I saw folders...

I had a moment this week in Target.  As I was walking through the isle looking for more citronella candles, I saw a beautiful thing - colored folders.  Oh, yes.  And markers, and paper, and a completely empty isle of shelving waiting for more.  Be still my heart.  The end is near.  By now, we’ve been through at least 12 boxes of popsicles, kept our kids up way too late, slapped at 458 mosquitos, and caught at least 138 lightening bugs to stuff into a jar to suffocate. Parts of it are wonderful and parts of it I find longing for a sweater.  I started off strong, plastering my rules on the fridge, checking out books from the library, but I’ve wavered.  I have found myself making the beds more than them, and the books got returned unread.  In the absence of structure, schedules, and routine, I am just putty.  God bless the homeschool moms. 

The summer is actually going pretty well. We turn on the sprinklers to simulate a pool and water the grass and there has been some talk of sleeping outdoors in a tent.  The tent got set up by Stephen in order to justify his nomination for Father-of-the-Year, but the actual sleeping part has yet to come to fruition.  I don’t camp.  I don’t like tents, or hard ground, random bug screeches, and when my bed is 10 feet away, it seems downright silly.  I did condone the dragging of the sleeping materials outside and then hung out in the tent for 20 minutes in the dark until it was decided that the lack of lighting and electronic devices weren’t really worth it.  Father-of-the-Year rested in his bed while I waited this thing out in the dark backyard.  I guess he was worn slap out from setting it up.  Kate was the disappointed one.  It’s not surprising since I’m certain that it’s only a matter of time before she’s hugging trees and running barefoot through the fields of clover.

There was the incident of the free popsicle campaign where my firstborn apparently advertised to the neighborhood that he was giving them away and the freezer and fridge got left open all day.  Full of food.  And popsicles.  In the heat.  There was a grape and food flavored drippy mess coming out of my freezer by 5:00.  After I peeled myself off of the ceiling and spent a couple of hours with a water hose, rain boots, and a garbage bag, I now have a very clean, but very empty freezer.  Bailey was standing there during my fit of rage so he got recruited to help with dumping.  I think he was scared.  This was day #2.  I started searching for more camps.  He revised the rules.  

Queen Elsa - points for the blue heels

I’ve gotten to spend a little extra time with my kids due to the impeccable timing of the ole NJ, but it’s not at all a bad thing.  I’ve gotten the opportunity to observe and reflect on lots of things - like how grown up they are compared to last year.  They dress themselves.  He wears some form of athletic gear - gym shorts and florescent graphic t-shirt that says something like, “EAT MY LUNCH” with colored socks to his knees that cost more than his shoes and a flat-bill baseball cap.  Looks like mismatch day is everyday.  She alternates between a cute dress, swimsuit, and orphan style depending on the mood.  And the shoes.  One day it was leopard print high-tops with a sweet little white dress.  Whatever.  I’m losing control.  He spends most of his time researching the sport of baseball on the internet, watching YouTube videos of replays and comparing prices for the best accessories.  She choreographs routines to prepare for her career as Queen Elsa of Arendelle.  Then, there's the food choices.  Boy wonder is done with the kids meals, out with the chicken nuggets.  He chose a turkey, bacon, avocado sandwich for lunch and makes requests like the Melting Pot and Macaroni Grill for lunch.  Yeah, right.  

Future motivational speakers

They sort of like each other, but sort of don’t want anyone to know.  I’ve caught them in bed watching a movie together, playing games on the iPad, playing in the pool together, and selling lemonade together. There’s an occasional moment of unforced sharing with no ulterior motive. I took them to the pet store for dog food and this happened: 

Note the victory fist

He bought it with his own money for her “birthday.”  Her name is Suzy.  I am definitely putty.  They can be harmonious but in 5 seconds start pinching and flailing their arms at each other.  I used to do this trick to my brother - where you move your arms real fast so he has a hard time finding way to hit you.  But mine both do it, at the same time, in a store until one does the old duck and pinch move and there is yelling or tears.  Or, they play the copycat game in the car, my favorite.  Good times.   

Sometime during the NJ, my husband sold our old but very reliable truck and bought this :

He really loves the past.  Like, high-school loves the past.  This is what goes down when I get put to sleep and doped up for a couple of days.  I have plastic surgery and he goes topless.  He installed him a new set of speakers and one of those radios that we all had in our cars back in the day because no factory radio was good enough - the kind where the face comes off so no one steals it.  This was in the first 20 minutes he owned it.  He washed it and waxed it and shined it.  We ride around town listening to tunes from the "Jeep play list" which consists of high-school music, with the top off, doors off, and our youngest in a booster seat.  I’ve caught her leaning her head out with her tongue hanging out like a dog.  And I can’t drive it.  I never learned how to drive a 5-speed.  I tried a couple of times but two kids in the back yelling, “give it gas!” and “off the clutch too fast!”  is not conducive to learning. So, I currently enjoy being driven around by others, listening to tunes, while the wind blows my hair into a ratty tangled mess that I will condition later.  

One day, we crossed over the border into the great state and picked blueberries.  As I pulled up into the farm, I realized once again that I have become my mother.  I remember her dragging us to pick blueberries in the blazing Mississippi heat, telling us how fun this would be and how great whatever blueberry creation she made would be.  I remember hours of picking and my bucket never filled up as I nearly melted in the heat.  Pure torture.  She talked about it my whole life.  I knew we were in trouble when the summer job teen dropped us off in the golf cart at the far end of the row and said, “Pick the whole bush and walk back up there when you’re done.”  I quickly realized I’m raising pansies.  They complained about the heat, asked for shade, then Bailey had a fake baseball game with the blueberries which then turned into practicing catching them in their mouths.  There was lots of eating and about a cup each in their bucket by the time I filled mine up.  At one point, Bailey asked me if we were slaves.  Seriously.  The kid is funny but lazy.  His sister finally punched him and said, “just pick or she won’t let us leave!”  In spite of all of this, I found it very peaceful - birds chirping, nature, sun-warmed berries that you pluck off the bush and let explode in your mouth, and a brother and sister that will hopefully drag their own kids to do the same when they are grown.  I got them ice cream as a consolation prize.  

I wonder what they will remember from the summer.  I have tried to think of my own memories and most of them involve time - with my grandmothers, family, cousins, friends.  For them, I seriously doubt it will be the baseball camp or inventors camp, hopefully VBS, but probably not pottery camp except for the ceramic bird to remind her one day when she’s 36 and dusting underneath it.  It certainly won’t be the hundreds of dollars we forked over for to various people and organizations in our city, but maybe they’ll call and thank us when they write their own checks.  I bet it will be their daddy driving them to get ice cream in a new really used Jeep, baseball with neighborhood kids, first sleepovers, crashing other people’s pools, berry picking, popsicles, lightening bugs, catching  frogs, watching baby birds grow, riding scooters in the streets even after the lights come on, and being generally carefree.  I’m sure it won’t be how their mommy made them make their beds, read books, and organize their legos by color because they don't remember that now.  

Oh the public schools are calling.  I can hear them.  They scream of schedules and routines, bedtimes, and brushed teeth.  I miss you, schools.  And teachers of the first and fourth grades, I know that you are not feeling me here, but I promise to have my two shiny and sparkly on the first day so that you will love them instantly and the tight grip you had to release on your summer break will be a tiny bit worth it.  And, when you ask them what they did this summer and they answer, “My mommy got a nose job and my daddy got a jeep,” you won’t judge.  This has been stated so I’m sure it will be again.  

For now, I will relish in the last couple of hours I have spent with my little sidekick in our pajamas watching Tinkerbell and the Great Fairy Rescue.  And, I will giggle at the text I just got and the memories I know my son is making with his cousin, Henry, as they are trying to train cats to walk on a leash at my brother’s house this very moment.  Cat camp is good camp.  I will certainly make the next 25 days worthwhile.  But, who’s counting?  

our pool