Spring in Suburbia

When I was in the twelfth grade, a large part of our health curriculum was studying reproduction. (I'm still scarred by the Miracle of Life video). One of the most important assignments we were given, was to carry a "flour baby" around school for two weeks. Thus simulating what it would be like to have an actual child. The entire senior class participated in this assignment. Each senior had to bring in a doll from his or her (or our sibling's) childhood. For the next two weeks, the halls of LHS were cluttered with baby dolls and their attached ten pound bag of flour.

Only one student in the grade would be chosen to receive "twins." A name was selected at random, and that lucky senior had the pleasure of carrying two flour babies, weighing in at twenty pounds, for the duration of the two weeks. Guess who that chosen senior was? Oh, you guessed it! Me. As a high school senior, I weighed just barely 100 pounds. (Oh, how I miss you, high school body). The amount I carried in flour babies was nearly one fifth of my weight. The rule set by our teacher was that if any one was seen being negligent to their child in any way, or left their child unattended, they would fail the project, and possibly fail health class. This meant that if you played after school sports, or had some sort of after school commitment, you would have to arrange for a "baby sitter."

I was getting ready to go to lacrosse practice, one afternoon after school had ended. Lacrosse practice was held on the oval. In front of Livingston High School's majestic landscape is an oval with a track to run and bike on, two baseball fields and a lacrosse field. It was common for students to park their cars around the oval. For many, the oval was a central hang-out. I was getting ready for practice, standing near my car parked across from where practice met. I took my lacrosse stick out of my trunk, and hurled my two flour babies into the trunk of my blue jeep. (R.I.P. Blue Jeep). Just as I was mid-throw of my flour children, my health teacher drove around the oval at the exact same time. Of course, he did. My teacher slowed down and rolled down his window. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't see that, Lauren." Yikes.

What triggered this memory was being home in Livingston today. I went for a run at the oval. It was a beautiful day and the oval was packed with people running, biking and rollerblading. Sometimes, it takes being back home in the suburbs to really appreciate and notice the spring time. In New York City, I know it's the spring by the outdoor tables outside of restaurants, and the pale legs that I see on the subway on my way to work. In the suburbs, spring is certainly hard to miss. There is green everywhere. People are out in their lawns, watering their plants, and children run freely in the streets. Sometimes, it's a welcome change to leave the city, and enter spring in suburbia.

Someone recently pointed out to me that I am a nostalgic person.Hmm...you think? Anyone who has known me for longer than fourteen seconds could tell you that. But, then this person said something that I hadn't heard before. He said, "You must have had a really happy childhood."

It's funny, that comment makes complete sense, and yet--I had never made that connection before. And, it's true. I did have a very happy childhood, filled with very normal things, such as playing with my brother and sister, and staying outside with our neighbors until it grew dark. There were the ice cream trucks that stopped on our street, and the amazing summers that I spent at Camp Schodack. I have two people to thank for much of the happiness of my childhood. And, they are my parents, both who I adore. And, since today is Mother's Day, a special thank you to my mom, my little Mimi Girl, who is not only the best mom a girl could have (No really. She is), but in the last few years she has also become a supportive ear, a confidante and a friend. So, thank you Little Mimi. You da mom.