The Wails of Summer

 “Love is patient, love is kind.”

I Corinthians 13: 4

     I adored having my three kids around the house all summer.  Their muted footfalls fluttered through the house like a scattering of rose petals.  Their sunny voices asked, "Is there anything we can do to help you, Mother Dear?"

     Welcome to Fantasy Island.
     I know why Labor Day is at the end of summer.  It's the day mothers question whether the fruit of  their labor pains was worth the price.  Ask us the question on Memorial Day and we'll bore you with sentimental memories of our child's first tooth or our wistful tears as they trotted off to kindergarten. Ask the question on Labor Day and we'll growl, "I'll give you three for a buck-ninety-eight.  Will that be cash, check or credit card?"
     School days, schools days, dear old Golden Rule days...

     The Golden Rule is mentioned in those lyrics to remind our children of the existence of rules.  You know.  Those guidelines parents set up in June, revise in July and throw in the trash compactor in August?

     You may not go swimming until one hour after eating. 
        One-half hour.
           Here, take a sandwich with you.
              Come inside when the street lights turn on.
                 Here's a flashlight.
                    Be sure to lock up.
     To be fair, the summer holiday involves compromise on both parts.  I was used to eating Snickers for lunch and the kids were used to pestering an adult who is unaware of their wide repertory of juvenile cons.  So, I stocked up on peanut butter and pot pies and the kids became buddies with the retired couple who lived down the street. (I sent the couple an anonymous thank-you bouquet every Monday, signing the enclosure, Your Eternal Friend.)
     Summertime proves to be costly for those families where both parents work outside the home.  Day-care expenses make you ask:  Not only are the kids out of school but I have to pay money for the privilege?

     Those of us who work at home dream of day-care.  It's a bit hard to concentrate when there's a trail of mildewing beach towels bisecting the house, the smell of burnt cookies wafting out of the kitchen, and the pulse of Meatloaf (the singer not the dinner) making me contemplate the construction of a stockade in the back yard.  (I wonder if the library has a how-to book, perhaps shelved under child psychology?)

     I should clarify.  I love my kids. Cross my heart and hope to . . . but they make me tired.  Lethargic.  Catatonic.
     I considered buying three season tickets to the Royals.  Let's see . . . 81 home games at four hours a game equals 324 hours when my darlings won't be asking me The Question.
     And what is The Question?  Come on parents, you can ace this quiz.
     Is The Question::
A.  We're tired, Mom, so what can we do now?
B.  We're hungry, Mom, so what can we do now?
C.  We're bored, Mom, so what can we do now?
     The Question is:  All, or any of the above depending on the barometric pressure, the peanut butter deficit, and the number of neighbor kids glaring at me from the doorway.
     On average, I hear, and attempt to answer The Question two hundred and eighty-three times.  I started the summer with good intentions – and good answers. 
     "Ask Erin over. Play school. Read a book."
     But around the seventieth asking (during Day 4 of summer) my answers, and my patience, began to show signs of sanity withdrawal.
     "Are you sure Erin's parents don't want another child? Go pick the lock on the school. Watch Forensic Files."

     I answered Question #274 with a primal grunt.  In response to Question #275, I snarled.  Intent on testing their mother's new vocabulary to the fullest, my children continued through Question #283 when they noticed my incisors appeared to be sharpening.  I never heard The Question again.  Hey, I don't raise no dumb kids.

     As the end of summer glows on the horizon and the aura of back-to-school entices, I realize there will be a time when I'll give anything to hear the thud of elephant feet and the wails of, "But, Mom, do we have to?"  I'll look back on these chaotic summers with a bittersweet reflection.  Guilt will sit on my shoulders until I admit my insensitivity.
     Ah, what the heck.  I'll risk it.

***

Want more inspirational humor? Check out 
Save Me, God! I Fell in the Carpool: Help, Hope, and Humor for Drowning Moms

Wearing Underwear and Other School Necessities

What has been will be again,

what has been done will be done again;

there is nothing new under the sun.

Ecclesiastes 1: 9

 "School days, school days, dear old broken rule days."

Three months ago our kids sprang into summer. Hurdled—dragging us with them. But now that school is back, it's like trying to stuff a puffy pillow into a pillow case.  I want to hold them by their waistbands and shake vigorously.  You vill fit into this.

We’ve all had our fun—or whatever that was—and normal beacons.  Unfortunately, our kids will not go down without a fight.  To help them surrender their summer freedom without calling out the National Guard, take note of these valuable back-to-school rules:

1.  Thou shalt get up on time. During summer, my kids got up when they woke up, so a week before school starts, I play my oldie-goldie favorites.  Full blast.  At 7 a.m.   The effects of "Rock Around the Clock" and "Shout" on a child's sleepy mind makes the intrusion of an alarm clock seem mellow once school actually begins.

2.  Thou shalt wear shoes.  Shoes are for civilized people— not my kids.  Unfortunately, schools have the rule, "No shirt, no shoes, no service" (do flip-flops count?) Therefore, I take advantage of the shoe company's ad campaigns and point out how fast they'll be able to run, jump, and play with rubber cushioning their little piggies. Gullibility can be a gift.

3. Thou shalt wear underwear.  During the summer, my kids live in their swimsuits (it does save on laundry). But since school officials frown at the smell of chlorine and too much skin, I  relegate the faded suits to the nearest toxic waste site. Then I buy my girls some of those Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday underwear to remind them that the days of the week have names. For our son?  A package of spanking new whitie-tighties.  What can I say?  They’re a classic.

4.  Thou shalt eat at a table.  With chairs.  And napkins.  And even a fork.  After spending the summer eating between ball games, water fights, and Barbie marathons, I set the table and make them sit down and eat.  If they say please and thank you, I toss them a cookie.  Good dog.

5.  Thou shalt stop growing.  The age-old goal is to get last month’s Visa bill paid before they outgrow their new clothes.  That hasn't changed, but styles have. Remember the thrill of wearing a special first day of school dress or shirt?  And new school shoes?  Crisp. Neat.  It's hard for a tee-shirt—new or not—to be crisp.  And a pair of baggy shorts and untied sneakers are eons away from neat (and that's my daughters’ attire.)  As for the extra inches they keep adding to their physiques, try the old book-on-the-head trick.  It's a good way for them to get in touch with the dictionary.

6.  Thou shalt read.  The end of summer signals the downloading of muscles and the uploading of the brain. A week before school starts, I make them read quietly for an hour a day.  When they ask what they did to deserve such punishment, I tell them this is the way it was done in olden times.  At this point, if they reference my age, they have to read for two hours.  Want to try for three?

7. Thou shalt remember 1 + 1 = 2. If you've been good parents (exceptional, extraordinary parents) you've made your child read, practice their clarinet, and add random numbers throughout the summer to prevent brain mush.  However, if you've been busy figuring out how to keep them safely occupied while you’re at work, or what to make for lunch for three months, you may have accepted brain mush as a viable summer alternative.  If so, you need to reintroduce the concept of math. Take the kids shopping and ask them to figure out how much their jeans cost at 40% off.  Or how about:  If Mom and a carload of kids leave the house at 2 o’clock to go on errands, traveling at 45 mph until the kids spill their drinks in the car after five minutes, how many minutes—and miles—will it take for said mother to decide to go home and shop online?  After taxing their brains in such a manner they'll be eager to get back to school.

8.  Thou shalt listen.  No, not to their computer, I-pod, Game-boy, cell-phone, or TV.  And not even to you.  For during the craziness of summer haven’t even you sometimes forgotten to linger in the silence, to hear your own breath go in and out, to savor now.   For how can we hear what God has to tell us if we constantly have noise inundating our lives?   He listens to us.  Isn’t it time we return the favor?  “But the LORD is in his holy temple; let all the earth be silent before him." (Habakkuk 2: 20)  So shush yourselves. Turn everything off.  And listen to the Teacher of the universe.

9. Thou shalt breathe a sigh of relief.  This advice isn’t just for us parents.  Even kids get tired of summer and long for—

Never mind.  Number nine is just for parents, because after enduring the question "But Mom, what can we do now?" 275 times (and coming up with 270 good answers and 5 questionable suggestions) we need to rejoice in the fact that our child's pain is our gain, and wallow in the upcoming nine months of school. 

Until next summer—when we’ll forget everything we learned and make the same mistakes.  Don’t fret it.  That’s just the way it is—and has been since time began.  “Then I applied myself to the understanding of wisdom, and also of madness and folly, but I learned that this, too, is a chasing after the wind.”  (Ecclesiastes 1: 17) 

Wisdom, madness, folly . . . that’s summer.  Enjoy it.  Every chaotic minute.  For this too shall pass. 

Too quickly.

Want more inspirational humor? Check out 

Save Me, God! I Fell in the Carpool: Help, Hope, and Humor for Drowning Moms