I can't believe I'm going to say this; I can't even believe I would think it, but, I think I kinda, sorta, maybe,can'twaitforsummertoend.
I don't mean the good stuff: like sipping a glass of wine with friends out on the patio while the kids splash in the pool; or staying at the beach all day and part of the night; or, eating fried clams, fresh tomatoes and peaches until I can't eat anymore; or enjoying the peace and quiet of the sunporch in the morning.
I mean the other stuff: like spending my entire day off ferrying my kids to their next adventure in New Hampshire, Cape Cod and Nantucket; or not knowing at four o'clock who, or what, I am going to serve for dinner; or heat and humidity that will curl your hair before you even open the bathroom door in the morning. That's what I'm talking about!
I miss summer the way it used to be or, at least, the way I remember it: like when we played "SPUD" with the other kids in the neighborhood until the streetlights came on in the evening; or when all I had to carry to the beach was a shovel and a pail; or when I would have been perfectly fine eating ice cream for dinner; and when, if it got too hot, I just jumped in the pool without a thought to what my hair would look like when I got out!
Maybe what I want is not for summer to end but for it to really begin.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
the adolescent part of the summer
This is the adolescent part of the summer.
The time when all those cute little plants I put in the ground just over a month ago suddenly shoot up into lanky, gangly monsters that threaten to take over the garden in an angry coup. It is the time, too, when my garden tries to run wild beyond the boundaries to which I have confined it. And, it is the time when crabgrass, the acne of any lawn or garden, seems to sprout up overnight, forcing me to my hands and knees every morning.
Soon enough, though, the summer will come to a close and these "monsters" will begin to whither and fade. And, eventually, there will be fewer and fewer weeds until, they too, die out. And so, I tell myself, maybe this stage, like any adolescence, is something simply to be gotten through; something to be endured in order to reap the harvest at the end.
The time when all those cute little plants I put in the ground just over a month ago suddenly shoot up into lanky, gangly monsters that threaten to take over the garden in an angry coup. It is the time, too, when my garden tries to run wild beyond the boundaries to which I have confined it. And, it is the time when crabgrass, the acne of any lawn or garden, seems to sprout up overnight, forcing me to my hands and knees every morning.
Soon enough, though, the summer will come to a close and these "monsters" will begin to whither and fade. And, eventually, there will be fewer and fewer weeds until, they too, die out. And so, I tell myself, maybe this stage, like any adolescence, is something simply to be gotten through; something to be endured in order to reap the harvest at the end.
Monday, July 12, 2010
bed bugs!
It used to be as I tucked my children into bed I would say that little rhyme: "Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite." But, not any more. Because, guess what? We have bed bugs. And they do bite, no matter what you do.
Okay. I'm not 100 percent sure we have bed bugs, but it sure feels that way. Here's what happened: It seems that after we picked Daisy up from camp on Saturday the maintenance crew discovered a "few" live bed bugs in her cabin. We were notified that afternoon, but, for various reasons, we never got the message until late last night.
Fortunately, I had thrown all her clothes and bedding into the washing machine the minute she got home which should, according to some websites, eliminate any hangers-on. Unfortunately, I did not put her favorite stuffed animal (which I begged her to take) or her best pillow in the washing machine but instead, THREW THEM BACK ON HER BED.
So now her room is stripped down to the bare bones. She even picked up the clothes that seem to stay on the floor permanently no matter the season. And our driveway is littered with black trash bags full of camp gear baking in the hot summer sun. I have not seen a bug yet, nor do I think I want to. But, just in case, I have programed a twenty-four hour exterminator into my cell phone.
Tonight, and for the next several nights, I think I will aim my bed bug pleas not at my children but a little bit higher: Please, oh please, God, do not let the bed bugs bite!
Okay. I'm not 100 percent sure we have bed bugs, but it sure feels that way. Here's what happened: It seems that after we picked Daisy up from camp on Saturday the maintenance crew discovered a "few" live bed bugs in her cabin. We were notified that afternoon, but, for various reasons, we never got the message until late last night.
Fortunately, I had thrown all her clothes and bedding into the washing machine the minute she got home which should, according to some websites, eliminate any hangers-on. Unfortunately, I did not put her favorite stuffed animal (which I begged her to take) or her best pillow in the washing machine but instead, THREW THEM BACK ON HER BED.
So now her room is stripped down to the bare bones. She even picked up the clothes that seem to stay on the floor permanently no matter the season. And our driveway is littered with black trash bags full of camp gear baking in the hot summer sun. I have not seen a bug yet, nor do I think I want to. But, just in case, I have programed a twenty-four hour exterminator into my cell phone.
Tonight, and for the next several nights, I think I will aim my bed bug pleas not at my children but a little bit higher: Please, oh please, God, do not let the bed bugs bite!
Friday, July 9, 2010
SAT pain
Amelia is studying for the SATs this summer which, of course, means I am too.
The other day, her vocabulary words were all words having to do with softening pain: ameliorate, mitigate, pacify, assuage.
I asked her, "why do you think there are so many words for softening pain?"
"I have no idea," she said, looking rather pained herself.
"Maybe," I said, "there is a lot of pain in the world."
"Or, maybe," she said, looking right at me, "people just don't like to be in pain."
"True enough," I said. True enough.
The other day, her vocabulary words were all words having to do with softening pain: ameliorate, mitigate, pacify, assuage.
I asked her, "why do you think there are so many words for softening pain?"
"I have no idea," she said, looking rather pained herself.
"Maybe," I said, "there is a lot of pain in the world."
"Or, maybe," she said, looking right at me, "people just don't like to be in pain."
"True enough," I said. True enough.
Friday, July 2, 2010
ten again!
I have been spending a lot of time with Lilly lately which is a good thing. She has been teaching me how to be ten years old, again.
How to look at each day as an opportunity to have fun and not just a chance to get things done. How to dive into a swimming pool without worrying about my hair and eat ice cream without counting the calories. How to hold a live clam in the palm of my hand without getting too grossed out and how to laugh at things that are funny (like a good joke) as well as things that shouldn't be (like whoopie cushions and farts).
Sometimes, when I am with Lilly, I am reminded of myself at that age. Like when she asks to rearrange the furniture in her room. again. Or when she rails against the injustices of being the youngest child. Or when she talks and talks and talks when no one else is around.
Sometimes, too, when I think about Lilly, I think about the me that could be, full of life and laughter and imagination. The ten-year-old that still lives on inside of me, somewhere.
How to look at each day as an opportunity to have fun and not just a chance to get things done. How to dive into a swimming pool without worrying about my hair and eat ice cream without counting the calories. How to hold a live clam in the palm of my hand without getting too grossed out and how to laugh at things that are funny (like a good joke) as well as things that shouldn't be (like whoopie cushions and farts).
Sometimes, when I am with Lilly, I am reminded of myself at that age. Like when she asks to rearrange the furniture in her room. again. Or when she rails against the injustices of being the youngest child. Or when she talks and talks and talks when no one else is around.
Sometimes, too, when I think about Lilly, I think about the me that could be, full of life and laughter and imagination. The ten-year-old that still lives on inside of me, somewhere.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
summer
The other day, I had a to-do list that was a mile long. Working, I've discovered, can really cut into your productive time.
When I got home, I went upstairs, changed my clothes and got ready to get some things done, starting with a few long overdue emails. As I neared the computer, I spotted Lilly, head in hands.
"What's up?" I asked, half looking at her and three-quarters looking at the computer.
"Nothing," she said. "Just the most boring summer...EVER!" Mind you, it was only the first full day of summer vacation.
"That's no fun," I said, trying to sound the least bit sympathetic. "What would make it better?"
"If we could DO something," she moaned.
"Like...." I said, finally turning to look at her.
"I don't know," she mumbled just as a great, big, giant teardrop slid down her cheek, leaving a little trail through the dirt and smearing my mental to-do list.
"How 'bout," I said, in a rather uncharacteristic display of spontaneity, "we play some tennis. At the high school?" Which, really, was a stupid question. Because, asking Lilly to do something with me that does not involve a shopping cart or a vacuum cleaner is like asking a dog if he wants to go for a ride. And offering to play tennis with her, on a public court, is like throwing a t-bone steak in the car first.
"Yeah," she said, brightening. So, while I went upstairs to change my clothes, again, she packed the car complete with tennis racquets, tennis balls and water bottles.
When we got to the courts they were fairly empty which was a good thing since one court is just not big enough for me. Or Lilly. When we got tired of chasing the balls around, we started stuffing them in our shorts to see who looked sillier (me) and drank water out of a tiny hole in the bottom of one of our bottles to see who could get more(Lilly). And we pretended to be really good players with a lightning fast serve. And we laughed. More than anything, we laughed.
On the way home I thought: this was way better than email.
This is summer.
When I got home, I went upstairs, changed my clothes and got ready to get some things done, starting with a few long overdue emails. As I neared the computer, I spotted Lilly, head in hands.
"What's up?" I asked, half looking at her and three-quarters looking at the computer.
"Nothing," she said. "Just the most boring summer...EVER!" Mind you, it was only the first full day of summer vacation.
"That's no fun," I said, trying to sound the least bit sympathetic. "What would make it better?"
"If we could DO something," she moaned.
"Like...." I said, finally turning to look at her.
"I don't know," she mumbled just as a great, big, giant teardrop slid down her cheek, leaving a little trail through the dirt and smearing my mental to-do list.
"How 'bout," I said, in a rather uncharacteristic display of spontaneity, "we play some tennis. At the high school?" Which, really, was a stupid question. Because, asking Lilly to do something with me that does not involve a shopping cart or a vacuum cleaner is like asking a dog if he wants to go for a ride. And offering to play tennis with her, on a public court, is like throwing a t-bone steak in the car first.
"Yeah," she said, brightening. So, while I went upstairs to change my clothes, again, she packed the car complete with tennis racquets, tennis balls and water bottles.
When we got to the courts they were fairly empty which was a good thing since one court is just not big enough for me. Or Lilly. When we got tired of chasing the balls around, we started stuffing them in our shorts to see who looked sillier (me) and drank water out of a tiny hole in the bottom of one of our bottles to see who could get more(Lilly). And we pretended to be really good players with a lightning fast serve. And we laughed. More than anything, we laughed.
On the way home I thought: this was way better than email.
This is summer.
Monday, June 7, 2010
30--no make that 27--lunches to go
I have taken to counting down the school year not in days or weeks but in lunches.
"Only thirty more lunches to pack," I told my daughter at breakfast today.
That's:
15 bagels (5 with cream cheese and 10 with butter)
4 cartons of juice boxes
2 giant boxes of Goldfish crackers, rainbow
2 quarts of strawberries, cut
4 boxes of Special K bars
10 Odwalla bars
"Won't you make lunch for us over the summer," Lilly asked, doe-eyed, at the bus stop.
"Nope," I said. They don't call it summer vacation for nuthin'.
"Only thirty more lunches to pack," I told my daughter at breakfast today.
That's:
15 bagels (5 with cream cheese and 10 with butter)
4 cartons of juice boxes
2 giant boxes of Goldfish crackers, rainbow
2 quarts of strawberries, cut
4 boxes of Special K bars
10 Odwalla bars
"Won't you make lunch for us over the summer," Lilly asked, doe-eyed, at the bus stop.
"Nope," I said. They don't call it summer vacation for nuthin'.
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