I know, I know. For most of the country, the highly coveted season began a few weeks ago. And technically speaking, so it did in my neck of the woods. But, I have learned to define “summer” a bit differently. My definition is based on a couple of years of experience, of being the recipient to a certain style of behavior and of observing a specific attitude at the onset of the universally-accepted lazy season.
My kids have started to whine.
We were a little bit lucky this year as summer began with a road trip (the reason for my sudden disappearance from the blogosphere). We herded the family into the fuel-efficient Honda and headed a few states away, the final destination being the beautiful state of Colorado. The trip itself deserves its own blog post so I will be working on that (complete with pictures!) but suffice it to say, it was a very busy week and a whole lot of driving. The trip came up so suddenly that along with the novelty of unfamiliar surroundings and the frequent backseat napping, the kids barely had time to actually register that school had officially ended.
And then we got home.
And, unfortunately, as if realization hit them both upside their tiny heads at the exact same time, the first day back from vacation was blessed with complaints of boredom…in tandem.
Nothing says “summer vacation” more than gripes and complaints of there being “nothing to do”, frantic searches for coloring books and play-doh that hasn’t hardened into suburban weapons of mass destruction, and attempts at persuading neighbor kids that tiny cans of V8 Juice and stale graham crackers are a worthy snack.
But this year I have vowed things will be very different. I’m ready.
So, Summer, I welcome thee into my home. I’ve prepared myself this year with sidewalk chalk and Miracle bubbles. We’ve got Oreo Cakesters in the pantry and plenty of juice boxes for the inevitable neighbor kids who will soon be darkening my doorstep. Sunscreen has been strategically placed on the porch to guard my pale-faced children from sunny-day burns and I’ve armed myself with plenty of magazines and lame romance novels in which I plan to lose myself.
And, for any of you who recognize even a tiny bit of your own truth in any of this, I wish you luck. We’re all going to need it.