Countdown to School Starting

If you check in here from time to time and you see my Wednesday posts about crafts for kids during the summer you might get the impression that I'm a woman who welcomes summer with open arms because that means that I get to spend more time with my precious little ones. Because every moment away from them during the school year is one moment less that I get to practice being Mother of the Year.

Don't get me wrong, I love my children. Really, I do--I know because lately I've had to repeat that statement over and over 5o times each day to get through it.

Tell me, is there anyone else out there who is counting down the days until school starts like I am? I'm looking for a little comfort and cheap therapy here because I don't know if I can make it another six--oops! Woo hoo! I mean five days!

Grace has been an enormous help this summer, nothing wrong there. She'll whip up a batch of cookies for fun and spends a lot of time babysitting for our neighbors and Lillian too is pleasant to have around (generally). She's ready for kindergarten and is acting the way she has all year. No complaints. No, what I'm talking about is The Boys.

They're driving me crazy! They're so bored they don't know what to do with themselves so they begin to pick at each other and argue and grump over the stupidest things. What's that you say? Give them chores every time they act bored? Well that would be a fine idea if I thought my house could stand it. Let's see--where's my list of things to get fixed? I put it around here somewhere. Ah yes. Well first there was the hole in the playhouse door--I was gone when it happened but eyewitness accounts put Spencer at the scene.

Then there's the trampoline. Another hole, another $50 to patch (I know because I had to have another hole patched two years ago) but this time, no witnesses--nobody knows nothing but I'm guessing this has testosterone written all over it.

David and Spencer have been stemming off much of their boredom with their kendo swords (see this post if you're unsure what a kendo sword is) and that was fine except when I caught them whacking away at each other in the living room between the glass coffee table and the new vases I bought for the fireplace mantel (and yes, after all your suggestions I went with some red vases, and thanks they look lovely . . . but I digress). They looked at me as if I was the one with crazy written all over my face when I flipped out and marched them outside with the strict rule that never were they to play kendo swords inside the house again.

However, on the way outside David tossed his kendo sword on the couch (so he says) and the thing instead hit the wall behind the couch and made a hole that now needs to be patched. He came and told me what had happened very soberly but perked right up at the end. Looking as if he'd found a loophole in the law that was going to get him off squeaky clean he said very cheerfully, "Yea, Mom, but at least I told the truth, right? Right? RIGHT?" (We've been having problems along these lines but I won't go into that here). I'm not sure what he was expecting but I'm guessing that George Washington would still have got in major trouble too had he put a hole in his parents' wall with his kendo sword. Cherry tree schmerry tree. So you told the truth, you're still going to have to tell your father what you did when he comes home, you hear? And gimme that kendo sword, it's now officially contraband.

Today the boys were messing around in the garage and they somehow smashed the fluorescent light on the ceiling. Read that again slowly and think about what I'm saying. They smashed the fluorescent light. You have seen a fluorescent light bulb shatter haven't you? It's like a bomb going off, with glass shrapnel flying in a radius of a quarter mile in every direction. I guess I should be glad neither of them got hurt but I was cleaning up glass from every corner of the garage for half an hour and I'm still finding an occasional missed shard.

Oh! And the garage! That reminds me, I had another flat tire last week. You may not think this was anything unusual but I'll send you to read this post here and maybe you'll realize that it's not just coincidence when I get a flat tire. Let's just say that in 20 years of driving I'd never had a flat tire (well, except once) until I had a son who started pounding nails in the garage. Last summer we had four--so far this year? I think only two but I could have paid for a new set of tires for what all the patch jobs have cost me.

And last week? We're driving back from the library on the highway and it was hot and sunny. Spencer had his window down all the way and he was wearing Andrew's sunglasses that had been left in the car--something he'd been told not to do of course--when a big gust of wind whipped the too-large glasses off his face and blew them to an untimely death on the highway. Crunch.

Now before you think that we're letting them get away free and clear with all this destruction don't worry, they've had to pay for as much as they can but really now, how much money can you get from an eight year-old and a ten year-old without allowances? That's why I'm ready to forget the cash and just collect a pound or two of flesh.

Andrew called me at lunch today and while I was on the phone looking for love and relief the boys were messing around in the background. I don't know what they were doing, I was too tired and wiped out to bother refereeing or getting angry, but suddenly Andrew stopped the conversation and said, "Is that the boys making all that noise?" When I assured him that yes, the sounds he heard were in fact the fruits of his loins doing their best to promote Valium usage among housewives can you guess his response?

"Wow, I've only heard them for two minutes and they're driving me crazy. Good luck honey. See you at six."

Five days . . . five days . . . five days . . . where did I put the Valium?

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