the old days

so, we did go to the splash pad after all, it was fun. we took emily from down the street. but I had these weird flashbacks from my childhood. Getting there was not easy. first the bridge was out, so we had to take this funky detour. then we caught a train. then the train stopped. then it went backwards. then it went forwards. it was really really hot. I just saw the inconceivable truth so I turned the car off and opened the windows.

I remembered sitting as a child in a car, next to the window. it's hot, unbelievably hot. I'm crammed back there with my brother and sister. the windows are open. the train is stopped. we sit and sit. my mom sits in front and smokes. everything feels old and smells old, read: smoky. It takes forever and everything sort of is wavy with the heat. We'll never get anywhere.

it's the back of the cars I remember. We never once had a car with air conditioning. The seats would scorch your ass when you sat down. Your sweat would make you slide around on the vinyl. Your butt stuck to the seat when you stood up and left red marks. I also remember these stinky musty cars in winter: trapped in the back and smoke everywhere, feeling suffocated. My mom in the front, and my aunt, smoking away, and us little people, pinned in the back.

here is a photo of booker since I only ever seem to post photos of stella.



I got a little bonkers yesterday. there was so much running in and out of the house and they would get all excited to go swimming and then only swim for five minutes and then want to change their clothes and there is mud all over the place and sand... booker needs to have his shoes on if he is going to ride his bike. he is yelling at me. stella wants onto a website she's been playing games on. I am only wanting to get my parched flowers watered, is that so much? Here is what I know. If I walk away and put booker's shoes on, and then get stella onto her website, my flowers will die. How do I know that? Experience. I will then be sidetracked by some dishes or somebody will need lemonade or I'll have to pee or the phone will ring. I know better. I tell the kids: I'm watering the plants. There are wet bathing suits all over the floors inside and some damp, sandy towels, I can't get to that just yet.

One girl gets mad and goes home and within minutes another one is over here playing. I make them clean up as they roam from room to room. Earlier today I got a call from a producer asking me to direct a play for him next season. I couldn't talk. My son was having a temper tantrum. Do you know why? Because there are bugs outside and the pool is "dirty". It's a hectic kind of peaceful day. Rife with tantrums, girl-drama (our next door neighbor has no sense of humor, I talk to her about this and she drolly replies, "yeah, it's true. so?"), pony strife, broken mermaid heads, outdoor battles over chalk and hopscotch layouts. Really they should be outside, and they are as much as I can make them.