The Light at the End of the Summertime Tunnel
I have to listen to that whistle until the end of August. Somebody hold me, please.
Fortunately, we live on a street filled with kids who’ll also be complaining of impending death from boredom, so I can always slather her with sunscreen and shoo her outside. I won’t lock the doors though, like my mother did to us. (Anybody else’s mother ever do that?)
I’m already admittedly the meanest mom in the whole damn town, and at no other time am I meaner than summertime. But I’m not just mean to other people’s kids, I’m mean to my own. Or so I’m told.
Because while I’m all in favor of getting the kids outside for some fresh air, I’m also eager to take advantage of the free child labor I’ve got right here under my roof.
You have no clean clothes? Bring down your laundry hamper!
You can’t find your shoes? Clean out your closet!
You’re bored? Scrub the toilet in your bathroom!
You think I’m kidding? Toilet scrubbing is the new Friday afternoon activity around here. Want to go outside and play? Scrub every last inch of that potty, then wash your hands and you’re free.
Sure, it’s summer vacation. It’s her time to kick back and relax. She doesn’t have to be up and dressed and out of the house every morning only to sit at a desk off and on for several hours. She can lie around in her jammies and forget to bathe. That’s what swim practice is for anyway, right?
But she’s established so many great habits over the school year. She’s gotten really good at taking on responsibility. I don’t want her to lose that. And yeah, I could use some help keeping up with the household.
I know a few chores will cut into her lemonade stand time. But it’s a drop in the bucket compared to the days and days of summer stretching out ahead of us.
We’ll both be counting the days.