Between Mueller's and the firehouse

James at Tom's Cove

Chincoteague

The drive seemed, at times, interminable, but the house has wonderful views, and I'm glad to be here. I have come every Summer since 1998 and once before then. From the balcony outside the bedroom, I see the house Jim and I rented twice in one Summer, and am reminded of so many other things, including the significant amount of vomit I expelled there while pregnant with James.

Truly, there is much to be said for making the best of wherever you are.

And we, happily, are right on the water, directly across from the lighthouse in Assateague. Nearby, a neighbor plays her fiddle and her partner his guitar. Gorgeous view. Breeze. Live music. So far so good. Very good.

New Car

"My friends all have Porsches, I must make amends..."

Batmobile is getting a new sister. Wayne told me yesterday that she came off the boat in Baltimore and is on her way to Devon on a truck. It's not that Batmobile minded being an only car, but she often felt lonely. If you went into the garage at night, you could just tell.

I will be glad to complete this transaction and be rid of Wayne. I dislike most salesmen, Wayne being no exception. Within minutes of meeting us, he pulled a hardcover book from his desk drawer and showed us the Ranier family tree, pointing out that he was once married to Ranier's sister's daughter and therefore has a son who is a wealthy baron. That's very interesting....Wayne is a car salesman in Devon, Pa., and his son is a wealthy baron in Monaco.

Although showing patience is not my strong suit and I become bored easily, I managed to restrain myself. I generally find such situations intolerable and interrupt and distract until I can get the person across from me back on track. I need to get to the bottom line quickly. Jerry told me afterward that I was unusally well behaved, congenial and restrained, for a change. I rolled my eyes only a few times, took the key and tested a brand new car which had only five miles on the odometer. I was able to turn the ignition, put the car in reverse and drive....and drive....but the many gadgets were mysteries to me. Driving on the back roads was exhilerating--smooth and fast....I pressed down with my foot, accelerating until I noticed in the mirror the police car tailgating me. I pressed the brake and trembled, beside myself with fear. Jerry said, "Relax," but I couldn't. I looked desperately for a road to turn off, but there was none, just driveways leading up to big houses. Eventually, the officer turned right, and my heart beat slowed to a normal rate. Too late. I felt so unnerved that I turned back and returned the car. "I'll take it. I want it now," I told Wayne. It is extravagant, sure, but so what. It's on the way.

And now comes the waiting which, according to Tom Petty, is the hardest part.

Pet Crematory Plan Revised

Communicated recently with The Undertaker who seems astonished that I cannot get excited about his business plan. It appears as if the wheels are turning, and he's come up with yet another business proposal which he framed in an e-mail to me this morning:

"Had to postpone Pittsburgh trip, might try again in a couple of weeks. And I saw the Batman flick, which I thought was good but a little long. I am around thurs and fri of this week. Maybe lunch where I can discuss my new idea of having a people crematory right next to the nursing home.. whadya think?"

Now, we're talking....

Lindsey Lohan's Tits

The boy invites his school and day camp chum, Daniel, over to play. I had heard about this boy from mine, how he frequently "uses curse words," including daily regaling the boys in the locker room with a song called "The Curse Song" which contains "the f-word, the s-word and both b-words, Mom!"

Look, I won't lie....my boy hears an occasional obscenity tumble from my mouth. Once, when he was three, I thought he was in another room and blurted out, "I don't give a shit!" to someone on the telephone. Out of nowhere, the boy came running into the kitchen pointing his finger at me and said, "Oooooo, Mommy! You said the s-word and there is a three-year-old child in the house!"

Around that time, during a walk in our neighborhood, which has no sidewalks, a car approached in the road and sped up instead of slowing when it saw us. I jerked the boy toward me and muttered, "Asshole!" The boy shrieked with laughter. "Ahahaha, Mommy said asshole! You are so funny, Mommy!" A month or two later, he asked me very matter of factly if he could see my "buh-gina" in a restaurant in Chincoteague. The elderly couple next to us laughed. I turned red and said, "No." "Why? Why can't I? I want to see it NOW!"

Still, while I don't condone the boy's occasional use of profanity, I realized pretty early in the game that the more I forbid something, the more he wants to do it. So when a "curse word" is emitted, I call him on it and then move on.

So Daniel comes over and they go into the basement and slam the door behind them. I hear raucous laughter and assume they're playing the Wii and trading Yu-gi-oh cards. I smile, glad they are happy, and take my New York Times out into the woods to lie on my chair and read. Everything is good. There is shade and a gentle breeze. Very good.

After a while, our Catahoula barks, and I realize Evan has arrived but cannot work the gate. "Hey, dude, what's up?" I ask. Evan is ten.

"You know, Suzanne, I rang the bell four times and no one answered. That's just wrong."

"Hmm...Maybe. But I didn't hear you, and the boys are in the basement. Come in, come in." As I open the gate to the new fence, he remarks, "I imagine this fence must have cost you a fortune. Am I right?"

"You are indeed. Go to the basement and behave yourself." I return to my spot in the woods.

After a while, I go inside for inspection and realize that there are four children in the basement, not three. It goes that way sometimes. If you turn away, you never know who is there. Frankly, I don't care how many children are in my house as long as they are all reasonably happy and not fighting with each other. Boys do that. Fight. And complain that everything is unfair.

Evan is unhappy. He comes upstairs to meet me in the kitchen. "What's up?" I ask. He claims my boy is bossing him around. "You know, Evan, I'm going to tell you the same thing your mother often tells you. Try to work it out, but if you can't, well, I'm not going to." He shrugs his shoulders, pouts and returns to the basement. After some years of mediating and negotiating children's spats and tantrums, I decided a while ago that I am too old to get in the middle. Besides, the conflicts always die down after a while and are forgotten, so why get agitated and concerned? It's kid stuff.

Eventually, Evan and his brother leave, and I take the remaining boys for hibachi. The boys are seriously foul in the restaurant. Initially, I'm unsure whether to discipline when Daniel lets loose with a loud version of The Curse Song. I have to look away so they don't see me smile and assume that I approve. Actually, I'm not sure I don't. It's funny. My boy shakes with laughter--and I don't want to spoil his fun. I get such pleasure out of seeing him enjoy himself. After a while, though, I suggest that they tone it down, that it's not appropriate to make such utterances in public.


A young couple sits at our table, so I have to at least pretend to be on top of the wayward behavior and occasionally tell the boys sternly to "Knock it off" and "Cut it out. I mean it!" I might as well be talking to the sushi. After a while, I apologize to the young couple, and the wife (who stifles laughter throughout the meal) says, "It's ok." I ask if they have children, and she says, yes, two boys, ages two and three....and then adds "Actually, your boys don't act too differently from ours." Now, that is funny. And accurate, I imagine.

On the way to Daniel's house, the conversation consists of such Daniel gems as:

"Yeah, remember the time that guy said he saw Lindsey Lohan's tits?" James cannot control himself and shrieks, "Oh my God!" and whispers, "You said tits."

"My [six-year-old adorable] sister is such a bitch."

"Oh, fuck, I just lost!" [while playing his video game]

"Mommy?"

"Yes, James?"

"Are you gonna tell Dan's parents?"

"Nooooooo."

"My mom is so cool." I am also, at various times, "crazy," "ruining [his] life" on a regular basis and the "cruelest woman on earth." So I smile. I'll take my kudos where I can get them.

Alright, so this other boy swears. But I like him. He's bright and cute and besides, who gives a fuck?