September 30, 2008
Jazz and Taxes
Sunday was weird. We spent the morning and afternoon in pajamas, paying our taxes (yes), and the evening gussied up at a jazz club where the patrons actually, earnestly, snapped in accompaniment to the poetry being recited over a background of slappy jazz bass. And now, a poem:
Jazz and TaxesWe
see-saw be-
tween the mundane
and the divine.
*snap*
Wombat was really digging on the bass, though; I could feel my amniotic fluid vibrating with the low notes, and the baby was up way past his bedtime
bebopping to
sweet beats
and to the pop
of fountain-drawn Diet Coke
(my reward for putting on heels and a dress on a weekend night).
In the glow of the low-
lit club,
I
redefined
what it means to
belly up
to the bar.*snap*
*snap*
My dear, you are a genius. Genius, I say!
that is truly brilliant!
I once attended a football game 7 months pregnant. I thought the kid was going to jump out my belly button.
Sigh, I love fountain Diet Coke.
As they say in jazz clubs (and which makes me cringe): nice!
Wombat has the coolest Mom on the planet.
Enjoy your waning hipster days, mommio. Parenting is the best job in the world, but it sucks the cool right out of you!
*snap!*
Actually, we ended up befriending a couple who were there with their six-month-old. And the dad? Was the prodigy bass player. So: still very very cool.
I have zero worries about your ability to keep the cool (and your fabulous sense of humor) alive and well!!
I have zero worries about your ability to keep the cool (and your fabulous sense of humor) alive and well!!
Sorry 'bout the double post....
*snap*