Mr. Rock

I live amongst celebrities in case you did not know, or rather houses in my neighborhood were formally owned by Mormon royalty. The house across the street from me was built and occupied at one time by Donnie Osmond. The house next door to me was built and occupied by Jimmy Osmond. And a mere two streets down from me is Osmond Lane, and while there are currently no Osmonds living on Osmond Lane, the name implies that clearly they once did. Well located on Osmond Lane is Mr. Rock, and as far as my children are concerned he is the biggest celebrities around.

All winter long Lauren and Mark look forward to good weather so we can go on a walk down Osmond Lane to see the big rock. On a nice evening, as soon as dinner is over, they beg to go on a walk. I usually give in because it gets us out of the house and Mark burns some energy off and is much easier to put to bed. Katie gets loaded into the jogger stroller and off we go.

Lauren rides her scooter, Mark runs, and mommy and daddy struggle to keep up. It is especially fun if the center median on Osmond Lane has recently seen or is currently seeing sprinkler action, because then there are puddles of water for Mark to jump in, and sprinklers for Lauren to run through. Near the end of the lane is Mr. Rock. He stands about 20 feet tall, and is anchored in by concrete. I am not sure why Mr. Rock is there, because he is randomly placed, seemingly has no purpose, but my children love him. They greet Mr. Rock with a friendly “hello” and have to touch him. On occasion they leave smaller rock friends they have collected so Mr. Rock will not be lonely. I am sure he appreciates this and if he could communicate or we could understand rock talk he would profusely thank us. His winter nights are cold and lonely waiting for the spring, summer and fall to enjoy the screams of delight and love coming from my children. The people who live on Osmond Lane probably think we should be committed or locked up for having a love affair with their rock. It’s their own fault for placing such a lovable rock in the middle of the street, what did they expect.

After saying “good bye” to Mr. Rock we head home. No walk is complete without one of my children being injured. Many a piece of skin has been left on Osmond Lane, and many a piece of asphalt has been inbeded and come home as a reminder of Osmond Lane and our nightly chats with Mr. Rock.