Goddess of Suburbia Sneak Peek

​The paparazzi start trailing me the moment I pull out of my driveway at 532 Rockwell Circle. My street sounds fancier than it is - mostly ranches and capes dot the landscape of postage stamp size lots, a slice of blue collar  in this upper class Long Island town. My street has never seen a line of paparrazi follow anyone and they certainly have never see the paparazzi follow a worn out mom dragging her cranky so to ShopRite for eggs and milk. My neighbor glances up from watering her mums and stares at the spectacle, jaws slack, until muddy puddles form at her feet.

It is an achingly beautiful October day, the kind of day that reminds me why autumn is my favorite season - blue skies and no humidity, the tiniest bite of a chill in the air, mild enough though, that the sweatshirt jackets necessary this morning will be stuffed in backpacks by this afternoon. I would love to take a detour, take my four year old son, Sam, to the playground. I would love to catch him at the bottom of the slide, give him a push on the swings while he pretends to be on a spaceship, valiantly pumping his little legs. Only, I can't. I constantly glance in my rear view mirror. Are they still there? Where will these pictures end up? How much more can my family take? Like the silver spheres of a pinball machine, there thought bounce around my brain.