Sunday Sunday

Finally we all took a day to play. Twice around Lake Como then a bit of people-watching as we eye the wedding parties near the pavilion; the overdressed groomsmen in their black tuxes drink beer and take pictures of each other near the waterfalls.

Out again to bike a few loops around Lake Nokomis and the scenes of the regatta there make me sentimental for Gopher rowing.

Daughter M. showed me all the cute tops she'd just purchased at Forever 21 and off she went in one for the "Sicko" premiere.

Son T. and friend Carlos have a sleepover at our house. I overheard this from Carlos: "I read about one way to get a girl. It was in a magazine. A men's magazine, you know." I move closer to the room with the pull-out bed, where they had sprawled with Pepsis and popcorn. "I read that If you want to get a girl flowers you just go over to a funeral home and get a bunch for free. They just give them away for free after the funeral is over." Son T. said, "That's sick," and Carlos was quick to say, "I know! Who would do that?"

It is a lovely weekend and I think none of us has to try too hard for a moment. Here we are: the new teen, trying to forge a new independence; the new adult, trying to establish her way in the world; and these two parents, old lovers, trying to get in synch with each other despite all the demands. Communication among us four--our modern American family--is intermittent and spontaneous. It feels a lot easier than we might predict, on these weekends when we can finally just be together.