Bombs Bursting

Catching up after That Man was home for FIVE WHOLE DAYS over the Fourth, which was great, a culture shock in some ways, but ultimately, really nice for us all. Lots of family beach outings ensued, and soccer in the back yard and movies, and That Man being helpful with all things domestic. But lest you think me/us perfect in some, um, perfect kind of way, there was also much boozing that kept the grown-ups laughing and carrying-on. And there were fireworks. Which I chatted through.

So now life is back to post-holiday normal, and by that, I mean messy house, less than nutritious dinners, a whining three year old and That Man gone again on a business trip.

Did I mention that I have forgone camps this summer? The notion started one crabby morning at the end of the school year, when lying in bed, I thought, “Wouldn’t it be great to go nowhere today? Wouldn’t it be nice to do nothing?”

(Note to future self: not ALL thoughts are meant to be acted upon.)

But the notion hung on (and the bank account confirmed) and so the mantra “no camps will be good for us all” remained the mantra. My kids want to be with me most of the time, after all, so until they don’t, let’s go for it. Let’s spend some time without distraction. I’ll practice what I have preached too often: kids need to learn how to play – with nothing, with grass, or dirt, or a pad of paper and some tape.

It is grand ideas like these that make one realize how much bigger the word “practice” is than “preach”.

So... I find sneaky ways amidst the not so gentle admonitions of “I am not here to entertain you, remember?” to get my proverbial ya-yas out. My glue gun works wonders with fabric (I can’t sew), so after trips (with all three kids – fun!!) to FancyPants textile store ($109 a yard?? who buys that?) and Wal-Mart (with a trip to the pool along the way), I get my voila! I also get some burned fingered tips, but the two-day transformation is complete -- apparently only for me, as no one said a word about the living room re-do. But that’s beside the point.

The brussel sprouts, given to me by Annie in tiny 2-inch pots, are gigantic now — a not-so-subtle reminder that summer is underway and maybe even passing faster than we think, but mostly an awesome architectural feature in the garden. Which needs weeding and pruning. Maybe tomorrow.

Right now I need to disinfect the musty towels, gather up all the toys and garbage and what-not that is splattered across my driveway, remind my son not to pee in the trash can (wicker one, no less), empty the dishwasher, fill it up again and see if I can find two kids’ shoes that match.

And figure out what to do tomorrow.