. I’m not a good baker under pressure. I ended up trading Nic the right to my car for the night as long as he took the muffins out of the oven at the appropriate time. The things I do to fit my mom’s schedule (she grumbles).
Lunch rode the line between awesome and awful. My food was good / Blake didn’t eat. Blake and I had some good wandering on our own / he pooped through his pants and onto my skirt (the second time this summer!). I was seated with my younger cousins / they talked about people they knew. I didn’t have to pay / I had to abandon my muffins. And so forth. I was glad to get home and have some quiet time. Mommies who chase their toddler through restaurants for two hours deserve a nap too.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*