The days.

June 20, Bangor.

There will be no missing the dreaded heavy New Jersey commute traffic on the morning jump. This morning was as bad as they come, along Route 18 then Route 622 then highway 287 and I-80, jam-packed with rushing cars.
I remembered the lot we are on today as we drove in, the steam engine skeletons the kids climbed on to last year, and last year seems so far away in their eyes.
The days go fast now, they swirl, the drives, school in the morning, often we start late because I hate to wake up the boys when it's summer after all and they've worked so hard, and still do, and so we're late, as this morning, and there is hardly time to eat before heading to practice, and then there are the errands, sometimes more school, always something or other, when Fridman is not busy fixing somebody's problem or ours, the leaks, the bikes, always something or other, and the pictures always, and soon it's show time and getting Dylan, and now Nicolas, ready for it, walking them and watching them and walking back and undressing them as they struggle to race to their newest craze, video games, but only for an hour because they are nothing more than a drug and I don't like them one bit but here we are, the video game craze is on already, an hour, and soon enough it's the second show and the same dance and it's time for a shower and dinner and reading a book or two or three and crash, the day is gone.
We'll do the same tomorrow, if all goes well.