Our Summer So Far

I'm not sure when, exactly, I'm going to feel less surprised when, come each June of my adulthood, I discover I don't get summer vacation. At least, not in the traditional sense. I might take a little vacation during the summer - in fact, I'm going to Chicago for (count 'em!) 5 long days at the end of August - but there won't be any lazy days with nothing to do except swat at mosquitoes.

So be it, I guess. Work is a year-round thing.

I know most of you are probably in the same boat as me, so I'm not trying to sound like a baby. I mean, I have babies. I change their diapers. I know how annoying they are.

Anyway, consider this a catch-up post, or, as I like to call it: What I Did on My Summer Vacation - So Far. You can tell me if it's just my imagine, or if it's truly sucked.

1) Elan graduated nursery school. I couldn't enjoy said graduation because I had righteously ignored the school's request not to bring younger siblings to the event. Ariel, who I'd assumed was far more mature than they were giving him credit for, became incredibly jealous of the attention bestowed on his brother, and saw the evening as his Big Chance to assert our Mommy-Baby love for one another in a public forum. He not only insisted I hold his 35-pound load - standing - throughout the 45 minute ceremony, but also took the opportunity to forcefully kiss me on the lips. Or cry. You choose.

2) Ariel made promising strides at potty training. And then pooped on Elan's bedroom floor.

3) We found two roaches in our house. My husband - all 6 foot 3 of him - panicked, cried like a 9 year old girl, and let one get away. Alive.

5) Y became a gardener in his abundant spare time. He spent hours one Sunday carefully planting colorful flowers of different varieties in circular rows around our front tree. Due (I'm guessing) to the heat, they are now almost all dead.

6) Speaking of trees, I discovered, much to my delight, that the Mystery Fruit Tree in my backyard was growing nectarine! They were about a week away from perfectly ripe. A week later, the tree was bare, due (I'm guessing) to the same animals that have littered my yard with thousands of apples from our two out-of-control apple trees. Um, a house? = A ton of work.

7) We went to Big Bear for the weekend, up in the mountains, and stayed in an incredible log cabin mansion in the forest. We had perfect weather and a view to die for. I, naturally, had altitude sickness the entire time and could barely stand.

8) Elan swallowed a ball.

9) We lost our turtle.

10) Elan got Hand, Foot & Mouth Disease. So did Y. We spent the Fourth at Burbank's Urgent Care.

11) We paid for a week and a half of camp that Elan didn't attend.

12) I went to Home Depot, twice, to be largely ignored, twice. Apparently, women are not any more welcome at Home Depot than they are at a Fantasy Football club meeting. I tried looking cute and dumb and tried flattering every burly guy in an orange bib into helping me, and it didn't work at all. Instead, the guys in the orange bibs literally rolled their eyes at me when I asked for assistance with stuff like, you know, cutting an 8'x4' hunk of plywood in half, like Typical. Chick can't even manage heavy machinery without crying about it. I walked around muttering, under my breath, "You can do it - we WON'T effing help."

13) I tried to build an outdoor pen for Mr. Turtley with aforementioned sheets of plywood. The walls had to be at least a foot deep in the ground so he couldn't dig himself out. In 90-degree heat, digging is a lot harder than it looks. After an hour of hitting tree roots and stubbing my shins on rocks, I was sick and dizzy and defeated. When I finally came in, soaked with sweat and covered in dirt, collapsing in the Lazy Boy inherited from Y's grandfather and screaming "I GIVE UP!", Y actually laughed at the sight of me. Not his smartest move. He saved himself by closing his laptop and offering to take over, spent about five minutes digging before proclaiming the mission moot; apparently, there was no need, as the plot of land was underscored by cement. Mr. Turtley had no way to dig himself out. Which meant, of course, that the plywood pieces were way too tall. Which meant Home Depot - and my associated self-esteem shattering, glass-ceiling struggle - had been pointless.

14) Ariel, when told that he talks quite a bit for his age, took to replying "Yup, and I do shows, too!" His shows involve, mainly, "flips" (re: somersaults). He's also taken to inventing a false history for himself, most stories involving my mother. He finds a friend's kid's pacifier on the floor in our family room and scoops it up, announcing "Oh yes, yes. My pacifier. Bubbie gave it to me when I was a baby and I used it all the time." The child never took a pacifier for a moment of his babyhood. When asked if he knew what fireworks were: "Oh, yes, yes. My Bubbie took me to see fireworks when I was much younger, a very little baby." Never happened. When Maroon 5's "She Will Be Loved" comes on the radio, it's "Oh, yes, yes. This song. I remember this song from when Bubbie sang it to me when I was a little baby. My Bubbie teached'ed me ALL the best songs She wiiiiill be loved...."

My mother claims to feel a little guilty getting so much credit where it's not entirely due, but I told her to just TAKE IT. Own it, baby. Ariel can be convincing.

And that pretty much brings me to tonight. It's 9:30 and I still need to fill out scholarship applications, call the life insurance guy, call the alarm system guy, grocery shop, and plan Elan's 5th birthday party. Which, I can tell already, is not going to be anywhere near snake cake caliber. Oh, and I've got no entertainment ideas. Any suggestions?

I think instead of doing any of that, I'll go outside and read on the patio. And maybe swat a couple of mosquitoes.