Summer vacation already, are you sure?

Today is the day, the last day of school. The air smells of excited kids and anxious parents. What am I going to do with them home all summer? You are probably asking yourself that same question. I know I am. Are there enough summer activities for them to do to keep them from driving me crazy? There isn’t enough stuff to do under the sun to keep me sane over summer vacation. I think my sanity returns every year to “normal” around March, just in time for a couple of nice months of clarity before I loose it again to summer vacation.
The kids have summer activities planned: golf lessons, library visits, playground trips, swimming lessons, picnics, beach days, summer camp, hikes, music lessons, vacation Bible school, Scout meetings, and maybe a museum trip or two. My head swims with keeping everyone’s schedules straight. This doesn’t even include anything of Max’s or mine. Our summer calendar looks crazy busy. I know it looks like a lot of activities, but six days into summer vacation, I’m going to get hit with a whinny, “I’m bored. There’s nothing to do.” Heaven forbid, they just go outside and play or read (“read, are you kidding, its summer vacation mom. Geeze!”)
Remember summer vacation when we were young? I think I spent most of the day outside playing, building forts, exploring and in the evenings the baths left dirt rings in the tub. I remember running barefoot everywhere. The souls of my feet getting thick and tough, and not being able to even find my shoes for church on Sunday. A trip to DQ was a treat and Saturday mornings were prime cartoon time. I’m getting wistful just thinking about the freedom of summer vacation. Maybe this summer won’t be too bad…

Kids Figure Out Some Things Just Too Young

Kids figure out some just things too young. They pick up on ulterior motives and fibs. This past weekend the kids were fighting in the house and driving me crazy. I sent them out into the balmy spring weather on a hunt to find a broken Robin’s egg. I told them the beautiful blue Robin’s egg was “somewhere out under the trees.” The house was peaceful, at least for a while. After a thirty-minute unsuccessful hunt, the kids trudged back in the house. Their previous argument was long forgotten as the kids discussed bird vs. dinosaur eggs. Tess, my four year old, walked away from the egg discussion and bluntly asked me, “was there really an egg, or were you just lying to get us to go outside?” Bingo, give that girl a prize. It sure didn’t take her long to figure out my sneaky motives.
It reminded me of the time that my oldest son Leif, also came to that same conclusion. He was six years old and desperate for a pet turtle. He asked several times a day, everyday for many weeks. A weaker parent might have given in, but not me— Super Mom. I always answered, “we’ll see.” I must have been saying this a lot because when his younger brother asked for a fish and I said, “we’ll see,” Leif turned to his little brother and said, “ ‘we’ll see’ really means no.” Kids figure out some things just too young.

The Zen of Lawn Mowing

I live in the country and (I don’t mean to brag, but) I have a huge yard. My husband Max used to be the official lawn mower. A few years ago, we had a patch of daisies grow free in the lawn. I loved the wild and pretty look of them and pointed them out to Max and asked him to mow around them. Max mowed around them one week and then the next week forgot. I was walking by the window and noticed he was headed straight for the daisies. I pounded on the window and shouted, “The daisies! Don’t mow the daisies! The daisies!” Max couldn’t hear me over the lawn mower, but the neighbors across the road heard me. I saw them look up from their gardening, point and smile. I’m sure I looked like a crazy woman, they were probably thinking, there goes that weird woman—again. I could either put a picket fence around the daisy patch (which would just be silly) or mow the yard myself. I choose the less ridiculous option and that was the start of my future as the new official lawn mower of the family. A strange thing happened; I discovered I love to mow. I know it might seem strange to some people, but I love the Zen of lawn mowing. It’s interrupted alone time and my form of meditation. Nobody asking for more juice or asking me to wipe his or her butt. I mow different designs into the grass; figure eights are my favorites. I think about life, make decisions and smile at the strange songs that are usually stuck in my head. Yesterday it was “Henry the Eighth.” Don’t be too quick to judge me; I’m happy and pretty much harmless.

Flower Sniffer

There’s just something about lilacs. They smell so good. I find myself running up to them and sticking my face into the flowers and breathing deeply. Out in public (who cares how crazy I look in the privacy of my own yard) I must look like a maniac. Running from lilac bush to lilac bush with a stupid grin on my face, smelling the flowers. Rose bushes do the same thing to me. They leave me powerless to walk by without smelling them and smiling. Forget a quick trip to Como’s Conservatory. I can spend hours in bliss with my face buried in the plants. They even have herbs and fruit tress to enjoy.
I’m in Heaven at greenhouses too, wandering up and down the isles. The sales people eye me suspiciously. They’ve seen my kind before. “Can I help you find something? You’ve been looking for over two hours.” They can recognize a flower sniffer when they see one.

Crank Up The Radio

I have a theory: you can tell the age of a parent by what songs the kids sing. I was a young adult during the 1990’s— when grunge rock ruled. My hubby, Max liked the harder rock. As teen, we both loved punk. These music choices are mirrored in what our kids love. For example, Tom, my six year old, sings songs from Nirvana. ‘Heart Shaped Box’ is his favorite. There is something adorable hearing a six-year-old singing, “Hey, wait, I gotta new complaint.”
Oscar, my ten year, old likes Black Sabbath. He loves anything from the Paranoid album, and cranks up the radio when ‘Iron Man’ comes on. When Leif was the same age, he also loved them and the first CD he bought with his own money was Black Sabbath’s Paranoid. I was so proud; Leif loved classic rock (and not rap.) I bragged to family members, “My boy just bought his first Black Sabbath CD. He knows good music when he hears it!” My Brother-in-law Chuck quickly brought me back down to Earth when he said, “Ahh, Black Sabbath, the first step to a 12 step program.”
Leif has moved on from classic rock to scary stuff. Slip Knot and other creepy bands are now his favorites. I can’t complain too much. I blasted some pretty interesting music when I was his age. Compared to Leather Nun and The Sex Pistols, Slip Knot is tame.

Ah, Track And Field Day

Today was a glorious track and field day. I live in a small town and “Field Day” is an annual right of spring. The school hangs up posters listing the past winners all the way back to the 1970’s. The kids compete in all the usual events and it’s a real community tradition. The school fields are pure chaos; kids run this way and that. Parents and grandparents bring coolers and picnic lunches and spend the whole day watching and visiting. Concessions stands sell lemonade and popcorn, and everyone who is anyone is there. The unbridled joy of kids running amok fills the air and everyone enjoys the excitement. Another tradition is for the kids to autograph each other’s shirts.
My family is no exception. I took Tess and we went and spent the day watching Oscar and Tom compete. It was a beautiful day, the sun was out and sunscreen applied. Towards the end of the day, Oscar took his purple Sharpie marker and drew a purple mustache on himself. I saw this and said, “Dude, that’s a permanent marker. It’s going to have to wear off.” Oscars response was to smile and draw on another. He now has two purple mustaches. Just in time for a family Baptism on Sunday. Life with kids is never boring.

Kids Say The Funniest Things

These are things my kids really have said. It's proof that have the funnies kids around.

For breakfast I asked which kind of cereal the kids wanted. “I want the cereal that turns my poop green.” Tess was talking about Trix, and yes it does turn your poop green.

My teen son, Leif has hair that is wild and curly. He's wearing it in the 'too long and in your eyes' look. Last week I was asking when we could get it trimmed. He pulled his bangs up into pony tail on the top of his head and said, "Maybe I should just wear a pony tail up here? What do you think, it's a smokin' hot look. " I took a picture, but I love him too much to embarrass him by posting it.

Tom was complaining about eating dinner. “I don’t like this,” he whined. Oscar, my ten year old, responded with, “Well, do you think John McCain doesn’t like not being president? Just eat it.” Oscar is such a savvy ten year old, I can see he has a bright future as a writer.