Lawn mowing and other illicit suburban activities

Oh yeah. The secret life of the Suburban Sattin family is beyond thrilling. Seriously. I should have started this blog back when I lived in Brooklyn and did moderately entertaining things. Because now, there’s this:

I’ve discovered a love of yard work, specifically mowing our postage stamp lawn with a reel mower. Aside from the blisters I got on both thumbs the first time I used it I now really love to mow the lawn. You’re welcome, Neil. One more yard task you don’t have to do. I love you, too.
But seriously, it takes about an hour to mow our lawn. Back and forth, back and forth, rinse and repeat. It’s the perfect form of meditation for me. The kind where I don’t have to sit around doing nothing, because anyone who knows me knows that is something I’m incapable of. So, meditation that enables me to get things done around the house? Perfect.

And then there was this.

The grass that refused all cutting weed killing

Dear weed: I know you’re feeling pretty good about yourself. Ha ha, you say. I’ve won this round.
Well, you obviously don’t know me very well, weed. I don’t like to lose and I am notoriously cold-hearted. In fact, I was once granted the indian name Hurts Feelings. And rightly so. Let’s just say, weed, this is not over.

Anyway, this weekend was pretty full of activity for the Sattin clan. I mowed the lawn (what? sick of hearing about that? bah.), we went to Maple’s TWICE and almost three times but thank god we have some restraint. Seriously, that is some good ice cream.

Sunday saw us heading off to Massachusetts to visit Aunt Ethel, but not before a quick breakfast at the Good Egg Cafe which I have a hard time not calling the Pepperclub which is what it’s called when you go there for dinner. No matter the name, it’s always delish and we love everyone who works there. Not only do we get a good meal, but we get free babysitting by the waitresses! Score! Actually, we’ve also gotten a regular babysitter and a pet sitter from that place. Not on the menu, but every bit as welcome as my multi-grain pancake with blueberries.
I had one of those experiences while we were there that everyone who is approaching thirty (or who may have turned thirty in the past year but we don’t have to talk about that) has at one point or another. Two sort of dirty hipsters dragged themselves in and sat at the booth next to us. Neil knew them so our tables had an ongoing open conversation. Nothing makes you feel like you’re getting older like hearing about how these two were out all night at a club, then a party after, and still they had not gone to bed. I haven’t had a night like that since, um, see! I don’t even remember when. It’s kind of sad. And yet, here I am at 30 with an amazing husband and quite possibly the world’s cutest baby.

Me and Dashiell at the Good Egg cafe hip baby sleeps restaurant hip mom proud

Not such a bad trade off at all.

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