Suburban Summer

 I know things have been slow around here.  And I mean that as acknowledgement, not apology. 

It's summer, after all.  I don't want to spend my mornings here before the monitor.  Plus, my little office nook at the top of the stairs gets mighty stuffy as the temps go up inside my house. 

What's been shaking?  Two trips to L.A. county within the week -- one for business, one to visit family.  ("Business" sounds so serious, when really I just needed an official copy of my birth certificate.)

A trip to our local sports park on the 4th to watch the fireworks, which capped off a long lazy day indoors, watching the Twilight Zone marathon.  (And really, what's more American than watching your 10-year-old really tune in and appreciate the creepiness of Talking Tina, or the one where the kids disappear into the alternate, happy reality at the bottom of their swimming pool?)

Also, a late afternoon picnic at a man-made lake here in town, in the middle of a housing development.  I walked behind while the kids scooted around the lake, stopping often to admire the swarms of small fish along the banks, the baby ducks, the turtle we spied swimming along.  

It was a perfect day.  The weather was in the low '80s, and breezy.  I bought ice creams off the truck that rolled by.  The patriotic bunting flags waved on the front porches of the faux Cape Cod bungalows that front the lake. It's like a set at Disneyland: the house fronts are charming and feature deep porches, and the sides are all stucco and sheetrock. The houses are crammed close on narrow lots.  Still.  It's cute.

Scattered along the path are fake animal tracks embedded in the concrete.  Every visit, I stop and explain to the kids that they're fake, and that a rabbit or duck wasn't just happening by on the wet cement.

Not that they care.  It's all part of the carefully created charm of the place.

Summer in the suburbs.  This is where I live. The ideal temps of last week have given way, and this week is gonna be a scorcher (but at least it's a dry heat.) 

Popsicles, board games, trying to vacuum and clean the house with house-bound kids. Maybe a drive out to the Sonic for an iced-slushie drink.  A walk down to our community pool, after a serious coating in SPF. 

Giving up and realizing there is no "clean house" with house-bound kids, and that the kitchen counter is going to always be a little sticky. 

It's not too charming around here, but it's about as real as it gets, and the sweet birdsong I wake to each morning isn't piped in by the Directors of Reality.  At least as far as I can tell.