Who me, off the wagon?

Photo credit: Papaija2008

Yeah, it’s been a while. The last week of school was packed with activities, but now we are done and it is summer vacation! For the uninitiated, this means I have about 4 weeks of happy activity and loving communication before I start responding to craigslist ads that read something like this:

“AAAA+ loving home for your able-bodied child who is not afraid of work and has all shots. Will pay $$$ or trade you large shedding dog with horrifying flatulence.”

No, that’s not true. We have a lot of fun in the summer, and every year we’re able to do more. Friday the boys surprised me by being industrious and enthusiastic strawberry pickers. (Note to self: This could be selling point with future craigslist people.) We’d gone out to Rainbow Farms, where together we gathered 24 pounds of berries and brought them home.

That afternoon and into the evening I made and canned 15 jars of jam, put 4 quarts of berries into the freezer, and filled two large bowls with what was left because I just didn’t give a shit anymore for us to eat fresh and natural, as God intended. As much as I hate to say it, we might need to take advantage of the season and get a few more quarts for the freezer in order to make another small step toward a more local diet.

Saturday was filled with beginning-of-summer goodness. I have to tell you, though, my husband went off to the kids’ first team soccer meeting that morning with a very bad attitude. I believe his exact words were, “Let the first ass reaming of the day begin.” Either that or, “Let’s go get bent over at the soccer field.” I don’t know, something about rectal penetration; after a while it all runs together.

He was sure the rec department was going to try to recruit parents to volunteer as coaches, as they have before. While he’s good at soccer and great with little kids, he’s been working crazy hours since November and just isn’t in the mood. And you know what? They did not ask, and we rejoiced. Sure, the younger one’s coach is some high school volunteer who looks like she’d rather get a steel wool pedicure than play soccer with seven-year-olds, but you can’t have everything. We call her “Happy” and giggle from our comfy chairs on the grass.

“Hey, go ask Happy for another copy of the game schedule.”

“Why? Don’t you already have one?”

“Yeah, I just want to see what she does. Twenty bucks says she actually bites you.”

“You’re on. Hold my drink.”

See? Summer goodness.

Yesterday afternoon we finally held my 10-year-old’s birthday party for his school friends at a skating rink/laser tag place, and I am sold on venue parties now and forever. I was afraid the loud music and large groups of children running around on wheels would make me crazy, but a lovely young man named Andrew took care of the kids, played the games, and served the food. I did not have to do squat beyond remaining upright on my skates and not letting on that I know all the words to “Party in the USA.” One out of two isn’t so bad, right?

And today, Sunday, we were lucky enough to watch our friends’ daughter during the day while they went out to celebrate their anniversary, and it was a ton of fun. I can’t say too much because it’s not my child and I do have some basic boundaries remaining, but let me just tell you that you haven’t lived until a two-year-old girl lifts her dress, squats, and poops on your back stoop. Right by the door. At the same moment your elderly neighbor walks past.

Is there a theme to all this rambling? Oh, probably, but I couldn’t tell you what it is right now. I’m enjoying the idea of living outside of clocks and responsibilities for a little while, enjoying the family and finding Happy in the strangest places — then pointing and laughing and nodding my head like yeah.