THUNDER! MOMMY THUNDER THUNDER I HATE THUNDER!
OH THE HUMANIT...
Hey Ezra. Glad to have you back.
(Ezra and Noah are attending swim camp at the YMCA for the next two weeks, by the way. This is officially Ezra's first time at a Real Big Kid Camp, With A Real Lunch Box And Everything. Have you ever sent your child off someplace new and then spent the entire day half-expecting the phone to ring so someone can berate you for sending a woefully unprepared infant out into the world by himself, you negligent monster? And then you're kind of surprised when the phone DOESN'T ring because he's probably doing just fine, but you maybe wish it would ring, because otherwise how are you going to know if your baby was able to open his water bottle by himself? Because you bought the wrong kind of water bottle at Target — the kind with a screw top instead of a flip — and it's been bugging you all day, and does he know not to throw out the ice pack and the plastic Goldfish container? God, how could you have forgotten to prep him about the ice pack and the Goldfish container? Poor middle child, getting tossed to the swim camp wolves like that, he's probably running around parched and drinkless, with a swim shirt stuck on his head because he can never get them off by himself, because in my neurotic fantasties there are no capable adults present because I AM THE ONLY CAPABLE ADULT. EXCEPT WHEN IT COMES TO BUYING WATER BOTTLES.)
(Yeah, me neither.)
(I miss himz.)