Today, a brisk Monday that brought me no joy, I answered a call and it was Mrs. C from IS141, telling me that Wyatt should be in school today. I had opted both kids back into blended learning two weeks ago, but there had been radio silence about the start date.

I have, I must admit, stopped closely following the school’s emails very diligently. I open them for high school admissions, college workshops, AP class tests, college tests, your child is failing! emails. I skim the PTA emails and try to give money to the right organizations. Had I missed the Wyatt is back in school starting this morning email, and now he was late? Totally. Totally missed it, although I searched my emails and I did not see it.

I said, well, we live around the corner, can he come in? I didn’t expect a yes, but I got one. So I rustled Wyatt up, failed to make him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (only apricot jelly and that is not acceptable), gave him a chocolate and almond bar I purchased on a whim at Ludl, and sent him in.

Wyatt is a good soul and he went on in but he was freaked out. He texted he could not find an open door, so I called the school and they told me which door was open. Later tonight he admitted that he had just walked around the block a few times because he was totally freaked out and the regular doors were not open and he had not, actually, touched a door to see if it would open.

In the early evening, he and Calvin drove to Manhattan so Calvin could practice with the Writers Guild East softball team. He wanted to get coaching tips because he, Calvin, is coaching Wyatt’s Little League team.

Does that sound nice to you? And normal, like dads coach sports in America and that’s the way life is. But it’s a terrible source of anxiety for Calvin because he grew up in France and he never played Little League. He does watch baseball and he does root for the Mets, and he does understand the game and take an interest in it. But he is not coach level baseball knowing.

But there is no one else to coach baseball so Calvin is it. He was so pleased that the Guild ran the same kind of practice he ran on Saturday, after searching the internet for how to run a baseball practice.

Then my mother weighed in

Last night I talked to my mom on the phone. Our relationship has been strained lately but we are trying, except she inexplicably jumped on me about the aformentioned baseball team. “Tney need to practice more,” She advised me. I said, well, yes, they are practicing.

But more, she insisted, and then I got a little steamed. “You find me Bobby Reedy of Astoria,” I told her. “You find the engine who runs the community baseball kid league and organizes the practices the way the Reedys did every damn year for 3 generations, and we’ll get some practices in. That’s what Calvin is doing, practicing the team.”

My mother had not remembered the part about people doing crap like coaching teams and keeping things moving and getting kids baseball experience so they could play high school sports and be little athletic ninjas in high school. She had forgotten Bobby Reedy pressuring my dad to let my brother play football, when my brother was twelve years old. There is no Bobby in Astoria.

Arguing just like its old times

The best thing is that Maggie is NOT AT HOME. Perhaps you remember way back in summer 2020 pandemic Maggie was taken by EMTs to the psych ward, but left her bathtub running. The bathtub ran for 5 days, and part of her house melted on the inside. I’ve seen videos. The social worker from Adult Protection Services told me there was a stench in the house that was breathtaking. People came every few days and drilled.

Thanks to social media I know that Maggie convinced State Farm that a tropical storm did that damage and she is living in a hotel, or many hotels, as her house is worked on.

It is heaven. Now we can just have a rip-roaring argument about regular stuff, like snapping or forgetting to buy grapefruit, and we’re not held hostage to keep our spirits high as we exist adjacent to criminal insanity.

Good times!

Today, a brisk Monday that brought me no joy, I answered my phone at