People get older! And other news.

Today my older nephew turns 21. It’s very strange to watch someone whose diapers you changed become an adult. He changes his own diapers now. And I’m not sure about this, but I think he’s around 6’10”. And his voice is lower than Barry White’s (especially now that Barry White is dead) and he has Hulk-like muscles that rend his garments even when he’s not in the least bit angry. It’s entirely too weird. David: enough with the growing.

September is our two families’ Month of Birthdays: on the 13th, 14th, 16th, 18th, and 23rd, we are expected to honor our beloved family members, and honor them RIGHT or they will be SO PISSED at us. Besides straining our budget (cards aren’t free, you know!) this has had the effect of entirely confusing Henry, who I think believes that from now on, ours is a Happy Birthday world. This is life, now: we put candles into cupcakes and we sing that damn song over and over and if we want to give anything to anyone else, we wrap it in multicolored paper first. Henry’s become an old hand at the Happy Birthday song, but his rendition is alarmingly weary and jaded. By the time we reach his birthday, which is oh my god coming up in a couple of weeks, he’s going to ditch us and try to find parents who aren’t so determined to be festive all the time.

In other news, I’m a pundit (read the entire article, because it’s quite excellent; my attempt at political humor is about halfway down). Many thanks to Carlene, who apparently had planned to describe me as a “Park Slope mother” but added “and writer” to the finished article so that I wouldn’t commit suicide. But actually I live in Prospect Heights*, Carlene. Prospect Heights**!

*I believe this is a relatively new moniker, as is Park Slope: originally this entire area was dubbed “Dungville” or “Mudhump” or “Where-Rats-Copulate.”

**Once, right after we had moved, I was walking to the gym when a man walking toward me glared and spat, “Park Slut.” (Apparently my sweatpants aroused in him a heady combination of rage and desire. What can I say?) And when I told my husband this he said, “You should have corrected him--you’re a Prospect Whore now.”