Summer Is (Almost) a Bad Word

It's that time of the year, people. The time of the year when my sweet children are out of school for the summer and I just about have an anxiety attack at the thought of them spending all day at home with me, and, more dangerously, with each other. I know that they love each other. They really do. They laugh, they play, they serve each other in sweet and remarkable ways sometimes. But they are also related, which means that extensive periods of time together often result in disastrous and ridiculous blow-outs, leaving it up to me to referee their fights and disagreements with much more gusto than I actually want to have to muster. I shudder at the thought.

With a newborn last summer, we didn't do much of anything that involved leaving the house for any noteworthy amount of time, and, when we did, we certainly didn't do anything very fun. I am hoping against hope that a summertime schedule, along with some regular excursions to my parents' swimming pool and the Science Center this summer will work towards keeping all of us a little more sane and calm with each other. Or at least keep us from screaming at each other all day long for no real reason. (A mom can hope, right?)

I remember when school was out when I was a kid, my mom would relegate all of us to our respective rooms sometimes for days at a time because, as a whole, we could not get along, and it absolutely drove her crazy. At the time, I never really understood what I assumed was her lack of patience with us, but now, believe me, I get it. It wasn't that she wasn't patient. I am sure that every day she started with a significant measure of love, kindness, and patience, ready to take on a never-ending summer day with five children at home. But just as I am sure of that, I am also sure that every morning by about 10:00, with our relentless fighting, abhorrent messes, and miscellaneous drama, we had most definitely bled her dry of every good intention and patient gesture with which she had managed to start the day. Because that's what kids do, folks.

And now I'm on the other side. Instead of the bleeder, I've officially become the bled. Desperate to keep myself alive, I am hoping that excursions, schedules, and continued diversion are the key to not only surviving the summer, but somehow enjoying it.

But if you don't hear from me again, you'll know why.