I think we are finally in the thick of the summer.
I say this because apparently our little, somewhat northern state is having something of an identity crisis and thinks she is a country on the equator. Because the heat? I am completely over it. Remind me about this in January, when all I can do is complain about the cold, cold, cold, and WHY IS THERE SO MUCH SNOW?
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m never fully happy with the weather, unless it’s April.
We are also at that point in our summer break when getting up for your summer job is no longer something relished, but more of a giant life annoyance. As in, the boy had to be at work by 10:00 this morning, and we have to factor in eleven minutes for drive-time to the. It actually only takes us ten minutes to get to the golf course from our house, but my soul is comforted to know that if we take eleven minutes to drive the route, we’ll have time to deal with issues like long stoplights and flat tires and LOOK! LET’S SWING THROUGH STARBUCKS SUPER FAST, and still make it to work on time. That extra sixty seconds is crucial, y’all. The problem is that the boy had to be hauled out of bed at 9:25 this morning, by his mother. And then there was every manner of complaining about, “Why is life so hard?” And, “Why do I have to be at work so early?” He blinked like a vampire stepping into the sunlight for the first time, as I encouraged him to maybe HURRY HURRY HURRY!
And then my complaining began, because “Your brother got up at 5:55 this morning, and YOU used all the half-and-half last night, when you made some creamed corn recipe at 10:00 and dirtied up my pristine-clean kitchen, so I had no coffee.”
When you’re fifteen, you should never argue with an adult about how hard life is, because chances are high that she’ll be a touch envious of the days when 10:00 in the morning was considered SO EARLY. The last time that happened was on Tuesdays and Thursdays, of Mama’s senior year in college, when her first class didn’t start until 11:00 in the morning.
Bless those days.
And yes. We had no half-and-half this morning, which is equal to saying that we had no coffee this morning. I’ve decided that I don’t like coffee so much as I like the sugar and cream in the cup. Coffee is just the acceptable transportation method of getting those other things into my system.
So how is my week panning out?
Well, after spending a sweet forever vacuuming yesterday, Thing 2 decided to haul out his giant tub of homemade Play-Doh first thing this morning. It was way before 10 AM, because by 10:00 in the morning, Thing 2 has already staged wars and won victories and is thinking about lunch. He made one lengthy Play-Doh road, and then proceeded to drive thirty-six tractors across it, at speeds not normally seen in John Deeres, in their efforts to get to the field for haying. He marveled at every single tire track stamped into that doh. After the Audubon was squished back up, he decided to make tiny, microscopic balls out of his Play-Doh, which were then scattered everywhere on the floor, as he proclaimed, “Are you watching, Ma? Are you watching? Ma! Are you watching? I’m planting seeds!”
In other words, “Happy vacuuming again today, Mama, but go ahead and wait until the doh dries out a little. No one every vacuums up fresh Play-Doh.”
So that’s kind of what raising kids is like, for those of you who haven’t crossed the threshold into parenting yet. You clean your kitchen for the night right after dinner, and you make it sparkle. You step back and you kind of high-five yourself, because DANG! Look at ALL THIS CLEAN. And then, at 10:00 that same night, someone will come in with a wild hair to cook creamed corn FROM SCRATCH. Why? Why, people? You can BUY creamed corn in cans, just like the Good Lord and the Jolly Green Giant intended! This kitchen intruder will use every pan you own and ALL the half-and-half, and suddenly you get to wake up with a sink full of dirty dishes (“The dishwasher was already RUNNING, Ma! Or I would’ve put the pans in there!”) and no coffee to help you deal. And then you spend hours vacuuming, and the Play-Doh comes out.
Give thanks for the messes, because it means Hubs and I are still enjoying our children at home, before they fly the nest.
Or something like that.
Also? When it gets really hot outside?
Well, sometimes it’s just best to turn the little peanuts loose in the town’s fountains with their bikes.
The honest truth is…
… we’re still enjoying summer around here, y’all.
Creamed corn and Play-Doh and all.