Sorry this is so long.... Seventeen Summer Hours 5am—Alarm goes off. This is, allegedly, my moment of empowerment. New day. New start, Blah, blah. Reality is same crap, different day. Know that if I don’t get up now, I won’t have one minute to myself all day. Weigh sleep vs. solitude and solitude wins again. Damn. Swing legs over side of bed, accidently kick dog in head and reach for yesterday’s yoga pants and t-shirt. Sniff them, deem them passable and glare at sleeping husband. Hate that he sleeps through alarm because he gets solitude riding in his car alone every day. A luxury I have not had since approximately 1997. 6am—Dog interprets alarm and kick in the head as a sign that he deserves a walk. Immediately sweat soaked because it is 110 degrees with 90% humidity before the sun comes up. Flash back to January and my vow never to complain about the heat again. This empty promise does not count as a lie because it is one of the untruths moms tell themselves-- after being snowed in for days on end--that helps avoid a full-on, homicidal rage. Peel off sweaty clothes, put pajamas back on and stumble to coffee maker. 7am— Exactly two sips of coffee later, hear footsteps above and cringe. Someone is awake. This means I’ll carry the coffee cup around the entire morning, reheat it a dozen times and never finish it. Sigh, and peek at Facebook long enough to see everyone’s vacation pics on my timeline. OMG how totally annoying! Beach sunrise photos everywhere with the tagline, “good morning from (insert tropical location).” Maybe I will take a selfie with the dishes piled in my sink, adding the caption, “the view from my room overlooking the kitchen.” 8am—Youngest son comes down and asks for breakfast. Respond with self-serve options 8:01am—see 8am 8:02am- see 8:00am. Add whining 8:03am—see 8:02. Up the volume 8:04am—see 8:03. Add my first curse word of the day 8:05am—see 8:04am. Add me throwing coffee cup at youngest son. Not really, but only because it is in the microwave reheating. 8:06am—Son flings himself on couch in an effort to look pathetic, conserve energy and stave off hunger pains. Finally surrender and throw him a bag of Little Bites crumb cakes hoping dog will eat crumbs off couch later. Still consider it a win because I am not actually cooking for anyone. Middle son wakes up and I hit him with his own Little Bites bag before he hits the bottom step. He is suspicious. He is accustomed to the 8:00-8:05am routine before seeing food. He and his brother exchange looks; leery of anything being thrown this early in the day. 8:15-9:00am--- Boys ask “what are we doing today?” 347 times before they figure out I am ignoring them. Eye-rolling ensues. 9-11:00am—Search for summer homework packets. Can’t remember the safe, full-proof spot where I put them last week. Find car registration renewal in a pile and pick a safe, full-proof spot so I can unearth it next week. Decide one more day without summer homework won’t lead to loss of brain cells. Reconsider as I watch youngest son entranced by fly swatter. 11:30am-1pm- Oldest child now awake. Because he is 15, he drinks orange juice, grunts and shuffles to the basement to play video games. During this brief, cameo appearance he speaks to no one but checks his cell phone 25 times. The other boys then engage in a 90-minute oxymoron of whining about starving to death while standing in front of a pantry full of food. Shut myself in bedroom with dog and pretend to fold laundry. Instead, plop down on mountain of clean clothes and watch multiple episodes of House Hunters. 1:00pm-Make lunch and wonder why a sandwich is a perfectly acceptable lunch the entire school year but considered child abuse when served at home in the summer. 1:30-3:00pm—Venture out of house. Squint in daylight like prisoner released from solitary confinement. Drive in search of goggles for swim practice as goggles purchased exactly two weeks ago are now broken. Between all three boys, every item in store is touched at least once. Curse whomever decided that sporting goods stores should sell unhealthy candy, gum and drinks near the register. If they promoted fitness and sold vegetables or dried figs at check-out, I would be in and out in 15 minutes, tops. 3:30-5:00pm—Kids declare that all songs on the car’s 300 satellite stations “suck.” I am relegated to DJ; stabbing at buttons until we reach a consensus. Just when a good song comes on, we are home. Deny request to sit in car and listen until song is over. Boys announce they are hungry again because I am only mom in the world who does not buy food every time we get in the car. Use the need for dog walking as distraction. Listen to kids duke it out over whose turn it is. Two boys run into separate bathrooms and slam door. The bathroom card is played constantly to avoid all chores. Slowest kid loses out and has to walk dog. Marvel that, conversely, MY closed bathroom door is an open invitation for company. 5:30-6:30pm—Actually fold laundry in my room this time while two youngest attempt to find non-mildewed towels for swim practice. Think back to March when I signed up for camps. Summer was a distant hope and I was delusional enough to believe that two unstructured weeks would be a cross between the Disney and Discovery Channels. Lots of magic with some good, old-fashioned fun. Now it is just like the show Survivor on regular, old-fashioned CBS. Lots of backstabbing, shifting alliances and bug bites. 7:00-8pm—Find general email address for camp. Write and rewrite email to sound less pathetic when asking if they have any openings in current session, a full week before our registered session begins. Throw away pride and just beg them to take us ASAP. Cringe as I hit SEND. 8:00pm-9pm—Kids home from swimming, reheat dinner. Listen to them fantasize about eating out like everyone else except our boring, hopeless family. Walk into bedroom where folded, sorted laundry has been ransacked by youngest son looking for a very specific t-shirt which was eventually found—dirty-- in unpacked bag from spring break trip to beach. Re-sort and refold laundry and deliver to bedrooms. 9pm-10pm—Day is nearly over and I have exactly one pile of folded laundry to show for it. Day ends with sweaty dog walk, just as it started. Afterwards, sit down in chair as middle son asks, “What are we doing tomorrow?” Snarl at him until he backs away. More grumbling about our boring, hopeless family. Prove how truly boring and hopeless I am by falling asleep in chair 15 minutes later. Even in slumber, I can see the eye rolls that ensue.
Posted on: Mon, 07 Jul 2014 11:55:57 +0000
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