Summer vacation isn’t nearly as fun as it used to be. Now that I have children, long, lazy days with no beginning or end have lost most of their appeal. Summer for them rarely begins much before 10 (and for some as late as noon) and the list of chores I leave in the morning are really little more than suggestions for filling the lingering spaces between the hours of 9 and 4.
I find myself oscillating between wanting a maid or a drill sergeant--the crux of many working mothers. We are capable of doing it all but fail miserably at delegating. And our children, somehow unforeseen to us, are quite comfortable in letting us do for them. I can’t tell you how many times my kids have mindlessly picked up their feet as I vacuumed around them completely intent on what was happening on the video screen yet oblivious to my silent seething.
For everyone but Max, all summer routines have fallen to the side. Each morning as I wrangle him to daycare, he balks.
“Daycare’s hard,” he moans as I buckle him in his car seat.
“So is being a grownup,” I return before promising him a chocolate bar as a reward for a day well served.
I’m mindful of how complex the balance of the world of work and the world of unrest can be. Even my lunch breaks are booked. With precise regularity, my phone will ring just before noon with requests from the residents of Morgan Street.
“We’re out of milk.”
“We have no food.”
“Can we go somewhere after you get home?”
When I think back to my own childhood summers, I don’t remember being so demanding. But then my childhood occurred a long time ago before whole house air conditioning and pizza rolls. And although I’m sure my siblings and I must have had our moments, my older brothers at least knew the repercussions of not completing their chores, because they did an impeccable job of coercing me into completing theirs for them.
Lucky—or unlucky—for me, my kids haven’t resorted to threats of burning their siblings’ prized possessions—unlike my own brothers—because I often come home to a sink full of dishes, a couch full of granola bar wrappers, and an empty refrigerator.
But alas, summer can’t last forever. As recompense, I think I’ll take my own summer staycation sometime in September, well after the kids are nestled back in school.
And maybe I’ll share a day or two with Max. We could share a bag of chocolate and shove the wrappers in between the couch cushions.
