School’s Out For Summer

School’s out for…70 days, but who’s counting? Yesterday was the kids’ last (half) day of school. I glued on Mac’ the Mac wagon’s new eyes, packed him up with towels, sunblock, assorted swim masks, bathing suits, and a cute little mini wallet with just the essentials (license, $20 snack bar money, Charlie card, JP Licks card), and lugged him out the door. His eyes fell off before I made it out the front gate, so I did what any good surgeon would and left them on the kitchen counter, glue side up. Then I hauled Mac 1.6 miles to the kids’ school and arrived right at 12:30 on the dot.

I found a new trick to make them smile in photos. “The person with the biggest smile gets extra ice cream!” Check out the results:

Between my promptness and my new photo trick, I was feeling pretty proud of myself, especially as we headed towards JP Licks for our Summer Kick Off Sundaes and everyone we passed admired Mac, even without his sparkly eyes.

Then I realized I left the pool passes at home. Let us take this moment to whatever-the-modern-equivalent-of-raising-the-roof is for my nephew, Ryan. He picked up my Bat signal and dropped everything to hand deliver the pool passes and save me from about two miles of whilking (whine-walking) back home and then to the train station. It takes a village, guys.

These smiles sponsored by Ry-Ry (and gummy bears)

Bellies full of ice cream and mini wallet full of pool passes, we headed to the train station, stopping only at our awesome local bookstore with a less than awesome name, Papercuts, per Hazy’s request. George immediately accosted the woman who works there, “WHERE ARE YOUR STAR WARS BOOKS?” like we were robbing a bank.

May the force be with you, lady, because if you can’t find a Star Wars book, I’m pretty sure George will shoot force lightning at you. That’s a thing.

Fortunately, she stayed calm and opened the safe/found the one Star Wars book. I did not buy it, because I’m a Mick Jagger parent. You can’t always get what you want. 

It was a beautiful day for the pool. I love the walk through the North End; it’s pretty and it’s short enough that there’s minimal whining. There are a few narrow sidewalks, where groups of people insist on taking up the whole thing, but luckily I had George acting as my Fezzik, only instead of “EVERYBODY MOVE!”, he’d go, “Excuse me! Wagon coming through!”

Our pool is right on the ocean, because we’re fancy like that. 

We swam, had snacks, played frisbee (read: narrowly avoided whacking various people in the head with the frisbee), and took a brief break at the playground to warm up.

Yes, we just had sundaes and now they’re having Cheetos/Doritos/pizza. They’re so skinny at this point, I’d feed them butter popsicles if they asked for them. 
Our warm up mainly consists of me pushing them on the swing and then playing Zombie. I’m the zombie and I need to chase them but “zombies can’t run.” Also, almost everything is base and I need to make groaning sounds. It’s super fun!

It was a really good day, and it became a great day when we were talking back to the T and passed this golden retriever with a party hat on, BECAUSE IT WAS HIS BIRTHDAY. Happy birthday, buddy!

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Sorry I didn’t get a better pic, but it took me about 30 seconds to collect myself due to the cuteness. 

I don’t know about you, but I plan on treating the rest of summer like it’s that doggy in the birthday hat and celebrating the crap out of it.


We Got Picked Up For A Third Season!

How did we get the networks (Matty) to approve a third season of the inappropriately named One Summer At Home? Well, first we shared the ratings (sometimes upwards of 3 people would comment!), then we pointed out the cheap salary demands of the talent (mostly just ice cream, beach parking passes and the occasional lobster roll), and finally, we convinced them (him) that this season would be the best ever, with hot new guest stars (hello, Olsens), recurring favorites (Oma! Grammy! Opa! Dax! Ariel! Evie! Eliot! Orla! Creegbums?), and poorer planning more spontaneity!

How else will this season be different?

For starters, George is a K1 graduate as of tomorrow, which means he’s…still in kindergarten. But in K2 (real kindergarten), there are no more naps. Which means in Season 3 of OSAH, there are also no naps. That probably also means more whining, and I’m still trying to figure out how to spin that into a positive. More drama?

The Mac Wagon has new eyes. I just have to glue them on.

Mac is embracing his feminine side.

We’ve recast the role of Cassidy. Much like That 70’s Show did with Laurie when they thought we wouldn’t notice. New Cassidy is taller, more masculine, and better at soccer (no offense, old Cassidy).

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Yellow shirt? Blond Charlie’s Angel hair? White? Same person.
Hats? Closed mouth smiles? Awesome? Same person.

Everyone’s a year older now. That means Hazy is 8 feet tall now, George knows how to swim at the beginning of the summer, and I’m due for a hip replacement and carry Werther’s Originals in my slacks pockets. Also, I say stuff like “slacks.”

We also have fewer teeth collectively now.

The series premiere of Season 3 is tomorrow afternoon. You’ll be shocked to know we don’t have a plan yet.