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needing a vacation after my vacation

June 28, 2012

Obviously, it’s summer. The rising heat is a clear indicator.  It’s supposed to hit 100 this week. The days are long, Facebook is over-filled with vacation pictures, and the kids are out of school. I’ve said it before: I love when my kids are home. School feels like such a hassle sometimes, and after school activities will drive even Mother Theresa to an insane asylum.

They’re just so around. They’re underfoot while I cook dinner. They follow me in to the bathroom. They’re with me at the grocery store. I’ve even taken them to work.

Let me put a disclaimer out there for anyone who has anything negative or argumentative to say:  I love my kids. I wouldn’t abuse my kids. I’m thankful that I have my kids. They’re mostly good kids, and they really are best friends. I take care of them, even feeding them regularly. I’ve been nominated for Mother of the Year twice. There. We good?

The fighting has commenced. I wouldn’t mind a couple of underachievers, but it seems to be a skill set they’ve mastered. It’s all typical sibling stuff.

The Girl, to The Boy: I’m ignoring you until tomorrow! (sweet!)


She is now reduced to a puddle of tears, so I explain the age-old process of sibling annoyance. I tell her that she shouldn’t cry when he tries to irritate her, and HEY WHAT HAPPENED TO THE WHOLE IGNORING THING?  She tells me that he’s just so annoying, and he won’t stop saying LALALA. I say that I know how she feels (‘cause I do, like, right now), but if we let him know that we are bothered, he will be very happy.  She wipes her tears, and we look up to see The Boy, with a satisfied ear-to-ear grin.  He is pleased. We’re now all on silent lunch.

So the days go like that. A few minutes later, they are happily plotting their next adventure.

Honestly, it was more than a few minutes. The Girl is the slowest eater on the planet. Ever. I’ve heard the “she’ll eat when she’s hungry” bit, and I know she won’t starve. I understand that. I’m convinced that her sole motive is to torture Mama.  She repeatedly asks how many more bites she has to take before she’s done. We used to tell her to eat her dinner until we say she’s done, but she seems to like a specific number. Now we tell her to eat twenty bites or something and at that point she’s pretty much eaten her whole dinner. Whatever it takes.

The Boy, despite being one of the smartest human beings I’ve ever met, can’t locate his own hands unless they’re labeled. Every time we leave the house, we spend fifteen minutes looking for something that is essential to the specific trip. This morning he was upset because his goggles for swim team were lost. Yesterday he had them, he left them right there, and now they’re gone.  I offer my sweet motherly support and say, “Well, Boy, you obviously didn’t leave them right there, because unless they sprouted legs and walked away, your theory has some major big holes.”

I guess that works, because he starts looking for them.  By “looking” I mean slowly turning around in a circle, eyes midway up the wall, so there’s no way he will ever see the goggles. Call us strange, but we don’t have a regular practice of mounting our swim gear on the walls in our den. I try to give him one more chance, because I’ve spotted the goggles. I’m all for teaching my kid independence, so I say “DO YOU REALLY NOT SEE THEM?” He looks at me, dumbfounded. I walk over to him, lift his foot, and remove the goggles from underneath it.

I consider all of this to be a minor roadblock in an otherwise fun summer. We have gone to the pool, seen movies and sporting events, played with friends, and we still get to go to the beach. Everyone tells me how good they are, so I think they just want to torment me (the one who gave them life!). I can handle it, but don’t go calling DFACS if you hear me yelling.  Actually, if they take my kids, is it a one night deal, or like a forever thing? I’d like to get them back, but a little break every now and then might not be so bad.  KIDDING.

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