• Parenting from Pop's POV

It’s still summer, right?

I was wrong. Elizabeth was right. This summer is going way too fast. Otis has started “summer camp,” which is a family day-care run by the assistants from school, populated by kids from his school, located down the street from his school. They follow the same rhythms of the school day almost down to the minute.

“Is it going to be like school,” he asked in the days leading up.
“No way,” we said. “It’s summer camp.”

I think because they’ve done some finger-knitting, he completely accepts that this is summer camp. There are chickens, and more importantly (for reasons I don’t understand), a rooster. Add some friends and the weird social dynamics of young children in groups and the kid couldn’t be happier. Well, that’s not true. If they let him shoot rifles or at least bows and arrows, he’d be beside himself.

The baby continues to gestate, although it seems like Elizabeth would do well to get taller. It doesn’t seem like there’s going to be room for another five weeks of growth.

Five weeks. These past five weeks absolutely disappeared in a blur of sunscreen and chlorine. I might as well just skip these next five altogether, just start not sleeping and cradle-carrying an eight-pound deadweight wherever I go, feeling infinite love, forgiveness and fatigue all at the same time, all the time. Why wait?


Even this drawing in which I barely understand what’s happening looks like it hurts.

We enjoyed the first dislocated appendage yesterday when Luke popped his radius out of his elbow for our family’s first case of Nursemaid’s elbow, the most common injury in young ‘uns you’ve never heard of until you have. He was running through the park with his nursemaid, our trusted ally and friend Lindsay, who’s been our sole non-family babysitter since Otis was barely a year old. She felt terrible, but in the rush of getting Luke to urgent care, we didn’t write her a check for the day’s sit, so it kind of works out.

Hard to see that little golden bear with a bum paw. His left arm was just dangling there. Limp arms in children are comically sad. But we always feel fortunate that bumps, bruises, stitches, dislocations, snot, motion sickness and other minor ailments are all we’re up against. If you don’t say a thank you for the fact that all it takes is five minutes with an urgent care doctor to put you kid back in action, you’re asking for trouble. This is a great blessing, and I say a thank you, again, here.

And so goes the summer: swimming, pizza, searching the evenings for bats, attending all manner of outdoor festivity, and waiting, and watching that belly kick and move, and living in wonder and gratitude. If that’s not summer, what is?

Unrelated footnote: The comic “Kids Are Weird” by Jeffery Brown is the funniest and most accurate take on what it’s like to live with these young animals and you should buy it immediately.

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