Yes, I am wearing rain boots/galoshes/wellies in JULY. O_O And cardigans. This is Portland, after all.
I really like the look of this AA skirt over my ON dress, although it kind of looks like I’m wearing an apron.
After a rainy start this week, the sun is back out. We took the boys to the park yesterday after I got home from work. First off, can someone please explain to me why teenagers choose to hang out at play structures? Surely they’ve got “cooler” places to go. Maybe they could take their lowrider bikes and their badly sagging pants elsewhere? Maybe? Thanks, that would be great.
Anyway, as usual Z ran directly towards the swings yesterday as he likes to “fly to the sky” for a good long while and if you even think about resting your arms he will plead, “Push me! PUSH ME!” If the swing so much as veers to the right or the left he’ll screech, “I’m not twisting! NOT TWISTING!” This time Mad decided to join him. A father – let’s call him Joe- remarked to us, “Oh, no you’re gonna need another swing!” I looked over at him and smiled politely. He was wearing slacks with a black wife beater tucked in and a thin gold necklace. Black hair slicked back, goatee, dress shoes…it was all too good. And in his hands children, were an open can of Keystone Light and an unlit cigarette that he kept flicking at reflexively. Yeah. “You’re gonna need another swing,” he said, slurring slightly, gesturing at the two swings and my pregnant belly. Two plus one equals three. Got it. I nodded.
“I’m swinging!” Z told him excitedly.
His eyebrows rose. “Really now.”
“High in the sky!”
“Are you scared?” he asked, hitching up his slacks and coming closer. Without waiting for an answer he asked me: “Is he five?”
“Wow, he’s a good talker. Better than my six year old.”
The six year old in question appeared to talk quite well and was especially skilled at talking back which would result in Joe counting down and growling, half the time I wasn’t sure if he was serious or not and neither did the six year old, judging from her giggling retreat. But in the end he spanked her several times, to Z’s horror.
“Oh no! He spanked him! He spanked his bottom!” Z screamed (he calls everyone “him”).
“Yep! Hey, are you flying high to the sky? Weeeeee!”
“He spanked him! Why did he spank him? Because he didn’t listen.”
“That’s right.” I was laughing as quietly as I could, trying not to make eye contact with Joe.
This went on for a while until I suggested that Z take a break from the swings and thankfully he and Mad caught sight of and began to chase a frisbee dog.
The point of my unnecessarily drawn out story is this:
P.S. Bethany has better park stories.