I love summer. I love when it is so hot and icky outside that you can crank up the AC until you need a sweater. I love not having to wake up early. I love not having to stress out about homework. Backyard BBQing, letting the kids stay up later than usual, spending the day at the pool. These are the things we look forward to all winter.
Every spring I plan out what day camps the kids will go to, scheduling in many weeks of nothing because it just sounds so nice to be able to get up and do whatever we want to that day. Every year around this date, two full days into our summer break, I have a complete panic attack and wonder WHAT part of that plan made sense?
In 56 hours and 14 minutes my three lovely children have managed to destroy my house, run through my thriving vegetable garden, eat everything and anything in the house with an ounce of sugar in it, break my ear drums (both) while arguing over LORD knows what, clog and overflow the toilet, step in dog poop and track it in the house, spill chocolate milk all over my newly mopped floor, smush blueberries on the rug, and WHY oh WHY do they need to wear three different shirts each day? My laundry has doubled!
Why do they call it summer break? Can someone explain that one to me?
My boys have two weeks of sports camp starting on Monday and then nothing scheduled for FOUR weeks. Nothing but me. At home. In my house. With me. me.
I think I'll go make some brownies.