bikes, friendship and music

The baby is the world’s lightest sleeper.

I made one move after he’d been napping five minutes so I could grab my camera to upload photos, and he is now fully awake. I am occupying him by holding his picture slide show playing on my phone in one hand, writing on my laptop with one finger with the other. This is how 95 percent of my posts get published.

I uploaded to Twitter this photo of our three bikes strapped onto the bike rack which prompted Michele to send Jordan this song to celebrate and motivate Jordan’s developing bike riding skills. It’s such a bouncy tune, I love it. My friends around the Internet are always quick with the party.

My mother doesn’t get that at all. “Who are all these ‘friends’ you keep talking about, and why haven’t I met them?”

Because you are not a true friend unless you appear first in my mother’s house.

Unless you are a traveling writer who did indeed appear in my mother’s house. “Did your friend make it off okay? Well, not your ‘friend’ since you just met her…did your house guest get off okay?”

She was sorely confused by the baby shower gifts MM sent for Ehren that were signed BFF. What’s a BFF and why is it mailing you baby formula?

I don’t have nearly as many rules and restrictions for friendship as my off-the-grid mother. We met once and we bonded and you did not attempt to harm in any way my children or me? Friends.

We’ve exchanged email over life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for months or—in Michele’s case—years, and we know the exact moment a pick-me-up letter is needed on the other end? Friends.

We’ve mailed each other stuff that required a trip to the effing post office or UPS Store? Friends, dammit.

I’ve made friends over the phone, in email, through blogs, through postal letters—eh, I am preaching to the choir.

Our day at the park that prompted this post: