It's Labor Day morning, high atop the Triple-Didge, and I have an entire city day to myself. There is so much I should be doing, like buying the window treatments that will shield the world from my aggressive nudity. But instead, this seems as good a time as any to remember what typing at a keyboard feels like. I've mostly been thumbing my way through the Web for the last month, keeping tabs on pennant races and presidential tickets (wasn't it fun watching them merge into each other?), and using the other eight fingers again feels strangely decadent.
I did have a plan this morning. A friend and I were going to bike the length of Manhattan, from Debacle to Dyckman. But his wife called at 7am to say he "slept wrong," and he woke up with searing pains in his neck, and a numb arm, and a bent spine (or some such; my brain was pretty fogged up), and he's in the hospital, high as a hippie on muscle relaxants. You know you're middle-aged when lying around can send someone three years younger than you to the ER.
Summer '08 is gone, and never 2B4GOT10. We dodged a bullet, weatherwise, because we didn't have that characteristic Ten Days in the High 90s, when the AC is set to Arctic Blast 24/7 and no one dares leave the house. There was lots of exploration of new kidthings to do in NYC (inspired by the excellent Mommy Poppins). We explored the many food groups of Water Sports (beach, pool, lake, hose, Slip-n-Slide, Water Park, seltzer fight). We biked, we threw and caught, we traipsed and cavorted. And we dismantled a household. It feels OK, though. Sort of like fashioning two new Mini Coopers out of a rusted-out Country Squire. A lot less storage space, but about triple the MPG.
The boys spent their second night with me on Saturday, and we sent Summer '08 off in style with my quintessential summer meal: tomato sandwiches and sweet corn. (It was sort of like that first-dinner scene in Mrs. Doubtfire, except with more boxes and fewer surly teenagers.) We played soccer, we played rummy (that is, Robert and I played while TwoBert rammed his LEGO car into the discard deck), we all crashed at the same time, and 10 hours later (!) I got my morning pounce, the strongest sign yet that all can be right with the world.
And tomorrow, their mom and I will walk Robert to his new school, the sitter will resume her daily helm, and the cycle will begin anew. Unless I wake up paralyzed.