For the stay at home mom of two mini-defense-trail-lawyers, summer is our “bottom-line-year-end-push” for the “Brush your bleeping HAIR & TEETH”, Law Firm. Our bonus is calculated in our ability to keep loss prevention to a minimum. If we roll into the next school year with less than 15 new carpet stains, 7000 door slams, 46 orthodontic appointments and 6 mildewed towels that were repeatedly left to dry in “humidity”, we have exceeded expectations.
I am not setting the bar high this year. The notion of bringing my children to any venue in which they are not ceaselessly entertained, is like cleaning the court restroom with infant gum cleanser and organic Chia seeds. Summer equates to an afternoon of of sofa-bungee-jumping, hot-gun-Lego-gluing, and exercise-band-pulley-system-over-porch-railing, regardless of how hard I invariably tried to exhaust their fast-talking-locomotive-engineered souls. I am preparing myself for the sum of all variables to equal the futile rescue of a fitness ball from grips of “Operation Treadmill Implosion.”
I make summer more arduous than litigation. My husband says my pre-coffee morning banter is like death by a thousand paper cuts ..in the ocean.
I strive for simplicity. I aim for peaceful activities such as, baking nutritious foods where antioxidants dance on their discerning taste buds, while they proclaim their undying love for my culinary masterpieces.
I know need to let go of my stonewalled devotion of “winning” summer.
I over analyze the life out of life. I plan summer like a trial lawyer.. (hmm..wonder where my kids…)
How many sticky notes are on my fridge, bathroom mirror and front door? (a dozen) How many alarms do I set daily? (10) My phone calendar has chronic pop-ups of -“this conflicts with another event”..My pretty pale pink Mom calendar is destroyed by sharpies and exclamation points.
For example, I run with a friend dangerously early for my coffee depleted soul. My alarm was labeled as such “Rub Sally, mtthf –choose 1 or 2” My paper calendar just had her name written all over the place. We translated as the following:
“Run with Sally, Mon, Tues, Thur, or Fri, choose 1 or 2.” because I am not a morning person. Or an afternoon person. Or a night person. I’m kind of an 11-2 person.
I literally have LAUNDRY written on every sticky note. Laundry. Who “forgets to do” laundry? As though my “crisp” sticky notes will guide me to even “crisper” outfits, softly lain in drawers, ready for court. I’m pretty sure I broke the wrinkle-shield button on our dryer from over-use , so screw “crisp” starched clothes.
I do strive for “meditation-yogi-master”, where the cloud of sporadic thoughts nestled in my furrowed brow, morph into Zen-Clouds, transcending spirituality and float over my children in calming earth tones. I see Zen-like Moms, and I want to propose some type of sister-wife courtship arrangement, just to channel their inner Zen. No, husband, nothing else there, only a signed business contract. between busy moms where I can plead the fizzle on the mass procreation of laundry or the divorce court of socks..Seriously though, my husband has 75 DIFFERENT types of almost THE SAME type of black sock.
Last year, I wanted my son to be more of a reader so he could cultivate his trial lawyer skills so one day , his affluent law firm will fund our coastal retirement cottage. I had 5000 Summer Library leaflets glued to the fridge. We attended ONE library session thingy, 1 DAY before school commenced. Here is an example of 1 entry from his journal. “I will do nothing today” or “Mommy makes me angry” or ”Mommy is angry”.
I avidly read books. ok well I try to avidly read books. I love to read, but reading and “momming”, is like stripping and “library-ing”. They are not in the same career genre. I will however, hungrily ingest details of every Celebrity magazine during every Doctors appointment. I will tune out the lecture of how to expand, floss, and brush, while I recall the ”Who Wore It Best” court room debate silently, in the recesses of my brain.
Before children, summer meant vast open spaces of nothingness. Over spring break, I saw a young lady fast asleep on the beach and she laid motion-less for 2 full hours. I checked. I even contemplated waking her out of concern, or jealousy. My husband was on “child-watch”, so I took a 33.45 second nap and dehydrated myself in a puddle of drool. Karma is a B. The nothingness of my pre-child days is now socially compartmentalized litigation. Daily, I have to create a cyclical vortex of entertainment for my wide-eyed tranquility murderers. I just want to be able to complete a thought, a full thought, without someone trying to bellow out a closing argument as we are 10 minutes late to. .well, the pool….
What are your lofty plans this summer?
This blog is like the ridiculous sweater I bought at Anthropologie a few years ago. It was on sale and the sales lady told me "it looks awesome on you." It's the most bizarre sweater, and whether it looked good on me or not, is highly debatable. Like these blogs, I look at them at say "Yeesh, what was I thinking,," or laugh or bath in their cathartic qualities. The sweater stays for the same reasons.