Five Things I Learned The Hard Way This Summer

1) The spread is real. 

Here's the thing: I like my spread. I have four kids aged 4 to 12, and it’s cool that way. But did you know that a four year old's idea of summer fun is different than a 12 year old's idea of summer fun? I mean: can't they just morph to a common interest level, say the average of an 8 yr old development or so? THAT, I could deal with. I could go to google and type in “Summer Shit 8 Yr olds enjoy...” And BAM. That would be what we do together every single mother loving summer day. But no. I have a 4 yr old who cares about 4 yr old stuff. A 7 yr old who cares about 7 yr old stuff. A 10 yr old who cares about 10 yr old stuff. And a 12 yr old who is - well - a tween.

I was on a walk with a friend asking her if her oldest is such a damn party pooper all the time and she says, "What does your oldest say no to?" I said, "Well, just yesterday I tried to convince him to go to the zoo and when that got shot down I tried the splash park." And she's all like, "Tricia, those aren't age appropriate activities for someone who's 12." 

And I felt equal parts enlightened and pissed. Because I had to strap on a bathing suit and pretend to have fun stomping around in a concrete area at said splash pad that's basically a glorified sprinkler with my preschooler at the ripe, wrinkly age of 40... HOW COME MY KID CANT SUCK IT UP?? That’s the pissed response. The enlightened one was more ashamed, “You dunce... you’re not aging up with your kid. Get more creative and he’ll come alive.”

But I don’t know if you know this:  creativity and exhaustion don’t live together. Maybe I’ll just give him a sedative next time before I force him to dance around in the water with us. I know I’d have appreciated one.


2) You lose all ability to socialize normally.

On July 7, I managed to only be late to a hair cut appointment by 15 minutes. Luckily, Julie was still willing to make magic happen with my haircut. Now, Julie and I do very well together and normally - I’d like to think -  I am a bubbly force in her day. But on this particular day at this particular point in the summer, I really was having a hard time forming thoughts or sentences. I was trying really hard to follow her words and then make words of my own, but not really doing a bull's eye job. There was a pause between fragmented attempts at speech and she tried with this: “How was your fourth?” I immediately felt scrambled... how do I sum it up? So I went with, “She’s a force. She’s got straight blonde hair and gets wound up like a top faster than lightning and I’m convinced she’s quite definitively smarter than me.... [pause] She’s something.” 

I’m like: HOMERUN!! Self, you just nailed a character analysis in a coherent way in less then 45 minutes! I admit, I was sorta smug about my performance. 

Until Julie said: “Cool. I was meaning... like... the Fourth of July.”

We both laughed. Because sometimes insanity is funny.

#3) Plans to organize are for people who follow through. I am not one.

It was around the time I accidentally unearthed a bag of misfit game pieces and homeless legos and ridiculous pencils erasers I hadn’t remembered putting in Sullivan’s closet and hadn’t been touched FOR FIVE YEARS that I announce: WE ARE GOING TO SPEND THE FIRST WEEK OF SUMMER DEEP-TIDYING OUR ROOMS!

Each kid had an assigned day that first week of summer with my personalized attention and I was so excited about the blanket system. In the hall outside each room on Tidy Day lie three blankets. EVERYTHING in the bedroom gets hauled out. EVERYTHING. And placed on one of the three blankets: #1) items that belong elsewhere in this house, #2) items to pass along/donate, and #3) items that return to the bedroom in a place that makes sense. Oh, and a massive trash can for CRAP. 

And I did it! I did it, people! With every kid! (Lie: I worked from oldest down and by the time I got to Campbell I was tidy-ed out. Her room might this very second have apple cores in the closet for all I know). 

But - and here’s where I fail in most projects I start - I quit early. I’m picturing here BossBaby swiping the cookie back from the tubby baby’s hands: “Cookies are for closers.” Well, I don’t deserve a cookie, because I didn’t close. I got as far as consolidating all the rooms’ “donate” and “re-home in our house” items precariously stacked onto two blankets upstairs. 

The end.

That’s where they still are. 

That’s where they’ve been since June 6. 

So now, instead of having cluttered rooms, we have a cluttered hallway that blocks the rooms. 

Perfect.


#4) I have no love in my heart for showcasing.

Now that my kids sign up for summer stuff based on their interests, we have onboarded "specialty camps." Let me help you understand this... You pay a bagillion dollars for a five-day-long experience of 2-4 hours each day for your child to expand their knowledge in ________. Fill the blank with whatever you like: horseback-riding, pottery, ice-sculpting, the Steeplechase, bedazzling... if you can think it up, somebody's making money selling this stuff.

AND THEN ON THE LAST DAY (usually Friday, when all you want is a Bloody Mary) THEY REEL YOU BACK IN TO WATCH A "SHOWCASE." This summer, I've sat through a cooking class showcase, a rocket launch showcase, and a writer's symposium showcase. 

a) Do these people not get why I sign up for summer activities? (Teaser: Cuz I don't want to be an active participant in parenting for a chunk of time - all five days of it, please.)

b) I want my money back. At least 1/5 of it.

5) Every week is distinctly different. 

When people around me say things like, "We found our summer rhythm." I suddenly feel like I am not a native English speaker, because WTF. What. Foreign. Language. Are. You. Speaking.

Here’s rhythm. The school year goes as follows: It begins with specific daily start times and end times five days a week. 9 months go by. It ends. 

Here’s summer: one week the activity you sign up for is drop off at 9:12 and pick up at 12:44. Pack a lunch. No peanuts. Bring 8 forms on first day. The next week the activity is drop off is 11:00 but we’re going on a field trip so if you’re later than 11:10 we’ll leave without you and make sure you sunscreen, bring a lunch that’s vegan, a snack that’s under 4 ozs, have your immunization records tattooed behind your child’s ear, and only your spouse, your step-grandmother or your sister’s goldfish - all with background checks - are eligible to pick up. By the way, that’s at 5:22. 

Take weeks 1 and 2, add a bunch of other original, obscure details that one must take turns shedding then memorizing anew each weekend that buffers these bite-sized schedules and that’s what weeks 4-9 of summer look like too. 

I’d take Groundhog Day over and over over this level of freshness. 

Rhythm = August 12, the first day of school. 

Bring it. 

For other hilarity surrounding Summers Past, click here.

For