My high school reunion is this weekend. We are the class of 1999 and even 20 years later I still enjoy a juvenile spark of boastful pride at the thought of the classes close to us in age being a little jealous that we had the coolest graduation anthem, thanks to Prince.
I recently needed a new cell phone case and stopped by the Apple Store planning to grab a new version of the same one I have. It’s solid light blue with a clear back—nothing fancy, but did a good job protecting my phone from the abuse inflicted on it by my children and myself.
I was working on my last article in The Living Room at Cultivation Food Hall last week and noticed two women visiting over coffee across the room. They were in their late 20s and one had her baby with her. The baby was still in a car seat carrier, probably around six months old. The other woman had a tiny baby bump and a notepad.
When I was in seventh grade and my middle sister, Katie, was in fifth grade, my parents had a new baby girl. My parents referred to Alex as our ‘unexpected joy.’ And, for the most part, she has been. I have some friends whose youngest child is, or will be, much younger than their next oldest child.
Schedule pediatrician appointments, make haircut appointments, new shoes all around, soccer sign-ups x2, submit medical forms x3, check cafeteria accounts, schedule tumbling lessons, parent info meeting, register for gymnastics (on real computer, not mobile friendly), meet the teacher, potty-train the three-year-old in a week since I wasn’t pay
I saw a meme that said ‘There is something magical about an empty classroom in the summer. You can just imagine all the possibilities to come.’ Or something like that; I can’t remember exactly because I scrolled past it pretty quickly after thinking, ‘It’s magical because it’s quiet—but I’m about to send them back to you!’
In these divided times we live in, I hope we can agree on a couple of things: fat babies are the cutest babies, videos of people falling or being scared by loved ones on the internet are life-giving, none of us actually know how to navigate the roundabout in Ridgeland, people who unpack all their bags and complete the laundry cycle that ensues