Saturday we biked everywhere. It was great. To my parents’; back home, out to the Y for swimming; to Casa Mia (after an hour and a half of swimming in the pool, Nels ended up ala “Sleepy Nacho” at the table); then back home again. It was fun. At one point Ralph, happily exercising serpentine-like motions on the bike trailer, flipped it over. Yes, the trailer with my children in it. I was listening to my iPod (Steve Earle) and luckily did not hear it go over, but I saw it go over. At which point I pulled to the side of the road, calmly removed my earbuds, and screamed,”Jesus Fucking Christ!” at Ralph. A group of guys out in their yard working on their 4×4’s averted their eyes as we picked.
The kids were completely unhurt, unrattled and barely registered anything had happened. Ralph solemnly apologized, kneeling down to them (as I calmed myself) and the kids were like, “whatever, nothing happened.” That bike trailer rocks, by the way, and it turns out when you use safety equipment properly it really makes a difference. I shudder to think of them unstrapped.
Speaking of profanity, my sister visited for three days and nights. My children love her; Nels especially desires nothing more than for her to constantly watch his every move, many of them no less impressive than shoving a whole banana into his mouth or splashing in the pool. “Root at me, Aunt Juliet!” Anyway, she ended up buying me a shirt I’ve found completely hilarious since my all-time favorite blogger did a little satirical commentary on it over a year ago.