Snap on the spandex, turn on the hose, and let’s get down to business.

Jumping through the sprinkler in your bathing suit is one of the greatest joys of childhood. Your backyard turns into a Waterpark as you pull off one of these classic moves:

1.The Original. Get the sprinkler sprinkling and motor at it full throttle before jumping as high as you can right through that wall of water. No fear. 

2. The Gymnast. Flipping over the sprinkler with wobbly cartwheels or high-flying somersaults is an advanced move which may result in accidental wetface, separated shoulders, or spontaneous applause from the gallery.

3. The Leapfrog. Here’s where you convince your little brother or sister to stand beside the sprinkler and then run and jump over them. Careful, though — nobody likes a wet crotch to the back of the head. 

4. The Spray Gun. Also known as having your big brother pick up the sprinkler and chase you around the yard while singing the Contra theme song.

5. The Slow Shower. This is when you stand still in one place with your eyes closed and let the water calmly hit your face. Also known as your Backyard Zen moment.

Of course, there are more, there are many more — after all, you could be jumping one of those rat-a-tat-tat sprinklers in the park or running along one of those misty green ones that look like a garden hose with pinholes in it. But no matter your style and no matter your taste, it’s always a beautiful moment of sparkly-eyed fun when you and your friends go outside under the sun to run around the sprinkler till the day is done.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, here, and here

You just about took a nude and soapy tumble into that slippery ceramic tub.

But then you didn’t.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Bumping bumpers is a bummer.

Couple years ago my friend Allison was wheeling her rusty bucket into the library when she crashed into the parked car in front of her. When she got out to inspect the damage she noticed she’d put a big bruise on the other guy but came out clean herself. Worried, she went inside and found her victim before spending three weeks and almost a thousand bucks to finally straighten out his car and her conscience.

Now of course, wouldn’t you know it but a couple months later the same thing happened in reverse. Popping out of a grocery store holding a couple big bags of food, she noticed a big bump in her side door. Unfortunately, this time there was no note, no message, and no way to find out what happened so she unhappily shrugged and drove home in her classy new Dentmobile.

Allison’s sad tale is a reminder we’re always bumping things and we never really know which way they’ll turn out. Yes, whether you’re scraping side mirrors on the garage, knocking garbage cans over on Monday morning, or just kissing car doors in the parking lot, it’s always a heart-pounding moment until you scope the scene.

The moment just before you check out the damage is awful.

The moment just after you see there isn’t any is

AWESOME!

Photos from: here and here

Come on in.

Pull open the wooden door with those giant oversized handles that are smooth and worn down to a light brown finish. Drag your boots over the dirty green carpeted floor that bubbles up in the corners and splashes tiny dust clouds into shimmery orange sunbeams with every step. Feel the calm and comforting library quiet settle like a blanket over your body and your brain as you shuffle past the counters and make your way inside…

Massive atlases, worn-out hardcovers, and crinkly plastiwrapped kid’s books fill rusty metal bookshelves and cover that overly-lacquered table at the front — dented from that time someone smacked it with their wheelchair in 1988.  Yellowed pages with pencil lines, cracked bindings and broken spines, cover every corner of the place…

Feel our shared histories softly swirl together through old books and stamped checkout cards as you smile and soak up all the little library smells of

AWESOME!

Photos from: here and here

I used to hang out at Jean’s place.

Yes, back when I was in second grade and my sister Nina was in Kindergarten we spent our lunchtimes and after schools at a do-it-yourself daycare run by a leathery old woman named Jean. Her home was a cold and dark playground of plastic toys and Thundercats reruns and we spent hours and hours there for years and years.

At lunchtime the seven or eight kids she looked after crowded around a wobbly plastic table to dive into her famously greasy lunches. Grilled Cheez Whiz on buttery white bread, mayo-drenched tuna casseroles, and bologna and processed cheese sandwiches were a few of her faves. And Jean always capped each meal by pouring a big jar of apple sauce, syrupy peach slices, or fruit salad into little bowls for each of us.

I remember watching Jean try to open those jars like it was yesterday. Honestly, she’d be huffing and puffing till we thought she’d fall over. Sometimes she’d hold the jar under hot water, other times she’d twist it with a dish cloth, and then there was my favorite — the spectacularly loud bang-and-clang-the-lid-with-a-knife move, which we always suspected would result in a serving of pear halves sprinkled with shattered glass, but fortunately never did.

Poor Jean was surrounded a weak and wide-eyed army of tiny hands, spaghetti noodle arms, and saggy biceps. We couldn’t help her much but after watching her suffer for years we took firm blood oaths to help others open those tough-to-open jars whenever we could.

Yes, twisting the lid of the jar after nobody else could fills you with a strong sense of Superman Pride. Suddenly you’re Popeye, Mr. Universe, or The Incredible Hulk, beaming like a flashlight in front of the kitchen counter as you hand back a freshly opened jar of

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, and here

Sniff those powdery fresh fumes as you pick up that fuzzy bundle of flabby cheeks and drooly drips.

Someone just had a bath.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Thanks for the helping hand, friendly stranger.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

If you’re as bad at sweeping as I am then this is one of the few moments you get of complete cleaning catharsis.

“Hey dust, you got cocky.”

Also applies to hairballs.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Have you ever had a panzarotti?

Well, if not then let me tell you that panzarottis are magical miniature pepperoni pizzas folded over into a giant doughy envelopes and baked to a golden brown crisp before being slathered with steaming tomato sauce. Sawing into them with a knife and fork gets the melted mozzarella oozing out like lava before swirling into a savory sea of puffy crust, salty pepperoni, and even more sauce that was baked inside to a tangy finish.

Our high school cafeteria served panzarottis every Tuesday and every Tuesday our high school cafeteria had raging lines out the door and down the hallway with sweaty backwards-cap wearing teens each holding five bucks for the most delicious lunch in our known universe. Lose the Lunchables and toss the tuna sandwiches because on Panzerotti Tuesday we’re a salivating room of equals buzzing over life, liberty, and the pursuit of giant, greasy folded-over pizza things.

Yes, it’s a beautiful moment when your cafeteria serves the best food they got.

Whether it’s Mac and Cheese Monday at the cubicle farm, Taco Thursday at the plastics plant, or Fajita Friday at the old folk’s home, it always tastes like fun … it always tastes like excitement … and sure does always taste like

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, and here

I had a streak going.

See, for the past two years I narrowly avoided getting sick. Have you ever made it through a winter or two with that kind of luck? It was my first time and let me just say there’s nothing like a little run of good health to make you feel invincible. I felt like He-Man. I mean sure, I ran from sneezing toddlers, used my feet to open bathroom doors, and washed my hands six times a day with a homemade cocktail of industrial-strength bleach, hand sanitizer, and imported echinacea flowers.

But I was healthy.

Unfortunately, my invincibility cloak against all germs was ruthlessly shredded this year with a brutal three-week bug that drained me completely. Sore throats, clogged nostrils, and dull headaches caused sleepless nights, lost weekends, and hours and hours combing pharmacy aisles in salty boots and tattered bathrobes looking for some magical combination of pills, cough syrup, and throat lozenges to pull me through. My credit card statement even claims I bought a humidifier during this foggy, desperate period.

Worst of all, my appetite shriveled to the point where two saltines and half a banana was my big meal of the day. I couldn’t swallow, I couldn’t taste, and I lost my love of chips, chocolate, and chicken chimichangas … all at once.

Truly, it was agony.

But that’s what made it great when my marathon cold finally disappeared. Yes, once my immune system warriors buckled down, fought the brave fight, and ended the three week war, well … let’s just say I got my tastebuds back and it was time to get chompin’. The battlefield was still bloody and the ink wasn’t even dry on the Peace Treaty of My Lungs before I started drooling for dinner.

Yes, the first meal you eat after a cold welcomes all your senses back into the magical World of Food. And the World of Food is a good world. It’s a safe world. It’s a tasty world. And it’s a world you lived in since the day you were born. After sipping back milk and slurping mushy peas your tastebuds opened into carbonated seas full of coffees and teas and macaroni and cheese.

Bubbly drinks or cheesy nachos, juicy burgers or dripping tacos – it don’t matter, it don’t matter, it don’t matter at all. What matters is the gates are open, your tongue can taste, and it’s time to come on back in… and start enjoying food all over again.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, and here