Summer

Summertime is magic. Every spring we start to look forward to longer days and warmer weather. Kids get jumpy, anxious for the days of no school, later bedtimes and all day freedom to just be kids! Moms are ready to give up the carpool, stop making separate packed lunches, and suspend the nightly homework checks. Let’s face it, though. Not everything about summer is really all glitz and glam, is it? We aren’t all staring out of the pages of a glossy parenting magazine. Sometimes, summer just gets old. These are a few things that aren’t so glorious about summertime. We’re in the dog days, my friends. It is ok to admit it.

The Ice Cream Man: He’s creepy, Folks. He really is. Seriously. He drives around, trolling for kids, selling ice cream like crack in the streets. He keeps playing that same old song that pulls them out of naptime like the Pied Freaking Piper. I hate that guy. I keep having to come up with different reasons why we can’t chase him down the street to buy a $10 popsicle.

Today, I told the kids he has rabies. They believed me. They’ve seen him, too.

Crafts, Crafts, Crafts: I am glittered, paper mache`d, felt hot glued to my fingers take me to the ER I can’t take it anymore crafted out, thankyouverymuch. There is only so much crafting I want to do. I don’t home school for a reason. I love my kids. I want them to be enriched by art and hands on materials. I am a crafter, for Heaven’s sake, but I’m so over crafting with my kids. Done. Bye, bye. Go make a bomb with a Coke bottle and some Mentos. That’s creative. I’ll watch it on YouTube with Daddy later.

Sleepovers: Yes, please. I want to have MORE children in the house. Because four are certainly NOT enough in the first place. Please detect my heavy, heavy sarcasm.
Actually, this one isn’t so bad. The friends occupy the kids who live here for the most part. As long as I don’t have anyone else’s kid throwing up or crying to go home at 1 AM, I’m good to go here. Stuff them full of snacks and hope they hold till morning.

Moving on.

THE. POOL. : It seems like such a good idea at the time. Our own little backyard water fun. An oasis, really. Float around peacefully, refreshed. Splash a little with the kiddies. I imagine my husband smiling at me as I lazily trail my fingertips through the water and soak up the afternoon sun. Until kid number three sinks me with a cannonball out of nowhere sending half the water I spent an entire day putting in the pool flooding out into the yard. Then, same kid runs through the house for the third “I GOTTA PEE” emergency in as many minutes, without drying off, thereby also flooding the damn house. The other three kids are more courteous. They dry off before they go in the house and then leave their wet towels… I DON’T KNOW!

I can smell them, but I Still. Can’t. Find them.

Work: Yes, Kids. Mom and Dad still have it. I work from home, but I work. No, summertime is not vacation time for anyone, but YOU. I have to get up early, so please stop crawling in my bed in the middle of the night. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It means you are six years old and you need to sleep in your own dang bed! It sucks, but someone has to pay for the Ice Cream Man and the crafts and the sleepover snacks and the pool and the therapy Mommy is going to so desperately need once summer is over. I love you desperately. Now, please let me finish what I’m doing so I can be your cannonball target later. I so can’t wait for THAT!

In the meantime, I will be jealous of your freedom to stay up late. I’ll get ready for work, but I’ll spend a few extra minutes watching you from the doorway, all snuggled in your bed, wistfully remembering my own carefree summers as a kid before I had to grow up and be the adult. You look so sweet and precious.

I swear I tripped. I didn’t kick your bed and wake you up on purpose. Promise.