A few weeks back, before heading to a concert, my friend and I spent the whole day texting NOT about how wasted we were going to get that night but instead planning how we would stay hydrated, researching where the water bottle stations at the venue were so that we would not be too hungover to wake up with our toddlers the next day, so the following definitely tracks. Last night, after we put Joe to bed, (after Morrison warned me to not ride the jetski so hard that I might trigger my sciatica) we went to to the dock overlooking the gorgeous lake on which my parents live, to have a peaceful fourth of july marriage and life logistics check-in. Then SUDDENLY THE NEIGHBORS LAUNCHED A MORTAR ATTACK, like MLB game sponsored by Citi Bank fireworks, like so so big, and so so loud. We lept to our feet in full protection mode. NO. WHY. WE HAVE A TODDLER, Morrison shouted, as we stomped back towards my parents’ house to rescue joe from nuclear war. WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS. WHY. We kept shouting, as they launched a rocket to space. WHYYYYYYYYYY. Joe was still sleeping, MY HEART IS STILL RACING.