The rabid days give us empty yogurt tubes and half eaten apple sauce pouches hiding and/or adhered in hidden places throughout the house. Soccer balls and the like abandoned and left to die in the yard. Bags, taken to the beach or pool and, if miraculously brought home instead of being forgotten in a friend’s car, are placed, still very much wet and sandy, on a hook in the hall like a corpse in a coffin, sans embalming, until the moldy stench announces itself.
You know it’s the rabid dog days of summer because, with the kids home, you go through approximately 281 more rolls of toilet paper. I’m not exaggerating on the number because I have been the one to replace every last frickety frackin’ one of them. The family must have missed the day of orientation where paper product replacement strategy was addressed. Tissues, toilet paper, paper towels, flushable cleaning cloths – all things that I have stockpiled in very accessible places, despite their messed up notion that these items are stored in a hidden dungeon with secret codes, security laser beams and armed guards in their way. There are a few other hours of orientation they missed, too. The sessions entitled, “I’m no Julie McCoy,” “This ain’t no frat house,” and “If you’re bored and you know it, use your $%*@ing brain.”
Surprisingly, (or maybe not so surprisingly for some) what raises my blood pressure even more than walking into a room where the tissue box, toilet paper roll or paper towel roll needs to be replaced, is walking into a room with the presence of empty or half empty, 1/4 empty, 2/3 empty (you get the picture) soda cans strewn about. First of all, I am still not really over the fact that my kids are allowed soda more than once or twice a week. When I was growing up this was a major treat, man. Special occasion. And when we did get to satisfy our pop parched lips on some carbonated goodness, it was because we were at a restaurant, which maybe happened once a month, or the grocery store had a deal going on Shasta. I take that back. The only time we actually bought cans of soda was when we went camping once a year. I know that in my house, these soda cans are not placed in my refrigerator by some sort of sugary drink fairy – I am buying it. But, I am buying it to be used sparingly and with restraint. I am buying it to mix with my Vodka. And when it’s 4:58 and momma needs her sippy cup and finds her ice box lacking, all is not well when the twelve pack she bought yesterday of her Lemon Lemon Sparking lemonade to blend with her Deep Eddy Sweet Tea Vodka, is empty.
Secondly, people keep telling me that it’s unrealistic to expect my kids to clean up after themselves. It’s a waste of time, they say. Just keep your house clean on your own and when your kids move into their own place , they will automatically desire to have the same level of cleanliness that was provided for them in their home, growing up, and will miraculously start picking up. Huh? If my kids can do what it takes to get to level 3,762 on whatever video game du jour they’ve got going on, or coordinate an Annie Leibovitz level selfie, they can muster the physical and mental capacity required to put their empty soda can in the ever loving recycling bin.
The car really takes a hit in the summer because, driving. Driving them to camps. Driving them to lessons. Driving them to ‘hang’ with friends. Driving them to anything that might entertain and distract them from the horror that is being at home. One would think that it would be easier to be aware of the horde of trash left in their wake in a more confined space. This would be false. Let’s just say that because 5/6 of the summer is behind us, if the car was a human it would look like it was suffering from the long term effects of a methamphetamine addiction.
Here are some thoughts that apparently go through the minds of my children:
The back pocket of this seat is the perfect location for the 739 pieces of what used to be a styrofoam cup.
This pile of clothes on the floor of the car from when I changed out of my golf gear into my swim trunks sure is kooshy for my feet. I think I’ll leave them there forever and ever.
I really like the sound that all these empty gatorade bottles make, rolling around back here.
The pocket of the car door is convenient for garbage. Semi gelatinous sticky things are ideal.
Here are some thoughts that do not go through their minds:
What would mom want me to do? (No, no. I don’t even need to go to an interpersonal level…..)
What would a creature with opposable thumbs do?
I would be able to find my shoes if I brought them into my house.
I can see clearly out of my window when I don’t wipe my fingers on it.
Let’s conclude by saying that if an Uber driver were to give my kids a rating, it would not be glowing.
I try real hard to strike a balance between unstructured and structured/organized activities for my precious babies. And let’s be honest, the money. These camps and lessons, don’t come free. Often times parents don’t even have the option of getting their kids out of the house for a few hours or a couple of weeks. Because I have the privilege of doing so, in the past I’ve experimented with the amount of time and when these activities happen. In other words, when and how much time we’ve done structured or unstructured stuff. But, no matter how I mess with the proportions, I’m not able to avoid the rabid dog days. The best thing I can do, is surrender to it. Just stand on the edge and fall back into it. Take deep breaths. Make daily calls to those in my same situation. Try not to loose my sh!# more than once a day and make a paper chain count down craft that ends on the first day of school.
Note: I am aware that other, much more advanced, I might add, portions of this country have already started school. We, whose children are enrolled in public school in MN, do not have that luxury bestowed us. Two. More. Weeks. Feel free to gloat if your kids are back in school, but send those of us still in the trenches some prayers, will ya? Thanks.
Talking Behind My Own Back 