Hello from your Fennec townie:

Hope you are having a good week because I’m sure thinking of ya!

Punta Cana was great – def on the list of possibilities for our girls trip next year. By then we will have you back in fighting form where your hardest decision of the day will be red or white sangria. That will also give them time to figure out what’s axing all the tourists (none of which seemed remotely phased – island time will whisk all those mortal worries away; at least until Hurricane season). My guess is Legionnaires, but maybe something more scandalous like hot Latino bartenders looking to avenge their plight by poisoning low-tipping Americans. Anyhow …

I bought this card because it reminded me of that baby deer we’d watch from your kitchen window (wine in hand) who took his first steps in your backyard. Wildlife in my yard consists of mosquitos and a squirrel Julian and I named Oliver.

The latest from upscale Mayberry:

Our favorite Caucasian tiger mom (do white tigers exist? I bet they do and I bet they look a lot like Heather) is trying to lobby parents whose kids are in the accelerated program to get Addy in since efforts to solicit administrative support hasn’t worked. Sydney is in that and it is the penthouse of public education, in the best way, for middle school kids who care far more about geometry than popularity. Addy cares a lot more about popularity and bombed the test, which Heather is trying to appeal. Not sure how that works, but I am sure that Addy is gonna do just fine in life: a skillset gleaned by manhandling her mother.

Sydney is also in revolt mode – fortunately against her father. She is mad that he makes her go to so many (as in sometimes 7 hours a day) double header games, scrimmage sand practices while making her literally fend for herself for her swim meets and practices. Her latest retaliatory move was to download the UberEATS app to her phone. She connected it to Chase’s account (presumably unbeknownst to him and somehow not readily trackable back to her) and started ordering Chipotle to be delivered to the field. She told me “I have to go to baseball games; he has to buy my Chipotle.” And, she has neither confessed nor denied being the benevolent sponsor that had UberEATS deliver 14 Wendy’s frosties for Julian’s team to enjoy last weekend. She just said “Dad wants me to THINK about the team and sometimes I THINK the team wants frosties.” I am both proud and terrified of her next move as I’m toast if that energy gets directed to me.

Speaking of baseball, I am writing this from the little league bleachers. I suspect folks may think I’m doing that baseball diamond scorecard thing, which is ridiculous because 1.) I’ve never known how, cared to learn, or done such a thing in my life; and 2.) am the least vested parent out here in terms of caring who hits more balls so long as Julian is happy and the kids are safe. I’m the pariah mom that doesn’t fit in with the clique. They talk about going to group dinners in front of me, knowing they’re not going to invite me. What they don’t realize is that all they are doing is saving me from having to come up with an excuse. I can buy bad sushi in good company anytime with or without their invite.

Chase is here. He’s the only dad wearing bona fide baseball cleats (he’s not a coach) and he yells at Julian when he doesn’t swing and yells when the ump (who is maybe 16 and the midwest version of Spicoli) calls a strike. He’s put on a few lbs – gotta love when the ex starts looking old and sporting the dad bod. His dad is here. He says hello and waves and seems to be eeking his collapsible chair closer and closer to mine. I was related to the guy for over a decade and sometimes was treated less well. Maybe he is hoping that if he is nice, I’ll just start letting some of my money land in his checking account as occurred often without my knowledge when I was married to his son. That whole Shephard clan is delusional (Syd&J are namesake only; at heart, they’re Earhardts).

Game is done; onto a swim meet and another baseball field tomorrow. It’s official: I’ve turned into the person I used to make fun of. Weekends used to be about booze and irresponsibility; now they’re youth sports. God bless parenthood!

Hang in there – love ya’ xox,

Stormy