Jack & Diane

You know what’s gone out of style?

(Besides skinny jeans, side-parts and free speech.)

Casual mom-blogging. That’s what.

 

You’ve either famous now or your dead blog is in cyber cemetery with Myspace.

 

I think I may be *the* last obscure mom blogger left standing.

 

So, I took a year off. 

Since this "job" pays nothing. 

And Covid felt well, muzzling. (see what I did there)

And the country was on fire. Politcally. Literally.

Oh AND we squeezed in a cross-country move.

No big thing.  (details later)

But, I got your emails. Your texts. Your fan mail.

(Thanks to all four of you!)

 

So, now I'm ready to resume blogging the telenovela that is our military life.

 

PRESENT DAY:  

My parents were always the coolest.

Okay. I realize even that sentence undermines my credibility on the subject.

 

Stay with me.

 

They were “Jack and Diane.”

Effortlessly attractive. Witty. Athletic. Christian socialites, if you will. 

 

Everyone has always loved them.   

 

So, when they rolled up to my house for most of the month of April-

(my dad in his Frank Costanza track suit *sigh*)

 my kids forgot we existed.

 

And trolled after my parents. Like groupies.

 

It was a symbiotic relationship. Mutual adoration.

In fact, I think my parents wished they could’ve just skipped me and gone straight to grandchildren.

 

I was just the mule.

We hiked by the ocean and beached by the (Avila) sea.

Oh and languished through endless innnings of little league.

Gosh, how that game does tee-on.

 

They did Bible study time with my little heathens and played competitve rounds of Uno and Family Feud late into each night.

A Cal Poly Baseball game was a highlight. Bad sushi was not. 

And everyone agreed that I am the best cook in the entire family. *Absolutley no literary license has been taken here. 

My mom. Well, she’s a fan favorite everywhere we live.

So, I brought her to Solvang and Bunco and book club.  For some social currency.

 

We went antiquing and dined al fresco and she happily acted as my therapist at no additional charge.

It was lovely.

 

And my dad. Well, he begged for jobs. Light fixtures to clean. Cars to wash. Tables to stabilize.

He even managed to secure a stripped screw with a match.

What does that even mean!?

He is MacGyver.

 

Then, after rigorous basketball tourneys with my boys, I would find him poolside.

In a wife beater, sipping icy Cokes.

Listening to the Beach Boys.

Like it was 1963.  

 

I hope I never forget that Rockwellian scene.

My dad is a cowboy.

And I love him for it.    

 

Ben Franklin quipped that fish and guests both stink after three days.

 

Maybe some guests.

 

But three weeks wasn’t long enough. There was weeping when they left.

(though not from J)  

 

Seriously, though.

 

My parents are still the coolest.

They are also *the* best people I know. 

And I know a lot of people. *wink*

"Jack and Diane"