I did it like this, I did it like that, I did it with a whiffle ball bat.

On Saturday this cool 5 year old I know was alone in a field wearing a helmet and hula-hooping. I learned a bit of steppin' and got a sunburn. Working the Glick Family Camp should bookend my summers from now on--praised for my block letter writing abilities, getting vicious bug bites, running after children with disabilities, and kayaking. This will be a regular thing only if I get assigned to the proud and spirited Black family and not to the hippie family, what with their long-haired and poorly behaved boy children, folk singing, and unexamined racism. They got on my nerves. More and more I endorse the parenting style that my father, in word more than deed, supported, something more in line with Black foster moms than vegetarian folk singers. My children will know that all they are is loved but that sometimes they need to shut up and listen and pull out a chair or say 'thank you.' We shall draw a line between precocious and obnoxious, and we may have a conversion van.

In other news, St. Renegade hitched up her woolen habit to reveal the Missy Elliot kicks and did, indeed, play whiffle ball. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed running around. That was never my thing, you know, I'm not some jock, I'm heavy and black and deep and sitting on the sidelines with the other malcontents. Now I'm nearly 30 and just getting to know the joys of whiffle ball. I was not surprised at how much I enjoyed my teammates, kids with speech impediments that make them sound Jamaican and, no joke, hearts that just want to have fun and be young. I dig kids.

The down side is that I'm not really present for work today. I'm elicting a lot of "How you doing, sweetie"s and "What's going on with you?"s, indicating that I look as far away as I feel. For whatever reason, I believe I need some David Foster Wallace, and printed off his address to Kenyon College and an article from the NYT about tennis. Why use fewer words when more would do the trick? Why work when there are no looming crisis and my supervisor went home sick? When even sexy young co-worker is losing his glitter it may be time to shut the door, turn on the R+B, and read the thoughts I wish were mine.